A/N Update time! Hooray!

Disclaimer I don't own Batman. I can't remember whether I've thanked the Hardy Boys yet, but if I haven't, my elementary school notion of the criminal element was due almost entirely to them. Not to mention that Frank was the love of my life.

Chapter 5

Whenever I feel afraid,
I hold my head erect
and whistle a happy tune,
so no one will suspect
I'm afraid!

-The King and I

If there was one aspect of Gotham that Cecilia Somerville hated more than anything else, it was the cold. It depressed her, it made her irritable, and it made it impossible for her to be warm without wearing at least three layers. So even as she hurled her body toward the racing Richard, she mentally braced for the feel of icy slush seeping through her khaki pants and thermal underwear. The slush seeped. And it continued to seep as the bank robber/mime grabbed her arm and jerked her upward.

Cecilia whimpered, twisting her face in pain while taking in the two other mimes with automatics, the approaching clown, the bleeding body of the finally quiet four-year-old. Richard remained flat on the ground, wheezing, but he was struggling to lift his head, and Cecilia glimpsed his eyes still full of uncontrollable fury. Don't say anything. Please, don't say anything.

"Hey, lady, can you give us a ride?" the goon with the vise grip on her arm demanded.

She pointed an appropriately shaky hand at the sports car she'd parked safely away from all other vehicles, not wanting to risk a scratch on Bruce Wayne's perfect paint job. Forget the paint job…he'll be lucky to have a car.

"Hey, Boss! We got a ride!" her captor called, and the clown walked toward them.

"How marvelous," he purred, his colorless eyes flicking over Cecilia to rest on the small boy by her feet.

Richard gave a tortured moan and dropped back to the ground, his breath audibly tight and fast. He's going into shock. The goon released her arm and wrenched her purse off her shoulder. Cecilia latched onto Richard's rigid form. Just take the keys and go.

"Her" mime snatched the keys from the jumble of pens and tissues. "Let's go." He hit the unlock and remote start buttons, and Cecilia heard the engine purr to life.

"Wait," the clown cautioned. "Don't forget the insurance."

Cecilia refused to relinquish her grip on Richard as she was dragged to her feet. The thought of begging them to let the boy go crossed her mind, but they'd just as soon dump me and take him.

And then somebody was screaming again. "Timmy!" The harried mother from the waiting room was hurling herself toward the body of her son, straight into the path of the escaping robbers. Cecilia closed her eyes as the bullets exploded.

- - - - - -

Alfred was carrying an extremely rare mimosa orchideum through the lobby of the Imperial Hotel when he caught sight of the television in the corner.

…the criminal popularly known as the Joker has returned to Gotham City, the blond anchor woman announced. This morning, along with three armed accomplices, the Joker robbed a branch of the Gotham Trust Bank on 86th and North, next to a popular center for pediatrics. The screen switched to a close up of a bank with its windows smashed. Leaving six dead and nearly a dozen wounded, the Joker escaped with two hundred thousand dollars in cash and two hostages – a woman and a small boy. He was last seen in a blue Jaguar XKR. If you have any information regarding…

Alfred didn't wait for the tip line number. Shoving the potted orchid into the hands of a convenient bellboy, he strode to the registration desk and snatched up the phone, ignoring the clerk's protests. "Hello? Yes. Have Miss Somerville and Master Dick returned from town?"

- - - - - -

The room was pure concrete and bitterly cold. Cecilia shoved her gloved hands into her pockets and stomped her feet which were growing numb, despite two layers of socks and insulated boots. Halfway across the room, Richard crouched against the wall, arms around his knees, scowling at the floor.

The clown and his minions had shoved them into the Jag and taken off, wheels screaming like a kid on her first roller coaster. However, Cecilia figured it had been barely five blocks before the car swerved into an alley, and straight up a ramp into a semi. After a drive in a total darkness that her watch declared lasted only twenty minutes, the truck had stopped. The back opened and the Jag rolled backward into a machine shop. Without futher ado, Cecilia and the half-conscious Richard had been shoved into their current prison. Once they were alone, Richard had recovered almost immediately, but he remained silent and sullen, huddled against the wall.

