Chapter Four
"How the hell can you live in a place like this?" Sinéad gave the place around her a distasteful frown - this was Jonathan's home, and she did not like one piece of it. Seriously, he lived just a few blocks from Adisa's Bar, and it was so ratty that she couldn't put it into words. But then again, with the way his life had been after being in an insane asylum, it had to remain within the budget you had.
They were currently standing outside the front on the third floor - turned out that he was Evelyn's next door neighbor - and he was fumbling with the door and the key; after he successfully got it open, he looked over his shoulder to gaze at her reproachfully. "With the limited budget I have, I can't afford what you have, Miss Ryan."
"Call me Sinéad," she returned. "I'm not into formality."
The walls were faded and on the verge of peeling; even the furniture - or rather, lack of it - was no better. There happened to be only the usual appliances and the kitchen and bathroom that every other place in the world supplied, except instead of a real bed, there was a futon that served as a bed by night and a lounger by day. What was sad was that he had nothing in terms of bedding or clothes to keep him warm. The latter she could tell from when he opened the wardrobe off to the side to show his lacking wardrobe that consisted of t-shirts, jeans, and jackets. She clucked her tongue in disapproval as she surveyed his place with a critical eye. There were four rooms total - the kitchen with the dining room, two spare rooms, and the living area - but it turned out that the living room and kitchen were his top spaces. The living area with the futon happened to be his sleeping area…and reading area, as she glimpsed a large bookcase filled with all eight shelves of books. Most of which she could see were psychology, and worn covers from years of use.
"Books have always been my passion," Jonathan called behind her. She turned her head slightly to see him select a new outfit and walk into one of the spare rooms behind her. "Nobody in my life ever cared to acknowledge me, so books and knowledge were all that I ever loved. My grandmother's Georgian manor bore a library she called the 'forbidden room', but I would always sneak in at night when she passed out to indulge myself into the works of sciences and medicines. I stood out at school and in life among cretins with their heads in their asses."
Sinéad couldn't help but laugh at the use of term on people who rejected him for being different than they were. She and he had the "different from others" common factor, but no one bothered a second eye to criticize her the way he had been. Abusive authority figures were their equality. Life was cruel on so many levels.
"I'm so sorry," she said, going back to her surroundings.
He scoffed. "Sure you are. Everyone's sorry for something."
She couldn't take it anymore. He literally didn't trust her; well, that didn't surprise her at all. And well, she wasn't sure if she herself could trust any guy after everything she'd been through with Steven and the others. For now all she could do was enjoy her independence…and this current situation that involved earning Jonathan's trust was part of it, minus enjoyment.
Or perhaps enjoyment could come along later. Truthfully, she had no idea for now.
"So," she said carefully, hesitating with this question she was dying to know the answer to but at the same time wasn't sure if it was a safe topic, "how long have you been working at the bar for?"
Jonathan stuck his head around the corner, his eyes full of triggered irritation. "I thought you knew the answer already. Didn't Evelyn tell you?"
"No," Sinéad answered nervously. "She only told me as much as she could about you, but I don't remember if I ever asked how long you've been there."
He stepped out, wearing a new shirt and the same pair of jeans. "Two years," he answered sullenly. "Don't even ask me if I like my job."
She frowned. Based on the way he said that, he was the opposite of happy with his job. "Listen, do you need me to drop you off at the bar or -"
"Sinéad…" Uh oh, she'd pushed him. She braced herself for the incurring of his wrath at asking too many questions, even put on her best defense face when she looked him up. "I really don't appreciate being interrogated in my -" He stopped talking altogether when he saw her expression. "Oh…forgive me, I -"
"Don't apologize. You barely know me, and you have every right to be this way." Sinéad's throat constricted when she found herself staring into his eyes behind half-broken glasses. Gran Siobhán once said that the eyes were the windows to the soul, and this man's eyes were so…clear and blue, like a northern glacier, reflecting and transparent. A torrent of emotions flashed through them, from sad to anger to…she couldn't figure him out at all, other than the fact that he was a lost, tortured soul.
"I walk to work every day." His change of topic worked her nerves indefinitely. "So, no, I don't need a lift."
"Well, then," Sinéad said, pulling her jacket back over herself and half-zipping it up, "I bid you a good day, Jonathan, and a nice meeting you." With that, she was out the door within seconds.
