A/N Ok, so this chapter is teensy, weensy bit late, but that's because my beta and I needed to get our schedules coordinated. Yes! I now have a beta! IcyWaters has graciously agreed to take on the fearful task, and thanks to her hard work, the quality of your reading experience will definitely be improving.

Disclaimer I did not create Batman. I do have half a bag of M&Ms hidden in my underwear drawer.

Acknowledgment To the Klunk, who, despite my new and improved set of wheels, will always hold a special place in my heart.

Chapter 26

Despair is only for those who see the end beyond all doubt.

The Lord of the Rings

Simon picked her up at six o'clock, still driving the same rusting Buick he had owned five years ago, when she first met him.

"I can't believe this thing hasn't completely disintegrated," she commented as they pulled down the Manor driveway.

"She's a faithful old girl. Bit useful, actually, the way she sheds a trail of pieces everywhere we go. I can always find my way home, like Hansel and Gretel in the forest." In contrast to his nervous demeanor of last week, Simon was alert, talkative, and cheerful. He positively chattered as he brought her up-to-date on the latest events at H&H, touching only lightly on his own contributions, but warmly praising his coworkers' efforts. And nowhere in the stream of babble did the name of Henry Judas surface. Considering the subject matter, Cecilia found that distinctly odd.

"What does the old man think about the changes?" she asked deliberately, after he explained how more and more of the running of the home was turned over to an elected committee of community members.

For a moment, his lighthearted expression shifted, like a mask whose string suddenly pulled loose, but then he shrugged, denying any importance in her words. "He speaks very approvingly of the interest local people are taking in the kids. But I suppose that underneath it must be a little hard to let it go. He's never been good at delegating."

"No," she agreed.

Simon's phone rang, and he flipped it open with one hand, glancing at the number. "Speaking of…" he murmured, before answering. "Hey, Boss…I'm out with Cecilia Somerville…uh huh…I see…Right away?...No, I'm sure she won't mind." He hung up and turned to Cecilia. "There's a bit of a situation over at the Home. Judas was wondering whether we would mind stopping by to take care of it."

They pulled up in front of the office annex on the Home compound. Another car was already sitting in front of the building, waiting for them. The car's driver climbed out as they approached.

"Mr. Jay?" Simon asked, extending his hand.

"Yes." The man reached out and shook the offered hand. "And you are Simon Golding. Mr. Judas said you would come."

Simon gestured toward the building. "Why don't we go in where it's warm?"

Inside, they all shrugged out of their coats and sat in padded chairs in the receptionist's area. Simon leaned forward, elbows balanced on his knees. "So, Mr. Jay, what can I do for you?"

"It's about Paul, one of the boys who comes to the sports programs here. I'm an English teacher, and he's in my class at school. I have all the students keep a journal, and, well, this was the latest entry in Paul's." He handed Simon a folded piece of notebook paper.

The accountant smoothed it out and scanned the penciled scrawl. "I don't quite understand. Who is Leroy?"

"Leroy is a character in a short story we read in class. In the story, he uses marijuana to help alleviate the pressures caused by his unemployment and crumbling marriage."

"So when he says here that Leroy has the right idea…"

"That's what I'm afraid of." Jay threw up his hand as if to ward off an expected protest. "I know, I know, all the kids do it, and it's just pot. But I happen to know that Paul's mother has done an excellent job up to this point of keeping him out of the street gangs and drug free. And we all know weed is just a stepping stone to other things, not that it doesn't do plenty of damage on its own. I was hoping there was someone here on staff who knew him well enough to maybe talk to him. He speaks highly of his experiences here."

Simon nodded. "Definitely."

"Let me give you my number then, I'd like to know how this comes out." Jay pulled a pen out of his pocket with his right hand and scribbled on the back of a card, which he handed to Simon. They all stood. "I'm sorry," the teacher said suddenly, turning to Cecilia. "I guess we never got introduced."

"My fault!" Simon interrupted. "This my coworker, Cecilia Somerville."

"Nice to meet you." Jay extended his left hand.

