Over the course of the hours that followed, my best guess of just how many being somewhere in the ballpark of eight to twelve, I had been graced with the intimate knowledge of just what a county holding cell looked like from the inside. Not the most cherished of memories in my life, as the officer who arrested me and the two others who came to back him up nearly a half an hour put into the back of a squad car, spending the entire way there still without any clothes on until they were so kind as to cut a hole into a black trash bag so I could wear it as a pair of pants. The official word they gave me was that they couldn't find anything else to give me, although at the time an orange jumpsuit would have sufficed, anything would have been better then facing the drunk tank for the remainder of the night and into the morning in my birthday suit. From an ascetics standpoint the place was plain and to the point: upon walking down the hall and opening the door to the cell itself you could see the majority of the cell thanks to the room being just a wide open space, with a bleakly painted greyscale bench going around all sides of the wall. The only true accommodation was a small wall jutting out from the one side and coming out by about four or five feet, beside it a fairly no thrills toilet and granting some privacy, but still it wasn't much of a courtesy when someone could easily just turn the corner. My main fear had been the kind of clientele that would be held up in there with me, and what I had initially thought to work to my advantage was the fact that I was only sharing the cell with one other man on this night, but if you knew what extreme isolation felt like you'd think twice about that. You see, when you're cooped up in a certain place against your will for long periods of time and you have absolutely nothing to do and not a soul for company, by the time somebody does show up you'll be all too fond of striking up a conversation with them. Although I couldn't necessarily blame the guy for trying, humans are just naturally a social bunch, whether or not its for our own good or not.
"Nice pants..." The burley man spoke up, a pair of denim jeans two sizes far too big (even for him) swaddled around his waist, various stains in hues of blue and green and brown and most of the traditional rainbow splattered all about both of his pant legs, a long and poorly groomed beard falling from his face down to his chestal section. Yes, i'm well aware of the fact that the word I've just used isn't a part of Merriam Webster, but if i'm writing this in an age as modern as we are in now then I have full confidence of finding a button to press that will change that. "What brand are they?"
"Thanks...it's...uh...glad." I awkwardly replied back, at this point I had just assumed that he was beyond intoxicated, judging by the fact that he took my answer one hundred percent seriously and began to nod his head up and down as if he was going to start taking notes.
"No...my mother made these pants for me..." He absentmindedly exclaimed.
"Ooookay, good luck with that, i'm just going to scooch this way..." Rolling my eyes and silently inching my self in the opposite direction of the beast of a man, to which he decided to inch in the same direction, causing me to mouth the words "fuck my life" mutedly at the realization that he wouldn't let me run off. Needless to say much else, it was some of the most agonizing time I had ever spent in my entire life, and so when the faintest footsteps were heard approaching the door I was quick to jump to my feet with one hand holding the trash bag steady around my hips. It was the policeman who had first taken me in, his tired eyes showing the both of us in the tank that he had most likely had the same luck in getting sleep as we did, although the bearded brute did manage to pass out for ten minutes and rather impressively sing "Maggie May" mid snore. With one hand holding the door open, he used the other to toss small bundle of clothing that was calling to me, the night being some of the longest periods of time that I had ever had to be without clothes and the vulnerability had been starting to get to me.
"You're being released, put these on, there's someone here who'd like to speak to you." He commanded with authority in his voice, and as I took to dressing myself he closed the door as to not make it into a show for the passersby, the passive aggressive element coming into it's own as I began to unfold the baby blue t-shirt I had been given to see that it said "I love unicorns" in the most irritatingly bedazzled font. The pants were a faded pair of dust pink, no writing on them thank god, but in the very least it could be seen as an upgrade from before. Knocking on the door to signal that I was ready to be let go, I was lead down the same hallway from the night before, passed a small lobby area with several desks where one would deal with paperwork and booking, and then back out into the light of mid-day. Accept this time around, or rather for what was most likely the first time in almost a year, a swarm of flashing lights and what felt like hundreds of voices all calling out to me at once to have a word with them. Or in other words, the very same blood-thirsty paparazzi's who had been able to infect the lives of those in the spotlight of any society, the only difference in Gotham was that they paraded around talking about doing away with corruption while having a Mafioso slip a stack of Benjamin's into their back pocket for services rendered. A single man stood out from the flood of Pulitzer-chasers and fluff piece editorialists who were craving a way out, wearing a black bowler hat plus a suit and tie to match and was vigorously motioning with his hands that I should escape the frenzy and get into the back of his piano black limousine.