Cecilia looked at the bright red sweatshirt he wore, and sighed inwardly. Although she had merely unbuttoned her coat in the waiting room, Richard had removed his. Shrugging out of her thick black coat, she dropped it over his knees. "Put it on."

He drew his knees more tightly to his chest. "No thank you."

Cecilia dropped to a crouch in front of him and grasped his chin so that he was forced to meet her eyes. "Richard, you will do exactly as I tell you or you will probably die. Do you understand?" She dropped her hand but continued to hold his gaze until he nodded and reached for the coat. When he had been swallowed in the oversized garment, she held out a commanding hand. "Walk with me. We need to keep warm."

Richard obediently allowed her to pull him to his feet and they began to trudge around the windowless room – sixteen steps down, seven across, sixteen back.

"When they come back…" she paused, but Richard apparently felt no need to ask who "they" were. "…act afraid." She allowed the boy to throw her a look of absolute contempt before continuing, "If your enemies think you are too afraid to think, they might give you a chance to escape. Maybe we'll get lucky."

"We don't need to escape."

Cecilia blinked. "You like it here?"

"Don't be stupid," he jeered. "Someone will rescue us."

"Possibly," she agreed coolly. "I'm certain the police will do their best."

"Not the police. Just someone."

"No doubt Mr. Wayne will also be expending his considerable resources."

Richard tucked his hands beneath his arms. "Can I sit down?"

"For a few minutes," she relented.

The boy returned to his place by the wall. "Someone will rescue us," he muttered and buried his face against his knees. "I think."

- - - - - -

The receptionist with a bun that looked like a blond bird's nest stuck her head in the door. "Lieutenant, there's a call for you on line one."

Gordon hit a button on the remote, and the Joker's leering face froze on the screen. "Lucille, I told you I'm not available."

"Yes, sir. But I think you'll want to take this one."

Muttering under his breath, Gordon snatched up the receiver, expecting to hear the angry tones of the commissioner, or the frantic ones of the mayor. But instead, an urbane voice inquired, "Lieutenant Gordon? This is Bruce Wayne."

"Mr. Wayne? What can I do for you?"

"Do you know the identities of the hostages taken in the bank robbery this morning?"

Gordon rolled his eyes. Just because the man was a heavy donator to police charity funds, he didn't have the right to know everything. "Mr. Wayne, I'm afraid that's privileged information. Now, if you'll excuse me, we are investigating a robbery and…"

"Lieutenant, I believe I know the identities of the hostages."

Gordon froze, opened his mouth, shut it, stared at the receiver in his hand. "Mr. Wayne?" he asked cautiously.

"Yes?"

"Where are you?"

"In my car, about five minutes from the police station."

"Could you pick me up? I think we better talk in person."

Gordon hung up the phone. He was pretty sure his line was safe, but in Gotham, you never knew.

- - - - - -

A key scraped in the lock, and one of the clown's goons – dressed in street clothes and minus his white paint – entered. "Out," he demanded, gesturing with his gun.

Cecilia grabbed Richard's shoulder and held him close as they scuttled past the watchful eyes into the main part of the warehouse. The truck was still there. So were their kidnapers. The Joker was the only one still in costume, but guns shot by ordinary men kill just as well as ones held by circus freaks.

The head freak began speaking. "I hope you have enjoyed your stay with us. I realize the accommodations were a trifle…crude…but I find that rarely matters when there is a true spirit of hospitality. Would you agree with me?"

As they had left the room, Richard's shoulder beneath her hand had been tense, as if poised for action. But the moment the clown started speaking, he seemed to shrivel, almost collapsing against her side, and Cecilia felt his slight form trembling. Coulrophobia. She could have kicked herself for not figuring it out before. She slipped her arm all the way around the boy's shoulders, keeping him upright. The clown continued, "But even the best of house parties must come to an end, and I am very much afraid that the time has come for you to leave us."

Cecilia's grip on Richard tightened as she mentally calculated the leap to the nearest gun. They let us see their faces. "Please, don't hurt us!" They're not going to let us go.