She shook it. An observant man. "Likewise. Thank you for your concern, Mr. Jay." The slender hand that held hers in a firm grip was as pale as his face – the fate of Gotham's Caucasian population during the winter.

"You never know about teachers," Simon remarked as they drove away. "Sometimes they're like that guy – genuinely concerned about the kids they're lecturing. And sometimes they seem to deliberately search for self-destruct buttons so that they can push them as hard as they can."

"Maybe the chalk dust goes to the brain."

Her dry comment unexpectedly gave Simon the giggles, and he was still chuckling when the hostess escorted them to their table in the restaurant. He refused to settle down during dinner, pulling out string after string of corny jokes and pointless stories, all of which he found highly amusing. Cecilia watched him with a faintly puzzled look. Finally, he plopped his chin into his hands and grinned at her. "So, what's it like?"

"What's what like?" she responded, using her fork to stab the last pieces of her salad.

"Living in Wayne Manor. With a Wayne."

"The food is good." She put down her fork and pushed away her plate.

"That's it? Come on Cecy, even you have to be impressed on some level."

"Mansions are drafty, inconvenient places."

"So how about Wayne? Has he bowled you over with his famous charm?"

A faint sneer curved her lips. "Surely you jest."

"He was voted Gotham Gossip's sexiest man of the year. And he hasn't even been back in town a year."

"Ever notice how that 'sexiest' title never goes to anyone with less than fifty million in their bank account?"

"So cynical." He shook his head disapprovingly. "I can't believe all the adulation of the tabloids springs just from his money. He must have some worthy qualities."

"Simon, you know you can't believe everything Rachel Dawes says."

The goofy smile that hadn't left his face all evening abruptly disappeared.

Cecilia sighed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

Simon shrugged. "Doesn't matter, it was a long time ago." He stared moodily at his water glass, running a finger around the rim. "Not like she ever knew I was on the planet, anyway."

A stiff silence grew between them, and it was with obvious relief that Simon took the bill from the waitress. "Let's go," he said, abruptly pushing back his chair.

"But you haven't touched your dinner," she protested.

"I wasn't hungry. To tell you the truth, I had tea with Henry less than two hours ago."

When they were both sitting in his car he asked, "You want to come over for a while?"

"If you don't mind," she said pointedly.

He glanced over at her, and even in the dim light she could see that the nervous tension he had worn last week had returned. He started the car up without speaking, and they drove in silence to a street of shabby apartment buildings.

"You still haven't moved?" she demanded in disbelief.

He shrugged. "Crime rate's actually gotten a lot better."

She shook her head, but a small smile escaped. "It's nice to know some things never change. I suppose you have a cupboard full of peanut butter and jelly, too?"

"No, my mom told me to start eating right or she was going to move in with me."

Cecilia laughed, but there was no answering smile on Simon's face as he pulled an armload of grocery bags from the back seat. Despite his boast about the crime rate, he glanced around nervously as they walked up to the door. "Punch in the code for me, would you? 5598."

"This, at least, is an improvement," she remarked as she punched in the numbers and the door clicked open.

Inside, they climbed up three flights of dimly lit, slick concrete stairs. In front of his door, he jerked his chin at the upper right hand corner. "The key's up there in a crack."

"Simon!"

"Only people who know the code can get into the building," he said defensively. "And sometimes kids just need a place to come for a while."

"If you're murdered in your bed, you have no one to blame but yourself," she muttered as she unlocked the door. The apartment was a mess – newspapers, take-out boxes, and stacks of files littered every available surface. "Maybe your mother should move in," she suggested as she watched Simon pick his way through the mess to the kitchen. Rolling her eyes, she picked her way over to a window that provided a direct view into the neighboring building. She pulled the curtains, raising a cloud of dust that caused her to choke. "Simon," she gasped, wheezing.

He stuck his head out of the kitchen, a guilty expression on his face. "Er, sorry. You want some water?" She nodded, and a moment later, he emerged with a bottle of water. "You can't trust the pipes in this place. The water comes out rusty."

