Mabaruma, Guyana
4 years ago
"Brother, where are we going? What's going on? " Light brown eyes gazed up to the man's with sincere adolescent perplexity, confused of the fact that he took her from the south of Guyana to come near to the border. And more flummoxed at the fact he decided to come back into her life after all these years.
They continued along the dirt pathway of the commercial area. Children played freely along the busy streets knocking over merchandise then ignoring curses thrown at them by the vendors. Women walked with baskets, picking up fruits, vegetables, and meat that will serve as dinner for the night.
It took a moment for him to reply. He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Didn't I tell you? You're leaving this country! I can't risk having you here one more minute. You have to go. Even if it means-"
"Even if it means what?" The sixteen year old shot at the older man. "That I leave you? Am I that too much to handle? Mom and dad are gone and you-you left me. Now you only come back to my life to leave me again? Where am I supposed to go? What am I supposed to do?!" Tears welled up in her eyes. How could he give her up so easily? Didn't he care about her just as much as she cared for him? Why couldn't he see she needed him? Why couldn't he realize she went through insufferable anguish when he left?
"Sis, listen to me," Alan took hold of his sister's smooth shoulders, providing solace to his sister. "This isn't for you." His voice cracked. "It's for me. I can't bear the fact with you having to live the rest of your life looking over your shoulder because of me. "
"I can live with that," She folded her arms defiantly. "I'm strong and I can take care of myself."
"No, you're stubborn and absurd."
"You say that like it's true."
"Geneva…"
A running boy bumped in between them. They separated to let him through.
The siblings proceeded to walk down the pathway until palm trees and shrubs took over their peripheral view. The progerssive verdant setting sheltered them from public eye, as the sixteen year old noticed.
"Get in the car." Alan ordered.
A faintly weathered vintage vehicle was parked before them. Brown stains of iron oxide despoiled the surface of the scarlet machine. Nothing too ostentatious. It was enough to avoid detection from anyone who would care to know there was a runaway prisoner attempting to abscond the country.
Geneva was greeted with the creaking, sharp sound of the car door as she pulled the rusty metal door open. Alan hopped in the driver's seat and started the engine. Coughing to life, it propelled in a steady motion. She allowed her sight to beguile the beauty of the tropical vegetation, the feel of the humid breeze. A view she only knew was home to her.
Minutes passed until he spoke again. "Geneva, you know I care about you. I just-I want you to be safe."
"From who, Alan? Who am I running fro-"
Windshield glass exploded in their faces as her upper body slammed on the dashboard. Her diaphragm screamed in agony, the shards of the now weaponized substance scratched her skin. Through teary eyes, she saw the cargo van that collided with theirs. Two men hoped out of the front. One carried a large wooden stick. Was that a baseball bat?
They made their way to them and yanked the doors open with unnecessary excessive force, then pulled the siblings out the vehicle. As that happened another man stepped out. He wore sunglasses with an arm legnth buttoned up shirt and khaki shorts.
"You were going to leave without saying goodbye?" He smiled to Alan.
"I said I would pay you your money." That was a lie. The man beside him grabbed hold of his triceps, forcing him to the ground.
"Yes. But it seems that time is past due." He shook his head. "However, I see you can pay me with something better than money." He looked to the sixteen year old struggling in the bouef henchman's grasp as he led her to the back of their van.
"Geneva! No!" Her brother fought against the man's grip while he tied his hands together with rope. "This wasn't part of the deal!"
"What deal!?" She shouted.
"Let her go! You bastard!"
"You said you wanted her safe, no?" He chuckled as he bent to face the weeping man. "I assure you she'll be fine, Alan." He ran his eyes through her body. "So fine."
" I said let her go!"
The man practically threw her in the vehicle and slammed the door in her face.
"Geneva!" Her brother stood on his knees.
"Seeing that I have what I want now, I'm going to show you what happens when my clients make a late payment."
He signaled to the man. He lifted the stick. The other grinned as he cracked his knuckles.
"Alan!" She screamed as the wooden bat came crashing at his skull.
Atlantic Ocean
5 am
Geneva shook awake, quickly opening her eyes as she jumped up from the mattress in the humid, damp room in the ship. She rubbed her forehead of sweat while panting as she looked out the peephole of a window before her. White rays of the Atlantic sunlight seeped its way into the room. She moved out of the bed, her heart pounded in anxious energy, norepinephrine rich in her bloodstream.
Had the memory really been that bad?
Walking towards the deck, she could feel the moisture of the water vapor against her skin, the saline scent danced in her nostrils. She breathed the calming agent in and closed her eyes, exhaling through her mouth. Geneva took in the beautiful scenery before her. The calm ocean, the luminous, light clouds drifting in the early morning sky. Seeing the daylight reminded her she was still alive, living in the present. Far away from her past, far away from her embarrassments…
Then a harsh vibration erupted in the pocket of her sweat pants.
