Bruce could not believe that years after hurricane Katrina Louisiana was still in shambles. On the way to Helena LaVigne's address he and Alfred had passed countless homes with doors, windows, roofs, facades, and even walls missing. Some had reached such a state of dilapidation that they appeared to be rotting and families still clung to even some of these. Trailers appeared to be far more common, and even these were few and far between. It was by and large a lonely, silent trip. The doldrums were only accentuated by the near constant listless fall of drizzling rain.

"Are we there yet?" Bruce murmured with a small grin, if only to break the silence and Alfred playfully swatted him on the head with an empty cup.

"What did I tell you the first time?" Alfred began melodramatically. Bruce chuckled. "What did I tell you the last time?" Bruce snorted. "What have I told you ever last bloody single rotten time you asked!? What did I say when we passed the tree back by the gas station and on the GPS it said we had a few more hours and-"

"Alfred," Bruce interrupted. "If you work yourself into a cardiac arrest in the middle of Population: us Louisiana your fucked. There isn't a hospital for another twenty miles." Bruce grimaced as Alfred again swatted him on the head with the empty cup.

"Language." He admonished before turning his attention back to the road. Bruce sighed and attempted to fall asleep

Helen Levitt sighed as she looked at the stale bread on her kitchen counter. The corners were distinctly nibbled and she let out a cry of rage. She only had so much money to spend, meaning that whatever food she had, she ate it. If it was expired, stale, moldy in parts, or even nibbled upon by rodents and other parasites: she ate it.

Her forgetfulness often lent itself to her forgetting to go to work (which made it nearly impossible for her to hold a job- not that there were many around for people who did remember to go to work.). Even when she did have the money she would often forget to eat and go shopping. Food that she didn't even remember buying would go stale. It annoyed her greatly, but it wasn't as if she had much of a choice. Who would help the crazy town recluse? Who cared about a mad, middle-aged woman? Who- her thought ceased as she looked out of her trailer window and into the afternoon sun. She pressed a hand against the glass and watched started to trickle from the skies and down the window.

The void she had been unknowingly occupying for hours was shattered by the sounds of knocks on the door and screaming.

"William Burckhardt! FBI!"

She squawked wildly as she rushed toward the door and nearly tripped over her own feet. She landed with a thud against it before righting herself and opening the door.

She blinked owlishly at the men standing at her door. A tall man, so tan that he was almost orange with long dark hair and an older bald gentleman were clad in black suits. The younger, orange, man looked very annoyed.

"Are you Helena LaVigne?" He asked and she squawked again before slamming the door in their faces.

"She's not here anymore!" She cried. "Not anymore! Not anymore! Not anymore!"

As she continued to chant and pound against the door Bruce looked to Alfred. "Maybe insanity does run in families." He murmured and Alfred shrugged before turning his attention back to Helena.

"We are in the midst of an investigation. If you do not let us in and answer our questions you will be charged with obstruction of justice and you will be held in a cell, where our contemporaries will make you talk."

The door cracked open and one dark brown eye, wide with fear, was revealed. "My name's not Helena LaVigne." She said quietly. Her voice was thin and shaking like hanging wind chimes left to brave a tempest. "It's Helen Levitt." The door opened slightly farther, revealing a wan face and miles a frizzy yellow hair. She looked so much like The Joker that it momentarily floored Bruce and Alfred. A long jagged scar spanned the length of her face.

"I don't know what she did, but I had nothing to do with it. I haven't even left here in…" She trailed off with searching eyes and pursed lips and the door swung open the rest of the way. "Why don't you both come in?" She was in a faded dress that must have once been some shade of purple and was nearly transparent as she stepped aside to allow them entrance. Through her dress Bruce briefly caught sight of her petite feminine frame. Well-sculpted breasts nearly tumbled out of the old dress as she sat at a table crammed against e refrigerator and piled high with rotten food. Bruce pointedly looked elsewhere. It took all of his self-control not to grimace at the sorry state of the trailer. It was positively filthy. Alfred took advantage of his inattention.

"I am Agent Hale Rickman and this is my partner, William Burckhardt. We are here on an official investigation. We are not authorized to tell you much. Simply answer our questions honestly and to the best of your ability and you will in all likelihood never hear from us again. Understood?" He said and Helena nodded absently. His accent had improved slightly, making him sound almost American.

"Good. Now, you were born Helena LaVigne, correct?"

She nodded sadly.

"Your parents were Adam and Rowan, yes?"

She nodded again.

"Who do you think we came for that could be linked to you?" Bruce interrupted and the woman paled slightly.

"Well, there's Netta." She finally answered in a tiny voice. "She was running some kind of brothel before her sex change, I think." She said. "And they say that once people start committing crimes they can't stop, although I don't really know what she could have possibly done that's so bad. Netta never had a bad bone in her body. Even as a little boy she was sweeter than most people." She said and sucked in an extraordinary amount of air. Her entire upper body inflated and deflated rapidly before she rested her head in her palm.

"Anyone else?" Bruce asked and immediately her eyes widened.

She swallowed deeply. "Uncle Jim or…" Her voice shook and in a seemingly unconscious gesture brought her hand to her scar. "Uncle Jim was a drug lord when I was a little girl. Peter tells me he's in an institution in Boston now. He went crazy after an ex-wife of his tried to crucify him with a nail gun."

Bruce could almost sympathize with the joker. With the family he was born into, he didn't have a chance.

"That was the night she gave me this." She fingered her scar.

"What happened?" The men asked together.

Helen sighed, tears glistened in her eyes. "Uncle Mike was a womanizer. He had many wives, many divorces, and many mistresses. He wasn't very good looking, but he was very generous. Most of the women he married were content to either hang on until they got tired of him and then divorce him and make some money, but one wasn't.

'I remember that her first name was Briar. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She had long gold hair and grey eyes. She looked like a model. Apparently he always knew that she was crazy, but she was beautiful so he didn't care. She was some kind of staple in the business. I think she tortured people who couldn't pay or something. He always insisted that his wives use birth control and, behind his back, she didn't. The second she announced that she was pregnant he divorced her and she pretty much lost it.

'I was close with him when I was a little girl, so I was the first one he invited over to meet his first girlfriend after he left Briar. That night she broke in…killed his girlfriend, and I watched as she…nailed him to the floor. I was hiding behind the sofa!" Helen started to cry. "She heard me sobbing behind the sofa and came after me. A maid called the police. She was carving into me with a nail and only got this far before they came."

They watched as Helena sobbed in earnest, her head banging against the table. Once she calmed slightly they began their questioning again.

"What happened to Briar?"

"She escaped the holding cell and killed nearly every employee in the building. No one knows how, where she went, or even if she's still alive."

"What about the child?" Bruce asked quietly and Helena shrugged.

"All though, Briar sends Uncle Jim a card on their wedding anniversary every year. Peter keeps them. If anyone knows anything about how to find Briar its Peter. He sent out a P.I and everything several years back."

"Where might we find Peter?" Bruce asked. The thrill of the chase was thick in his veins.

"He's a lawyer in Boston. I'll get you his address. He sends me money sometimes." After rummaging around for several minutes Helena took out an envelope full of hundreds and showed Bruce and Alfred the address. Alfred copied it down.

"Thank you Ms. LaVigne." Bruce said and she only stared blankly at a moldy apple on the counter as he and Alfred departed. Their ride back to the airport was silent.

pride1289: Sorry for the wait, but I promise that the end will be epic!

andaere: Indeed. MWAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!!!!

Kichi: Thanks!