Mr. Welman! Mr. Welman!
Reports have said that you died! Why have you been keeping your return to Gotham a secret!
Are you still haunted by what happened last year!
Can we just get a word with you!
That line of questioning alone had been enough to coax me into the backseat of genuine leather, champagne bottles on ice, and more built in television screens then any sane man would know what to do with. Moments later the elongated vehicle floored it and made its way through the mass of Gotham city lunch hour traffic, honking its horn every few minutes or so to carve a swath of free space on the paved macadam, even going so far as to run a red light or two in the process. Although on thing I had noticed that was either a bizarre twist of fate, and the most painful of coincidences, or a sign that this man was not someone who was shy about how he chose to obey or disobey the law at his leisure. You see, with every single light on the way from county holdings where I had been held to our destination at the prestigiously sculpted Gotham City Mayor's Office, we had not been able to actually get a single red or yellow light. Sure, as we approached them they were as normal and varied as any other time, but surely enough by the time we reached the intersection and prepared to cross the light they would turn green just in the knick of time. One thing that you'll come to learn as you've grown more accustomed to the ways of the people with the silver spoon up their ass, is that they hate to have to be held to the same measure of legal accountability as people they deem beneath them...and would often do or say anything to find the loophole giving them a free pass. I was told by the driver that I was expected by none other than Mayor Ambrosia himself, and that I was to go the sixth floor and watch for the office with his name, more specifically it was a ways down the hall and to right but I digress. Just as I was about to turn the knob of polished brass and enter the room, someone from the other side already had, and as the door swung open the grizzled face of my godfather and friend Michael recoiled in a bit of surprise.
"Jesus, kid, you scared the shit out of me! Well...I'll...I'll be downstairs, I have to talk to you then, alright." I nodded and allowed him to leave my sight, his demeanor slightly off as I was half expecting a comment about dropping the soap, but yet jokes aren't really his specialty when the dark reality is this close. Not to mention he rarely would do such a thing in the company of people he would have to work or otherwise deal with in a more businesslike setting. There was a moderately sized, yet overly thick television in the far end of office which was turned to a public access news network and from the middle-aged man proudly posed with his back to me and his gaze turned to the view from his sixth story window.
...police officials are still debating on whether or not the recent events at the Albatross were linked to gang activity or something else...some news outlets have been tipped off to a mask left at the crime scene, a very similar one that was found in connection to the murder of six men with gang affiliations nearly two weeks ago...the source for this information had chosen to remain anonymous, however their still is mounting evidence that says this vigilante has claimed at least fifteen lives...it will still take some time to piece together what this means...Gotham faithful Bruce Wayne said in a statement today that the attack reinforces that we, more now then ever, need to have faith in our justice system and less in individual intervention...he declined to say anything further on the subject, as he had to leave Gotham on a personal matter...
"You wanted to see me, sir?" I inquired, cutting through the silence as I had my fill with the news reports for the time being, the man standing at just over six feet tall turned on a dime to face me and offered me a very warm and inviting smile.
"Ah, Brian, you know...my wife is always telling me that I should try to go to church more often...of course never in the middle of the night...and never naked. I must admit, when I tried to get a hold of you this morning and found out you were in central holding...I was a bit surprised." He was trying to hold back his own fit of laughter at the mere mention of the nights events that had brought me in, just instead chuckling as he extended his hand to mine which I immediately accepted.