Shutting the door behind her as soon as she was home, she was on the verge of screaming out to the ceiling. Groaning instead, she locked the door and tossed her keys onto the couch. What the hell was Jonathan's problem? Why did he find it so hard that she was trying to treat him like a human being? She felt sorry for everything he went through, but even that didn't excuse his attitude. Sinéad, like her grandmother, never took shit from anyone. Sometimes you have to show a little tough love.
Just then, her house phone rang. She jumped out of her reverie and walked over to where it rested on the table beside the sofa. "Yes?"
"Sinéad, great news."
She smiled. "Someone approved of my painting, Dan?" she asked of her agent whom she met during college.
"That's right, love," he answered cheerfully. "None other than Wayne Enterprises. Namely the CEO himself."
"Bruce Wayne?" She frowned, turning around only for the sake of it to stare at the rose canvas before her. The Bruce Wayne whom no one had seen in public for the last four years? "But no one's seen him for years."
"I know, right? But isn't this a great opportunity or what? Secluded billionaire Bruce Wayne making your work recognizable?" Dan was sing-songing now. "And Lucius Fox, the president, has phoned me and informed me that there's going to be a party thrown at Wayne Manor for you this Friday night."
"Friday." This was all too good to be true. Perhaps I should swing by the bar afterwards and celebrate with Evelyn and Jonathan and Al - but Anna is a complete "maybe"… "Alright, Dan, sounds like a plan," she said with a little crack of a grin. "I look forward to it."
~o~
Rachel wiped off the counter in a foul mood. Wearing a red flannel shirt opening to show a red t-shirt reading in big black, cursive letters "The Queen of Everything", she'd taken Damien to Miss Mildred and was greeted with another warning about next week if she ever made the slip-up-late-fee again. Someday she wanted to just open her mouth and tell the old bag how she really felt.
If only Bruce was here. Then I would be home with him, given he goes to the office as he wishes, and so while Damien is at school, we can have time for each other. If only it were that simple. Just like everyone else - save for Anna and Al who knew who she really was but said nothing for her sake - Bruce knew she was dead, because a fire was inescapable.
Well, she'd escaped. How she did it was lucky that she never even considered before, seconds before the bomb went off.
~o~
She looked behind her at the building that exploded behind her on 250 52nd Street, watching from the distance as fire trucks and police cars surrounded the site. She was far from them, pulling her black jacket around herself to keep warm as well as to hide her face from the rest of the world. She could see Gordon talking to someone - Ramirez, that bitch who brought her here and tied her up - for a few moments before the latter turned away and left the site. This was Rachel's cue to leave. If she ever thought of making contact with that scum again, the answer was no.
Unfortunately, her prayers were unanswered.
"Don't think I'm happy to see you," she snarled at the traitor in Gordon's unit who made her appearance in an alleyway not too far away from the site. "I'm positive sooner or later someone will find you out and Wuertz."
Ramirez gave her a guilty, apologetic look. "And I'm more than ready for it, but please understand," she pleaded, now dropping to her knees, making Rachel hiss with disgust and pull her coat around her tighter, "I swear to God that I didn't know what they were going to do to you; they just told me to bring you here, and for Wuertz to bring in Harvey, and I didn't realize anything was wrong until I decided to leave you the knife and the back door unlocked."
Leaving her the tools for her release didn't make the situation any better than it was already worse. "You just had to help this mess because you needed the money," Rachel accused, hands on her hips. "What exactly did you think they were going to do?"
"My mother's condition is getting worse, and her hospital bills keep being raised -"
She'd had enough; she turned to make her way out of this place and away from this simpering woman when she heard her name being called, and footsteps scrambling her way. "Please, don't! They think you're dead, and the mob will go after the both of us."
"Better you than me. Should have thought of that earlier, right?"
"Better you alive than me. You need to get out of here, go someplace until the heat cools down," Ramirez suggested. "Hide out someplace where no one knows who you are…and so you can keep the little one safe."
Her attention was raptured altogether. Rachel stopped abruptly and turned to face her. "Little one? What the hell are you saying?" What was she trying to pull off now? First she kidnapped her, let everyone think she died in the fire, and now she wanted to help? "Are you saying that I'm…?" She gasped, stopping mid-sentence, and looked down to her abdomen, putting her hand there at the possibility that she was…
"Just only arrived. I can sense it." Her eyes flicked back up to Ramirez's face, scowling suspiciously. What in the name of God was going on now? Was she psychic or something? Not that she believed in any of that. Then she felt her arm being grabbed by the corrupt cop's hand and pulled away and deep into the dark alley. "But we can't discuss it out here. Someplace where the mob has no ears."
