A/N Hello all you beautiful reviewers! THANK YOU to everyone who said they would participate in the challenge. Remember to go ahead and sign up in the "Batman Begins Fanfic Faves" forum, where minimal rules have been posted. Target date for posting is officially November 22.

Thanks, as always, to my talented bat-beta, IcyWaters!

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Chapter 43

O weary night, O long and tedious night,
Abate thy hours, shine comforts from the east.

- A Midsummer Night's Dream

Earlier that evening…

Rachel sat in Judas's office, for once completely at a loss. She had thoroughly searched her section of the building, calling Dick's name and asking everyone she met whether they had seen a little boy, but her search had proved fruitless. And not only had she been unable to find Dick, but now Judas and Somerville seemed to have disappeared as well. Rachel again reviewed her options, which wasn't difficult, because there were only three of them. She could do nothing and hope that Judas somehow had everything under control. But Rachel Dawes was a woman of action and the idea of passively waiting, especially when Cecilia Somerville was involved, was grating. She could call the police, but the first thing the police would do would be to contact Wayne Manor, something Rachel wasn't sure she wanted to have happen. Or, of course, she could call the Manor herself.

She waited through an agonizing twenty minutes and caught herself biting her nails, a habit she hadn't indulged since pre law school, and at last she reluctantly picked up the phone and called. When it came right down to it, she had to admit that she still trusted Bruce more than she trusted the police.

But no one picked up on the Manor main line, and both Bruce and Alfred's cell phones directed her to voice mail. She shut off her phone in frustration, then immediately turned it back on and called the police station to ask for Lieutenant Gordon.

"I'm sorry, the Lieutenant is not available. Should I connect you to his voice mail?"

"No thanks," she muttered, and hung up. What is going on? She was retrying Alfred's cell when the phone on the desk began ringing. The answering machine picked it up just as her own call was switched to voice mail.

"You've reached the office of Henry..."

"…Pennyworth. Leave your name and number and I'll..."

"…Get back to you."

"Alfred, it's…" Rachel abruptly broke off her own message to listen to the voice emitting from the machine on the desk.

"It's me, I just saw the news. You must have gotten the kid. Congratulations on finally doing your job..."

"Hello, Rachel." She spun around and saw Judas standing in the doorway, a small black pistol in his hand. "You should have gone home while you had the chance. Put your phone down and keep your hands where I can see them." She slowly complied. "Now sit down. We'll have to wait until the building clears out."

Rachel sank into a chair and Judas sat across from her, the gun never wavering. She stared at him in disbelief, still not quite able to comprehend what was going on. "Where's Dick?" she asked quietly.

"Out of the way."

"Are you going to hurt him?"

"No. He's wanted for ransom purposes."

She relaxed slightly. "What kind of a ransom?"

"Something he inherited from his parents, I believe. I haven't been given all the details, and I don't ask questions."

Rachel scowled. "So does Somerville work for you, or do you work for Somerville?"

Judas smiled. "Neither. She was right about me, you know. From the very beginning, she was right."

She shook her head. "You're lying."

"Why would I? You're not going to have the chance to tell anyone about this conversation. No, Counselor Dawes, she was right, and you were, in every sense of the word, wrong."

- - - - - -

By the time Gordon reached the edge of the lot, the Joker was out of sight. The lieutenant shook his head in regret. He had emptied the clip of the gun as he ran, but he hadn't hit his target.Finding the Joker in the maze of the subdivision would be impossible. But back inside the factory, he might still be able to do some good.

He had barely gone a hundred feet back toward the building when a miniature figure ran up to him.In delighted disbelief, Gordon clapped his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Dick! Are you all right?"

The boy thrust a key into his hand. "B…Batman says for me to go with you. He…he said the car is parked beneath the overpass two blocks south of here."

"You saw him?" Gordon's eyes automatically scanned the parking lot, and he thought he saw a flicker of movement against the wall of the factory, although it was probably just the shadows playing tricks with his poor vision.

"Yeah. He wants us to leave," Richard said.

When the Bat gave orders, Gordon had learned it was better not to ask questions. "Ok, let's go." He grabbed Richard's hand and start walking, hoping he knew where south was.

