Chapter Four
The First Kiss
Amelia awoke to find that she had her clothes pressed and waiting for her. She also found that Bruce had organised a driver to take her into work.
"What time shall we be expecting you home Miss West?" Alfred asked as she buttoned up her velvet green coat in the hall way.
"Oh, Alfred," she sighed, "I can't trespass on you both again! I'm a big girl and I'll be fine,"
Alfred frowned. "I think Master Wayne would disagree with you,"
"Yes, he would," she agreed, "I don't know what to do,"
"Well Master Wayne has made me swear not to let you leave without a promise you'll return home here tonight," he said sternly, "So I don't see you have much choice in the matter,"
"Fine!" she said laughing and giving Alfred a hug, "I finish at five,"
"I'll have those waffles ready, Miss" he said jovially and she flung a smile at him over her shoulder.
As a child she'd always loved staying with the Wayne family and even after Bruce had become an orphan, Alfred still managed to make the place feel like home, she always felt so safe there.
Amelia had the book firmly tucked into her bag. She had read and reread the story all morning, hoping she would get some glimmer of a memory.
The driver puller the Mercedes up to the giant skyscraper that was the Gotham News Tower, the head quarters of every newspaper and magazine in the city.
She ignored the usual stares she received when she climbed the steps hastily, pulling her coat tight around her.
Being gaped at was something she'd grown up with. Passers by used to stare at her beautiful mother when she was growing up, then after the kidnapping they looked for another reason. It wasn't long before Siren West stopped going out. Now it was her daughter they stared at.
Jumping into the lift she squeezed in besides Carla Olson, a photographer she knew vaguely. She was part of a paparazzi team and usually sold unflattering, frank shots of unwitting celebrities to the highest bidder.
The short dark haired women smiled thinly at her and Amelia forced a smile back.
When the lift stopped and it emptied the woman looked at her.
"So was that one of Bruce Wayne's cars I saw you arrive in just now?" she said boldly, as though they had known each other for years. The lift doors closed and continued upwards.
Amelia raised an eyebrow but she saw no reason to lie. Over the years she had been caught out so many times before with journalists.
"Yes," she replied simply, "I hear your…cousin; he's doing really well in Metropololiis isn't he? He's got a good job at the Planet?"
"Yes, he's the little star of the family," she ignored the attempt at a jibe, "So you're childhood sweethearts aren't you?"
Amelia laughed sadly, "No, you've got the wrong girl there. Bruce is one of my best friends,"
"That you regularly spend the night with?"
Amelia could feel her face growing hot. "You know it's really none of your business. But if you want to put it in your column go ahead, you have my permission. Just be prepared when Bruce slaps a law suit on you, he doesn't take kindly to slander,"
Carla Olson seemed to back off a little bit. She tucked her dark hair back behind her ears as the lift glided smoothly to her stop, the thirty fifth floor.
"The little princess has a nasty bite," she sniped, "Its too bad you cant put that fire into your writing, you might actually make a career out of it,"
Carla sauntered out of the lift and Amelia fought not to grab her by her hair. She bit her lip and tried not to think of the insult, knowing that the sentiment was true.
Finally, the lift reached the top of the building, the offices of the Gotham Tribune, the biggest and most widely read paper in the City.
Clutching her bag with the book still inside she walked swiftly to her office, closing the door behind her.
She looked at her in tray and groaned. There was a message about a meeting at ten.
Her day at work was about to start, but she had bigger things on her mind.
She took out the book and looked at its colourful front cover.
Had this belonged to her? She had a feeling that at one point it had.
She knew one thing. She was the ballerina. She had to be, it was too obvious.
But who was the tin soldier?
By lunch time she was exhausted and tired. She had spent the morning trawling the internet about the book's history, its author but came up with nothing.
She jumped when her office door opened and the sandwich guy, Tony popped his head around the door.
"I got your order Miss West," he smiled and she looked up puzzled, her tummy grumbling from hunger.
"I don't remember ordering but I'll have it anyway," she grinned and she took the package wrapped in greaseproof paper from him.
He waved goodbye as her phone beeped, the call from her boss, JJ Brooks, her formidable boss and her Father's good friend.
Amelia groaned inwardly, picking up the receiver.
"My office West, two minutes, I have an assignment for you,"
Normally a personal assignment from JJ was considered an honour but today it was an annoyance.
"Morning Princess," he said as she tapped on his office door, ten minutes later.
He stood up to greet her. He was a big, grey haired man and at times could be quite intimidating. But Amelia had known JJ all her life and had last seen him at her mother's funeral.
"How you holding up kid?" he hugged her tightly and she smiled.
"I'm fine…you know, just trying to get on with things," she replied, her set answer every time someone asked her how she was.
"It was awful what happened, she must have been in so much turmoil,"
Amelia nodded and folded her arms around her back, not wanting to get into this conversation right now. That was what therapy was for.
"Anyhow I have a job for you," he continued sensing her discomfort.
"Right, great!" she forced a smile, "What is it?"
"There is a doctor that has been working on a new kind of drug at Arkham," he began, "Its being hailed as a new type of wonder drug…its supposed to alter brain patterns to suppress rage,"
Amelia raised her eyebrows. "So he's starting to use it on Arkham patients?"
"If it works then it means that some of the most dangerous criminals locked up in there can be rehabilitated, that they can lead normal lives,"
Crossing her arms, Amelia perched on JJ's desk.
"Isn't that a bit like drugging a shark so that it won't bite you? I mean, some of them have done terrible things…you can't suppress those kind of tendencies,"
JJ wagged a finger at her knowingly.