~o~
"Evelyn - hey, Evelyn, wake up! Wake up! Look what's on!"
"Huh?" Rachel snapped out of it and looked to where Anna pointed to the flatscreen. She gasped when she saw the name of the latest headline on GCN:
MASTERPIECE OF THE DECADE: WAYNE ENTERPRISES TAKES INTEREST IN ASPIRING YOUNG ARTIST
"Looks like the new girl is suddenly going to make a name for herself," Anna noted with a wry grin. But she had turned her attention back down to the empty glass she was polishing, a habit of hers that bothered Rachel. But she ignored her friend and instead focused on what the newscaster was saying.
"Gothamites, it looks like we have a new, fresh face to present to the world of art. A fantastic new masterpiece has been presented to the world, accepted by none other than Wayne Enterprises, and what's surprising - and rare in general - is that the artist is a recent graduate from the Art Institute of Gotham, by the name of Sinéad Ryan -" He pronounced her name correctly, Rachel thought, satisfied. "- and it all began when one exquisite creation of a mermaid getting ready to leave her world of Atlantis for a bigger, broader adventure was based after her own life, in which twenty-two-year-old Miss Ryan left her native Ireland only less than a decade ago following the death of her grandmother. What does this pinpoint? It means this aspiring newcomer has a bright, shining future in front of her, and this Friday night the Wayne Foundation is hosting a public presentation event in her honor, and we'll wait and see what happens from there."
"Well, I'll be damned," Anna mumbled, shaking her head in disbelief. "I always knew that girl would blast sooner or later." At the same time, the door to the bar opened, and both women looked to see the incoming customer. "Speaking of which, there she is. Girl, did you see yourself on the TV?" she asked the glowing Sinéad who flounced over to the counter.
Her smile soon faded in a split second and glanced up to the flatscreen, seeing the headline and hearing what the reporter was saying…and her face lighting up once more at the ethereal images of her work pictured. "I only received a call from my agent this morning. It happened so fast. How did this get out?"
But Rachel was no longer listening to the conversation, rather focusing her attention on the second painting by Sinéad…it was her. She felt her blood stop cold.
Wayne Manor…that means Bruce will know I'm alive. He'll see that one, and he'll know.
I need to see him. Maybe it's time to finally come out of hiding.
"I'm allowed to bring a date or a friend with me," she heard Sinéad say, "so I was wondering if either of you want to go with me."
This is it! But Rachel tried her hardest not to show how overexcited she was - but she was also very afraid. What if she was recognized at once and was swarmed with press and bombarded with questions like "Why did you fake your death, Miss Dawes?" and "Why come back now?" And most of all, how would Bruce react if he knew that he had a son he never knew he had with her? Would he want to be a father?
Anna scoffed. "I have better things to do than waste my time with the elite. I'd go for free drinks and parties anytime and anywhere but those fundraisers and galas." Rachel rolled her eyes; she knew that was coming long before the words were out. She wouldn't want me to go to Bruce. But she won't say so in front of our friend here.
"Yes, I'll go with you," she said. "I haven't been out since Damien was born. I'll just…leave him with you for the night." She winked at Anna's wide eyes.
"Rachel, you're seriously just leaving your child with me on a Friday of all nights?!"
"That's right. I refuse to leave him with Miss Mildred if she's just going to open her mouth about her money," Rachel said with that knot in her stomach, "and you're my only option. I thought you were my friend."
"I am, but -" Anna protested.
"Enough, decision made," Rachel interrupted, having no more of this. "So do me a favor and go serve those guys by the window while I ready the next round of shots." The Hispanic woman scoffed again and rolled her eyes before huffing away. She looked to Sinéad and noticed that she'd leaned over, the neck of her tee rippling slightly to show a tattoo above her left breast for her to see: it was a black-inked, double-tailed mermaid. Rachel just about bit her tongue as she went back to that night with Anna Ramirez.
~o~
They returned to Ramirez's old apartment on Blue Grave, where the Hispanic offered her to change and shower, but Rachel refused. She wanted nothing until she had the answers she deserved.