He did. The Batmobile crouched in the shadow of the overpass, like some terrible predator awaiting its prey. At the moment, it looked like the most beautiful thing Gordon had ever seen. He unlocked the doors and made sure Richard was strapped in properly before he started the engine. I think I remember how to drive this thing.

A sniff from the seat beside him distracted his attention from the controls. Tears were streaming down Richard Grayson's cheeks, and his whole frame shuddered with valiantly suppressed sobs.

"Hey," Gordon said, gently rubbing the boy's back. "It's gonna be ok. We'll just go and get some help for the Batman, and then you can go home."

The kid nodded and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Gordon started the engine and slowly eased out onto the road. He found the freeway, and a few minutes later, they were exiting back into the school district he'd started from. Gordon parked a few blocks away from the actual school, before the security cordoning started.

"Listen, Dick," he said firmly, "you need to stay in the car." He figured it was the safest place to leave the boy. Everyone knew who the vehicle belonged to, and only lunatics messed with it. Even if someone did decide to try something, it would take an armored division to break in. "You don't open the doors unless it's me or the Batman, ok?"

- - - - - -

"Dick's all right," Bruce told Alfred. "He's with Gordon. You'll probably be getting a call before long."

"Will you be home soon?"

"I'm not sure. I have some things to finish."

Inside the factory, the red light had disappeared, leaving only the rare, flickering bulb for illumination. Batman returned to the main floor, where the man he had fought – the one who had seen his face - still lay unconscious. He bound him and dragged him behind a pile of rubble. What am I going to do with you?

Abandoning the problem for the moment, he returned downstairs and found the first guard he had encountered beginning to stir. He bound him as well, and then entered the office, where, miraculously, the lighting remained intact.

Somerville was kneeling with one hand plastered to the underside of the desk while the other patted around on the carpet. "There are still wires attached to the plate," she explained as he knelt beside her, "and I didn't want to pull anything else loose. I seem to have lost the screws."

He spotted one of the screws and handed to her, but as she took it, her hand shook convulsively and she dropped it. "Maybe you'd better do it."

She crawled out of the way, and he quickly secured the plate to the desk. As he stood, he picked up a bloodstained blade that lay on the carpet. "What's this?"

"Someone got to Gatsby."

He was examining the late master of Gotham's mutilated corpse when she asked, "I assume this is yours?"

He looked up to see her holding his abandoned cowl.

Somerville thrust it into his hands. "Do me a favor and put it on. You look like a freak."

He silently complied.

"Where's Richard?"

"With Gordon. I assume going for help."

"Do we need it? The place seems deserted."

"The police will want to look around. It's possible that Gatsby's organization will lead to other criminals."

"It may be awhile before they get here. Gordon said there was a hostage situation."

"What?" he asked sharply.

"At a school. The Joker and company."

"I'd better go," he muttered, striding toward the door.

"Hey!" she called sharply, and he turned to look at her. "How did he know who you were?"

"He knew me before," he said simply, and left.

- - - - - -

After the Batman left, Cecilia perched on the edge of the desk, frowning thoughtfully. Something was wrong with this room, aside from the corpse on the floor. She closed her eyes and let exhaustion wash over her. I know what it is... I can't think…Morales. She straightened, her eyes flying open. I forgot. I should have told the Bat to send the medics. She wanted him to stand trial, not bleed to death.

She hurried back out into the large room, using the light shining from the office to guide her. As she approached the place where she had left Morales, she stumbled in the dimness; a shot exploded and fire tore along her left arm. She dove to the floor as another shot sounded. This is getting ridiculous. She crawled behind the safety of a desk and gently flexed her arm. Everything seemed to be in working order, except for the blood that soaked her sleeve. If it were serious, it wouldn't hurt so much. She held her breath and listened. The room was too quiet to hold a man who'd had his leg blown off.

The flashlight from the rooftop was still stuck in her waistband. She flipped it on and carefully peered around the edge of the desk. Morales lay with the top half of his head blown off, his limp hand still holding the gun next to his temple. Maybe he couldn't handle the irony of a rat infested prison.

Cecilia sighed and rested against the desk. "Did it have to be my other arm?" she demanded of no one in particular.

- - - - - -

The Joker abandoned his stolen car and moved swiftly through the streets toward the school. Once he was inside, they could progress with their ransom demands and escape, using a few of the students as hostages.