"Of course not, my dear," the clown said soothingly. "I just need you to do some favors for me, and then you can drive home to your dinner. Can you do that?"

She nodded. I hate books where they don't let you choose your own adventure.

"Listen carefully. You will get into your car, and Mikey here," he laid a companionable hand on the shoulder of the nearest goon, "will drive the truck to a special place. He will push your car out of the truck and drive away. You will wait in the car for fifteen minutes. At the end of those minutes you will take a light and flash it out the driver's window three times. Am I making myself clear?" She nodded, a little frantically. "Good. After that, you will wait another fifteen minutes and then repeat the three flashes. Wait five more minutes, and then you may start the car and…oop!" His black gloved hands gestured like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat. "You drive away, safe and…warm. Understood?"

"Yes," she whispered.

His red mouth grimaced. "Such a dear little boy." He reached out to playfully ruffle Richard's hair.

And Richard was sick. All over the clown's shiny red shoes.

- - - - - -

To the right, there were nothing but acres of scrawny stumps. On the other hand, the left was enlivened by acres of scrawny stumps and a large shack. It was hard to be certain in the fading winter sunlight, but Cecilia thought they were in the middle of a Christmas tree farm – denuded in honor of the upcoming holidays. In the distance, she could still hear the diesel roar of the semi as it sped away.

"Hey." It was Richard's first voluntary word of the day, and Cecilia turned in surprise. "What happened to that kid…in the parking lot?" he asked, staring out the windshield.

"He was shot," Cecilia answered, studying at his darkening profile.

"Did he die?"

"I don't know."

Fifteen minutes later, almost no light was left in the sky. Cecilia picked up the cheap plastic flashlight and pressed its head against the window. She rapidly flipped the switch, sending three short bursts of light toward the shack. There was no visible response. Time to move.

She pushed the button on the dashboard to ensure that the interior lights wouldn't go on when the door opened. "Richard," she addressed her passenger. His nearly invisible face turned toward her. "You need to get out of this car. I want you to open your door slowly and push it just as much as you need to get out. Do not let the door shut behind you. Crawl as fast as you can without making noise straight ahead, into the stumps. Keep going until you can just barely see the car. And no matter what happens, stay hidden and quiet. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"I'll try to find you, but if I can't, I want you to follow the road until you come out of the trees. Walk toward the lights," she pointed to where the filthy glow of Gotham lit the northern sky, "until you come to a house or a gas station. A gas station would be better. Do not let anyone pick you up on the road. Go inside the station and ask if you can use the phone. Say that you were hunting for a Christmas tree with your aunt and that you got lost. Ask if you can use the phone to call home. Do you know the number for Mr. Wayne's house?"

"Yes," he said firmly, and recited it.

"Good. Do not tell anyone the truth. Don't even say it over the phone. Just ask someone to come and pick you up. And don't call the police."

Cecilia made him repeat the directions, and when he got them right, she reached over and carefully opened his door. Richard immediately slipped out into the snow, her long coat trailing behind him. Cecilia was relieved to see how quickly he disappeared into the darkness.

Fifteen minutes later, she repeated the routine with the flashlight. After waiting a moment to be certain that there was no response from the shack, she pulled the keys from the ignition and crawled out the passenger door.

She kept to what she guessed was Richard's track, but the darkness made it hard to be sure. When she was about as far from the Jag as she guessed she had been in parking lot that morning, she stopped and pulled the keys from her pants pocket. Her index finger caressed the remote start button. If I've guessed wrong, I'm going to feel really, really stupid.

The luminous dial on her watch said five minutes had passed since her flashlight signal. She took a quiet breath and pressed the button.

A/N Huge THANK YOU! to all reviewers who stuck with me through the long delay, and welcome to all new readers! Every single one of your notes was deeply appreciated. Hope you all enjoyed the chapter!

Hopefully, there is now a link in my profile to my responses to reviews. If it is not there, you can find responses by going to

w w w . m y o w n j o u r n a l . c o m and searching for philippa.

(Responses to chapters 4 & 5 are there! I'm caught up!)