"Sixth floor, huh? I thought with you being the mayor you'd be a bit higher up?" I scoffed with a bit of wry sarcasm, which he got a decent bit of amusement out of.
"Well, one thing you learn in this town, is that if you put yourself in power and you're on the top of a building...you just invite people to throw your ass off." He reasoned, tilting his head to the side to see me a bit more clearly and admire the excellent threads given to me by the officer. "I actually had wanted to speak to you at one point after you got out of the asylum, just to see you were holding up, but I kept hearing good things about you from Michael. But, I just wanted to say that you have my apologies, for your father and I can't imagine what shit like that must do to you. He was a good man, spoke highly of you too, so you've got a lot to live up to."
"So...i'm really not in any trouble...I mean, at all?" Brow furled, quizzically looking at him as he shook his head side to side.
"I was young, too, you know. And I was put up to things or I did things just for the hell of it, and I was thankful enough to have enough people backing me up to still get to where I am, now. Besides, I think the worst part you did yourself." He reminded me with an abbreviated laugh.
"I don't...get it, what do you mean?" I asked him.
"Ever since you were released, you've been able to keep a low profile and you managed to stay out of the way of the tabloids, but...that's all fucked now. You see, you might not realize this but...you aren't the most liked person in Gotham. But...I'll leave that for Michael to fill you in on." He explained.
"So...i'm not complaining or anything but...how does a mayor get me off of public indecency and trespassing charges?" I questioned, having a good joke at my own expense this time.
"Eh, i'm sure the police department would have tacked on a few more charges than that, but i'd like to think that they have some more important things to do with their time, like...buying better clothing for their detainees." He continued, staring down the glittery font of my shirt and eyeing it like the plague. "As of last week, I have began my dual duty as both mayor and police commissioner, and Melvin will be given administrative leave."
"And Gordon? I mean...i'm sure that he would have liked the chance?" I admitted.
"Oh, believe me, a few days before he left I offered...begged him to take the job. No dice. I told him i'd do whatever he asked me to do as long as he would stay in the city just a little bit longer." His enthusiasm dying off as he spoke.
"And what he did say to that?" I asked, another bout of laughter coming from the pained face.
"He told me to bend over, and shove the job straight up my ass." He remarked, making his way to the door before motioning that our meeting had met its end. "I'm sorry to cut this a bit short, but, i'm a busy man."
"Right...thanks." I confessed, all the more grateful that someone had been looking out for me, although some questions had been raised about someone else who I previously thought could be trusted.
In my own mind it all just seemed like the world was testing me, although in my heart it was all the more likely that it was all just a cruel deception and that they all had their own agendas to contend with. But, for the while, it would be my mantra that I would let devils be angels until I was dexterous enough to find the horns and be pleasantly surprised when the kindness of the surface world lived up to its end of the bargain and was just that. Part of me questioned what Penelope would have thought of my own decision to allow myself to inch my way closer to the madwoman, and then again part of me wished I hadn't brought her up at all. One thing was for certain, regardless of what I decided going forward, and that was that I couldn't keep doing this on my own and honestly believe that I was going to make a difference in the tide. It could be an ally, or a friend, I know for certain that some of nights would be a bit easier if that were so. See, when you feel lonely the biggest concern isn't being alone, for that's just not a realistic expectation as a whole: the true fear of loneliness is in seeing each and every person who crosses your path and knowing that not once do you have the heart to know that any of them are your own. Your friend, your dad, your brother, but instead they would all be someone else's and by a lack of association you are merely a wisp to fade away in the breeze without a single imprint to keep you alive. Although having this thought then and there as I exited the office I still managed to raise my head and hold it high, for there was something in me which told me that something lie on the horizon. Something that would make all of the difference, and perhaps...it wouldn't have to be so earth-shattering or ground-breaking as my own melodramatic mind had made it out to be. All it takes is one thing, one day, one moment, one person.