Suddenly he stopped, squinted down the street into the shadows, and swore violently. The Batmobile sat snugly up against a curb, the streetlights glinting dully off its sides. He had counted on the Batman being too occupied with the mess at the factory to interfere in this business. But if the Bat was already inside…

Cautiously, the Joker crept up to the side of the vehicle, and peered in through the window. A small boy sat on the front seat, his knees hugged tightly against his chest. "Ah," the Joker said softly. "Richard Grayson."

As if the boy had heard the words he looked over at the window. A look of panic crossed his face, and he lurched backwards until he was pressed against the opposite door.

The Joker smiled. "I do seem to have quite an effect on you little boy. It must have been the memorable occasion of our first meeting." He suddenly leaned forward and pressed his face against the glass.

Richard screamed, the sound coming distorted through the glass.

"Yes, I killed your father, but I never expected to run into you again. One of life's delightful little jokes."

The child was screaming uncontrollably now, his arms up as if to shield his head from a blow.

"Unfortunately, I have to go now, but I like this city. It's full of interesting people. So don't worry, I'll be back."

With a final, regretful glance in the direction of the school, the Joker headed back toward his purloined vehicle, abandoning his followers to their fate.

- - - - - -

There was a polished coat rack in one corner of the office, and on it hung a man's long winter coat and a black wool scarf. Cecilia wrapped the scarf tightly around her bleeding arm and knotted it clumsily and then pulled on the coat. She had suddenly discovered that she was very cold indeed.

Moving slowly, she righted the desk chair and sat down in it. She remembered the way Gatsby had sat so securely in this very spot, seeming almost immovable. There was, however, something missing from the scene. Where's his computer?

The top of the desk was thick – thick enough that you would expect a drawer to run along the front of it. She shone the flashlight along the wood until she found what she was looking for. The two grips fit into the design of the desk, although they were not meant to be invisible. Wedging the light between her legs, she pulled, wincing as the muscles in her left arm contracted. The top of the desk slid easily up and back. In space beneath, there was a keyboard, a flat screen monitor that could be pulled upright, and a round, thin chassis. The computer had been hidden, she thought, not because it was a secret, but because it didn't fit the old world luxury feel of the room. Artistic man, Gatsby, she mused as she carefully disconnected the monitor and keyboard.

Somewhere in the darkness beyond the office, something crashed. Cecilia grabbed the rifle and tiptoed around the desk toward the door. Across the graveyard, two figures stood silhouetted in the door to the tunnel, light streaming around them.

"Atuan?" a distinctively booming voice called uncertainly.

Judas. Cecilia pressed against the wall next to the door so that her own silhouette wouldn't give her away and waited patiently. She heard them moving quietly through the other room, drawn irresistibly by the light.

"Gatsby?" Judas called.

Rachel Dawes entered first, followed by a gun held against her back. Cecilia waited until Judas had come all the way through the door before pulling back the bolt on the rifle. That click was more effective than any words she might have said.

Judas froze, then turned his head and looked at her.

She smiled. "Hello, Henry."

He didn't smile back. "Drop the rifle, Cecilia, or I shoot her."

Her gaze never wavered, but the smile deepened. "Sorry, Henry, wrong leverage. If you murder a D.A., the prosecution might even be willing to go for the death penalty."

"I'm not joking. I will kill her."

Cecilia shrugged. "It's your trial. But if you think you'd rather not add a murder one charge, you can drop the gun and kick it over here."

He stared at her impassive face, then slowly lowered the gun. Rachel gave a soft gasp and covered her face with her hands.

"Drop it," Cecilia ordered again.

He obeyed, and reluctantly nudged it toward her with his foot.

"On your stomach, please, hands on your head." Cecilia walked over and gently kicked the gun away until it was just beyond Judas's feet, keeping her own weapon trained on his back. "Rachel, tie him up. Use his shoe laces."

Hands shaking slightly, Rachel obeyed, wrapping the thin cords tightly around Judas's wrists and then his ankles. Only after she had tied the last knot did Cecilia lower the rifle and walk to stand in front of Judas's head. "Ironic, isn't it Henry? You, me, and Rachel Dawes, just like old times." She laughed softly and looked up, to find Rachel standing and pointing Judas's pistol at her.The amused expression faded."Dawes, have you gone insane?"