"My mother and I have been keeping eyes on you and Bruce Wayne all your lives," Anna explained as she boiled herb tea on the stove. "We have what is called the Third Eye, which means we see beyond ordinary perception -"
"I know what the Third Eye is!" Rachel snapped, wanting to slap the tabletop to release the tension; the night's events were too much for her to handle. Harvey had been saved, but everyone thought she was dead. At least Bruce had saved him, but the both of them...she knew neither of them would handle her "loss" well.
Ramirez turned from the stove and held up both hands placatingly. "Okay, okay, don't get that way with me."
"You're the one who brought me there, so what makes you think I'm willing to trust you on a bunch of mystical theories and hocus-pocus?"
"Because I'm all you have left, and so is the baby," Anna answered hotly.
"How do you even know I'm pregnant?" Rachel asked. "Oh, no, don't tell me. Your 'Third Eye' knows it all," she stated sarcastically.
"You're not even a day along," Anna said, turning to take the whistling pot off the stove. "Anyways, back to the main point. Mother and I watched you and your friend grow up, so yes, we know who the Batman really is."
Rachel stiffened; if this scumbag woman knew Bruce was the Batman, then why didn't she turn him in or even told anybody in the unit? Or the mob? People like her in the mob's pay were willing to do anything for the money in desperate times like this. Being ADA, she'd seen many things. "If you know who Bruce Wayne really is, then why didn't you...?"
"Then you know it would have ruined everything. Because you and him, and your child, are destined for something coming up."
She scoffed as she accepted the teacup from her "hostess". "And what is coming up, Ramirez? Is this something that the mob has planned, or the Joker next?"
"No, the Joker will be locked away in a padded cell by this time," the other woman answered by the time she sat down on the opposite side of the kitchen table. "I won't waste anymore time and cut to the chase. That spearhead you found in Wayne Manor's gardens when you were a little girl..."
Her blood ran cold. Rachel was about to ask how she knew that, but now this magical information sinking in; maybe she ought to stop being so stubborn. "What about it?"
"The spearhead can be found in almost every Polynesian design, as I think you already knew," Ramirez explained. "It's designed to express courage and fight, and also to represent warriors themselves. Which means that you, like your lover, are a warrior yourself."
Rachel made a noise that sounded between a laugh and a sound of disbelief. That was...that was so ridiculous. She was a...fighter based on a simple childhood finding that she'd given Bruce as a return birthday present after a seven-year absence? On second thought, it made sense after her outkill fighting to help put the criminals behind bars that the good people were too afraid to do, knowing that the corrupt would off them or the mob hiring hits. She hadn't been afraid to prosecute. Never. "You're not denying," Ramirez noted, no trace of smugness, just plain analysis.
"No," Rachel admitted, "but what does..." She looked down at her abdomen, placing a hand over it and feeling the silk blouse she still wore. "...my baby have to do with this?"
"The reason why you have to stay hidden from Gotham, change your name and set up a new living," Anna answered. "Not permanently, but just until the right time comes. The baby is special and needs protection from the ones of the storm coming. There will be a time then where you and Wayne reunite, but you won't be alone either in this battle."
~o~
"I think Friday is the night," Rachel said later that day, after Sinéad had gone home. She had begun to get hot in her flannel shirt, removed it, wrapped it and tied it around her waist before resuming to pick up the tray of empty tequila shots.
"The night," Anna stated coolly. Al and Jonathan weren't around, but you could never be too careful; the women kept their voices lowered. "The night I told you was where it all comes down to an end. I see it all, and I know you're right."
"You bet." She could see herself reuniting with Bruce that night, but then again she would have to owe Sinéad an explanation, since after going into hiding and being fed more intel on human beings actually being mythical characters in earthly form. It had all been overwhelming and breaking the boundaries between fact and fiction, too much that she nearly lost Damien before he was born.
She didn't own very many nice dresses and jewels anymore, since she couldn't go back to her old place, only sneaking as few items as possible. One was an elegant strapless velvet dress of dark blue with a high slit reaching mid-thigh, baring her left leg. And one of the few jewels she owned was a much fancier set given to her by Bruce on her birthday when they were in high school, looking much brighter than any Hollywood spotlight, even outshining any jewel worn by any celebrity who walked the red carpet to get noticed. The earrings and necklace were oval-shaped rubies surrounded by diamonds loaded with more flashes than the paparazzi cameras. She never wore them much, but hopefully Bruce would recognize her once he spotted them if not her face, now framed by shorter hair...