"Lovely," she muttered, twisting the cap off.

"You want to go for a walk?" he asked abruptly.

She swallowed her mouthful of water and stared at him. "No, I don't want to go for a walk. It's freezing out there. Not that it's much better in here. Do you get heat?"

"If the landlord's in a good mood." He turned away and perched on the back of the sofa. "Maybe you should go home."

Cecilia screwed the cap back on her bottle and set it on the windowsill. "Simon, what is going on?"

"Nothing," he muttered, kicking his heel against the sofa.

"You're so nervous you would probably swoon if I said 'Boo.'"

"I…it's just…Cecy, do you ever feel like…like you got on the wrong train, and now it's racing forward, and you can't see where you're going because everything you thought you knew has been lost in the darkness…" He shuddered and closed his eyes.

"The future is always dark, Simon," she said slowly. "No one can see the end."

"No light at the end of the tunnel?" he asked, trying to joke and failing.

"No."

"I used to think I could see, that the world was full of light. But maybe it's only now that I really see. There isn't any real light, is there Cecy?" A strong current of despair underlined his words, and he was visibly trembling.

"Of course there is," she said gently. "You carry it with you. That's what I always thought you were doing with your stupid sandwiches and this crummy apartment."

"Thanks," he muttered.

"Are you going to tell me what this is about?"

"No," he said with sudden decision. "But thank you."

She didn't have the heart to bully him in his current condition. "Go to bed, Simon. You look terrible."

"I…I think I will. I feel terrible."

"I'll just call a cab. I have the number in here." She unzipped her purse and rummaged for the slip of paper

"Let me call it for you. Sometimes they're a little reluctant to come to this part of town, but they know me."

"All right," she agreed, setting her purse on the table next to the phone and ducking down the hall to the bathroom. As she was washing her hands, she examined the shelves of the medicine cabinet, which stood wide open. Its only contents were a ratty toothbrush, an almost empty tube of toothpaste with the lid off, and a balled up tissue. Shaking her head, she threw away the tissue, put the cap on the toothpaste, and shut the mirrored door before going back to the living room.

Simon was on his knees, hastily shoving things back into her purse. "I'm so sorry, Cecy, I knocked it over." He carefully zipped the bag shut and handed it to her.

"No problem," she said soothingly, as the doorbell buzzed. "Is that the taxi already?"

"Probably. They said they had one in the area."

He wanted to walk her downstairs, but she ordered him to bed and let herself out, locking the door behind her and returning the key to its crack.

The taxi ride back to the manor was long, dark, and cold. When she arrived, Pennyworth was waiting for her at the door. "You've had a rather urgent telephone message, madam. A Mrs. Teresa Wakefield. She said you would know the number."

Cecilia grimaced. "Yes. Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth." She hurried upstairs. I suppose I should call her. If she managed to get the house number, who knows what she'll do next. Shut in her room, she opened her purse to pull out her cell phone. It wasn't there. She dumped everything out, just to be sure, but the phone was definitely missing. "Maldición," she muttered furiously. It must have fallen out when Simon dropped my bag. Resignedly, she hurried back downstairs and asked for her car to be brought around.

Forty minutes later, she was again at the front of Simon's apartment building. Parking the car on the curb and hoping it would still be there by the time she returned, she ran up to the front door and buzzed Simon's bell. When three minutes of standing in the cold produced no answer, she gave up and punched in the door code herself. Up on the third floor, hard knocking produced an equal lack of response. I hope he's asleep, she thought. If he's gone out again, I'll call his mother myself. The key was right where she left it.

Stepping into the darkness, the first thing that hit her was the smell. Overwhelmingly putrid, it was laced with a scent that was dark and metallic and all too familiar. And she knew, even before she fumbled for the light and saw his body sprawled on the floor, that Simon was dead.

To Be Continued…

A/N Life is good. I have a new car (new to me, at least), a summer job, a life…What? Dog sitting doesn't count as a life? Ah well, two out of three isn't bad.

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