"That's why I want you to go down there and talk to him, ask the questions Gotham will be asking," he folded his arms across his large chest, "This is a big assignment for you, Millie. There are other more experienced reporters that I could have given it to and believe me they wont be happy when they catch on,"
Amelia nodded. "So what you're saying is don't screw up?"
"No," he looked annoyed suddenly, "I'm saying you're good, believe it or not. And you've been standing still too long, even before your mother died,"
"So grab the ball and run with it?" she smiled, feeling very weak and tired, not needing the lecture right now.
She left his office in a daze. What the hell was the matter with her? The editor and chief of the biggest newspapers in the world just gave her a huge assignment, one that other reporters would be clawing at each other to get their hands on.
But she had other things on her mind.
Returning to her office, her tummy growled, remembering her sandwich.
Unwrapping it she turned her computer back on, the smell of bacon wafting up to greet her.
JJ had gotten her security clearance that afternoon for Arkham; he wanted her to be the first to interview the doctor, before other reporters from rival papers got on the scent.
Taking a bite of the sandwich she frowned as something slid from the greaseproof paper to the floor. She narrowed her eyes and looked down, her spare hand reaching for what looked like a playing card.
How had a playing card gotten into her sandwich wrapper?
Discarding her lunch, she turned the card over in her fingers, her stomach doing a leap. It was a Joker, staring up at her, with a wicked, mischievous grin on his face. Written in tiny scrawled handwriting next to him was a question.
'Do you remember your first kiss?'
Gasping, Amelia threw the card away from her, as if it burnt her fingers. Her heart pounding in her chest she fought down a wave of panic. She was also fighting the sudden urge to call Bruce.
She covered her eyes with her hands, willing her heart to slow to a steady pace.
The Joker was locked up in a padded cell in Arkham. He couldn't get to her from there. But she remembered with dread that he had been in police custody the night Rachel and Harvey died, but he was responsible for those murders.
She was supposed to be going to Arkham today! She was going straight to him.
Maybe this was all a ploy and the Joker had nothing to do with it at all? It could just be a copy cat?
She couldn't call Bruce, but there was one woman she could call.
Twenty minutes later, Amelia was sat in her therapist's office. Jenny Maddle had been seeing Amelia for two years. They had formed a close relationship, very close for doctor and patient, but Amelia trusted her implicitly.
The older woman was tall and thin, bordering on skeletal, with tiny arms and bony hands. Her red, often untidy hair was always pulled back tightly and small glasses sat pertly on her little nose.
Right now her blue eyes were studying the playing card, which Amelia had placed in a plastic wrapper in case she needed to hand it to the police.
"Do you think it's from him?" Amelia asked shivering, still wearing her velvet coat and scarf. She had rushed over the minute Jenny said she was free.
Jenny looked up at the lovely, fragile girl in the chair.
"I don't know Amelia," she replied, "I think you should give this to the police. First the book and now this…you may have a stalker,"
"But I'm not convinced it is stalking!" Amelia insisted, "It's like someone wants me to remember….I don't know…"
Jenny placed the card back on the coffee table, a little afraid to hold it for too long herself. She remembered only too well the hold the Joker had on the city; it was only six months ago.
"Well let's talk this through, then," she began, "The brave tin solider and the ballerina. What does that book mean to you?"
"I don't remember!" Amelia moaned in frustration.
"No, I mean the symbology. The ballerina for example is essentially beautiful and graceful. It's a symbol of, purity something untouchable…unattainable…could this be you? I mean you trained as a dancer when you were a child, it's a big coincidence,"
Amelia frowned. "I thought that it may be me but I hadn't looked at it like that!"
"So the Tin solider, imperfect, unfinished, will overcome all obstacles to get back to her…could this be someone in your life now? Someone you already know perhaps?"
Amelia shook her head, pain forming at her temples. She rubbed her eyes.
"The only man that I know like that is Bruce but he's defiantly not imperfect!"
"Have you and Bruce ever been romantically involved? Was he your first kiss?"
Amelia laughed. "No, and no again!"
"Why is that funny?"
"Cause its Bruce. And he's like my older brother; we've never even looked at each other that way,"
"Ok well forget that if you're sure…so that only leaves me to ask…do you remember your first kiss?"
Amelia hugged her arms around her for comfort. She remembered being sixteen and kissing Adam Taylor after Drama club. She remembered falling off her bike when she was on holiday with her father in Switzerland and the boy who picked her up…but she was fifth teen then.
But those weren't her first. She was certain.
"The question, lets say it's a stalker, not the Joker, asks you is 'Do'. It's like he's implying that you may not remember. Like he knows you don't remember,"
Amelia nodded. "So he knows about what happened to me and my mother that night?"
Jenny agreed. "He wants you to remember,"
"But the Joker has nothing to do with that night! He wasn't there, I mean I have seen pictures of Harold Napier and he was a forty year old man back then, which means if he were still alive he'd be nearing his sixties now. The Joker isn't that old,"
"What do you know about the Joker?"
Amelia shrugged. "Only what everyone else knows. Murderer, psycho, no name, no past…"
"That's interesting, no past. Everyone has a past, even The Joker. He wasn't born that way; he started off just the same as you. The fact that he has no known identity, no history, means he could have come from anywhere. And he could have everything to do with you,"
"Don't say that," Amelia rubbed her arms, "I have to go, I'm sorry to cut our time short,"
Jenny studied her with worried eyes. "Promise me you'll stay put at Wayne Manor,"
Amelia hugged her tightly. "I promise,"
Jenny watched her leave and hung her head sadly, the weight of her betrayl washing over her. She had prayed that Amelia wouldn't come to her again.
Jenny picked up her office phone and dialled the number she had come to know very well.
Her stomach churned at the very thought of what she was doing.
When the voice answered at the other end she fought back tears.
"She's coming," she whispered, "Now tell him to please leave me alone,"