How the hell was she able to acquire signal five hundred miles off land?
She sighed. Digging into her pocket, she produced the buzzing mobile device.
She flipped it open and put it to her ear. She already knew who he was. Saying hello was a waste of words.
"Do you have the women?" A male hispanic voice questioned.
"They're onboard," Geneva replied, running a hand through her curly locks. "We should reach shore in a few days."
"Good." He replied. "The boys here are waiting for their shipment. Don't hold them up."
"Understood."
She closed the phone then edged closer to the tip. Resting her hands on the pole, she allowed the drops of water to touch her skin as she continued to examine the great body of water that stretched miles ahead of her. A beautiful scene yes but her mind-her mind was somewhere else.
Jason Todd. His name was Jason Todd. Something imploded within her as she realized she could indulge in the opportunity to visualize his looks. Blue eyes, slick jet black hair, well sculpted nose and jaw, fit athletic figure. He was extremely attractive she wasn't going to lie. Which was probably why she got a little carried off in the alleyway.
She knew he survived last night. He was Robin-an accomplice of the world's greatest detective who could take on an army of one hundred men. He was trained to physical and mental perfection. He had to. She wanted him to. He would find her and they would see each other again. Geneva smiled to herself.
This was going to be fun.
Gotham City
Bristol District
5 am
"Geneva Kwayana. Age twenty. Born in Mahdia, Guyana. Parents died in a fatal car crash when she was ten years old." He scanned through the screen. "Her twenty year old brother, Alan took up custody. Seems like he was a petty criminal involved in small gangs to support his cocaine addiction but was later incarcerated due to possession of drugs. She was taken in by her uncle who lived in Biloku but was declared missing soon after."
Jason folded his arms and tilted his head while staring at the monitor.
Courtesy of Roy Harper, Jason managed to sneak into his safehouse in Gotham; it was where he absconded to whenever he grew weary of the Arrow. He'd already planned to leave this place untraceable once he was finished. But even if Red Arrow were to discover a foreign presence in his lair, telling would only give his secret away. Nor did he possess the detective expertise to track him down. His skills were too low.
Luckily enough, it had been supplied with high-tech computer software. Sophisticated enough to give him access to any data bank in the globe. But right now, Jason couldn't find shit on this girl no matter how deep he tried to search. She wasn't on any criminal database and every archive said the same damn thing: MISSING. Written in capital and bold across every photo, declaring to the failed Robin this five hour session was all but beneficial.
He rubbed his temples in frustration and closed his eyes. From the darkness, a sudden picture of her generated in his head. Those eyes, those lips, her soft chocolate skin, that body. It caused him to see…scenes…
Reminded of her imposing attractiveness, he snapped out of it and opened his eyes again. He wasn't doing this for her. He told himself. He wasn't doing this to see her again...
Fuck Jason, focus. How else can you track her down? He paused for a moment.
Just then, something hit him. He moved his fingers to the keypad once more and started typing.
Gotham City General Hospital
Recent admissions.
The Batcave
"Baby bird, you alright?"
"I'm fine."
"Really, what's wrong?"
He sighed. Taking a breath he finally spoke.
"Why do you work for the Batman?"
Grayson made a perplexed expression for a moment just like he was when he heard the question. "To make this city safe. To carry out his legacy. I owe him that." Dick raised his shoulders. "Why'd you ask?"
"Last night, the guy who saved us," Drake began. "He asked me why I'm so motivated to work for the Batman. Why am I trying to save this city if I can't even save myself? I was supposed to die last night, Dick."
"Hey lil bro, relax." the acrobat approached him. He placed his hands on his arms. "You know the risks. We all know the risks. Anything can happen. See, there's a difference between being just 'the good guy' and being a hero. When you're just the good guy, it's based off of your own instinct of what 'good' should be. In other words, that makes it kinda selfish. When you're a hero, there's less you gain and the more you sacrifice.
But we're all here for each other, Tim. And I promise I'll try everything in my power to not let anything happen to you. "
"He told me to leave Dick…to get out while I still can." Drake's voice cracked.
"And is that something he would say to you?" Dick pointed to his predecessor's display panel.
Tim focused to the empty mannequin.
"No. No, he wouldn't."
Gotham City General Hospital
Intensive Care Unit
11:49am
It was supposed to be an unordinary day for Doctor Kayman.
The leggy, well-groomed, able bodied brown haired man made his way into the typical setting of the ICU: Chatting amongst his co-workers, the ringing of alarms and telephones that are intentionally omitted by the nursing staff, the shuffling of papers as they fill out forms from their med-pass, doctors pacing quickly across the hospital floor, the distinct hospital scent of Iodoform.
He knew today was going to be one hell of a shift. There had been multiple admissions last night-Black Mask's henchmen with a handful of Latino thugs. Some with broken ribs and punctured lungs, some with blunt force trauma to the head, some put in comatose…
Making his way past the hectic setting, he found himself standing in front the medical storeroom. After scrutinizing to see if the coast was clear, he slid in.
Oxy recently became his new best friend. Yes. He knew it was wrong. The back of his mind protested in disdain. But he had to. He needed it. He couldn't cope without the opioid substance. The feel of the cozy rush through his veins, his liquid tissue tepid all gave him the satisfactory high he longed for. Scanning the shelves, he came across the drug. Taking a vial and a syringe he rolled up his sleeve.
"I was actually waiting for the first junkie to walk into this closet." A voice spoke. "It's not surprising to know drugs infiltrated to the professionals here." Shocked, he spun to see a young blue eyed man dressed in a black leather jacket and jeans. An unmistakable cicatrix on his left cheek formed the letter J. He was leaning against one of the shelves across from him. How the hell did he get in here?
The kid shrugged his shoulders, "What am I saying? It's Gotham City after all, right?"
"Leave or I'm calling security."
The boy wasn't intimidated. "They'd also like to know why your med count for narcotics are so low." He gestured to his arm. "But we already have an explanation for that, don't we?"
Kayman hesitated. "What do you want?"
"Your clothes. "
Room 107
12:02pm
The doctor swiftly arrived at the room door. Just as expected, it was sentinelled by two GCPD officers. He nodded his head in greetings to the two of them. They seemed faintly reluctant.
"Hourly checkups. Standard procedure."
"Name?"
"Kayman."
The fat police officer scanned through the chart "I don't see any visits that were scheduled around this hour and Kayman hasn't even punched in. "
Stupid mistake. "I'm actually one of the residents here under his supervision. I know he's late but usually I'm ordered to do a check in, see if his vitals are efficient, make sure he takes his meds..."
Of course the newbies had to abide by propriety-which made them a pain in the ass. The other shrugged his shoulders and opened the door.
Too easy.
Inside, a bald headed man with a goatee lay in low Fowler's position. His casted right leg was erected, suspended by a sling. His face was covered in egregious bruises.
"Good evening mister…" The doctor flipped through a page. "Ah. Here we are...Carlos Santiago?" He lowered the manilla folder, exposing his face to the patient.
He had a tough facial expression. He had to have started off as a street kid but decided to turn his life around and make something better of himself. Although he left the hood, it never left him.
"Before I begin," he placed the folder down as he stretched the plastic blue gloves over his hands. "I'm going to have to ask you a few questions…"
"And if I don't answer?"
He chuckled as he turned around.
"You do know an injection of potassium chloride induces cardiac arrest right?" Jason Todd produced a needle from his white over coat.
His eyes widened as the eighteen year old approached him. He wasn't a doctor. Just as he was about to press the emergency button, Jason snapped his finger and in one motion, pushed his head up while pointing the needle in the space between his neck and shoulder.
"Last night. Geneva. The girls." Jason interrogated, pushing his head up with his fingers. "Where is that ship going?"
"I ain't tellin' you shit."
"That's not really an option."
The syringe pricked at his jugular, the henchman grunted. Jason's intimidating blue eyes stayed concentrated on his. His tenacious grip was starting to burn from the friction between his gloves and his skin.
"They're headed south..." He gulped.
"No shit Sherlock!"
"Venezuela." It was an effort to speak, his mouth was dry as the pressure of the pain sat on the base of his neck. Blood rushed to his head. "Caracas."
"That wasn't hard. Now was it?"
"Go fuck yourself!"
Jason injected the man with the benzodiazepine while covering his mouth to muffle his protests. Automatically, he was put in a stupor. He'd snagged the sedative in the medicine closet before Kayman arrived. It wasn't potassium chloride and it wasn't going to kill him. He All he needed to do was wait…
The man closed his eyes, testifying the anesthetic took full effect. He'd made sure it was in a high enough dosage-as benzo tended to induce retrograde amnesia. He wasn't going to remember him or anything that happened when he woke up.
Jason placed the syringe back in his lab coat, took the manilla folder, then headed out the door.
The two policemen turned to see the doctor stepping out.
"What the hell happened in there?"
"He needed a little…motivation to take his meds." He spoke. "He'll be awake in the next couple of hours."
With that, he nodded goodbye to the two of them then walked away.