"Put down the rifle," Rachel ordered.

Cecilia slowly complied, her face filled with disbelief. "Hey, counselor, we're on the same side now, remember?"

"I'm not sure of that," Rachel contradicted. "Keep your hands where I can see them."

"Did I or did I not just disarm the man who was holding you at gunpoint?" Cecilia stretched out her hands pleadingly.

"After you invited him to shoot me."

Cecilia shrugged. "I would've sent flowers." Then she threw up her hands in exasperation. "Think, Rachel! He wasn't going to add a murder rap to everything else. He's a coward."

"Ok," Rachel said slowly. "Maybe you knew he wouldn't kill me…because you had set this up beforehand."

"Rachel, I'm not working for him."

"You know, that's exactly what he said. I think you're both liars. You set this up to make me trust you."

"Why would I do that? You already offered to give me everything I needed."

"Where is Dick?"

"Exactly like old times, isn't it Cecilia?" Judas asked. He had apparently resigned himself to his position, and was looking up at the two women with a malicious gleam of interest.

She glanced down at him, and then back at Rachel. "This isn't about Dick." She stepped forward, her hands still stretched out in front of her. "This is about what happened five years ago."

Rachel shook her head. "I don't know what you mean."

Cecilia took another step forward, so that her outstretched hands were only inches away from the gun. "You think I don't know what you did after you found me that night in the office?"

Rachel's gun wavered. "Don't come any closer."

"The evidence you caught me with wasn't quite incriminating enough, was it? So you made sure that when the authorities investigated, they would find everything they needed to prove me guilty. And you were certain that I was guilty then, weren't you Rachel? And you have to be certain now, too, because if I'm not now, then maybe I wasn't then, either. That would make what you did…wrong."

Rachel shook her head. "You're crazy."

"Maybe. I can't prove any of it. But you know what?" She leaned forward slightly. "I bet Bruce Wayne would believe me." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And so would the Batman."

Rachel stared, stunned. Cecilia wrenched the gun from her loose grasp and hit her over the head with the grip. Rachel slumped to the floor, dazed, as Cecilia scowled down at her. "Crazy lady with a gun."

She stepped back over to the desk and carefully picked up the chassis. Despite its small size, it was heavy, and she carefully balanced it on her right hip like a basket of laundry, trying to keep any strain off her left arm. "I'm leaving," she announced to the two prostrate figures on the floor. "This place isn't exactly healthy. The police will be here soon, so until then, you two enjoy each other's company."

- - - - - -

Paul Cordelia, along with two hundred of his fellow students, sat beneath the glaring lights in the gym, while four men with silver wigs and big guns stood up front on the makeshift stage. One of them kept his gun trained on Keishe and two other girls they had pulled out of the crowd. Two more kept a general eye on the rest of the students, and the fourth kept disappearing through a side door. At the moment, he was not in the room.

Paul had ended up on the far side of the crowd at the end of the folded bleachers, and although it was difficult to see from where he sat, he was beginning to suspect that something had gone wrong. They had been in this position almost since they had first been taken hostage, and although the clowns had at first seemed cool and confident, they were now beginning to shift nervously, and hold low voiced conferences together on the stage. It seemed to Paul that they had been expecting something to happen – and nothing had.

The fourth gunman reappeared through the door and the clowns convened in another of their whispered conferences. Paul pushed himself back another few inches along the floor. He had been doing this for the past half hour, and now his back was practically against the gym wall. Although the bleachers had been folded up into a solid mass to expand the dance floor, there was a narrow margin between them and the wall, and twenty feet down from Paul was a door that led through an equipment room and out into the rest of the school. He cast a final glance up at the stage, but the clowns were looking at each other and not at the crowd. Paul dove behind the bleachers.

It was a bit of an effort to stand up in the cramped space, but once he was on his feet, he edged quickly down toward the door. The lock was broken, thanks to a recent spate of vandalism, and he quickly slipped past the door and through the equipment room into the school hallways.

Paul broke into a trot toward the doors of the school, but as he rounded the final corner, he abruptly froze. Another clown stood in front of the entrance, his gun casually cradled against his chest. Paul whipped back around the corner and pressed himself against the wall. When he was sure he hadn't been seen, he crept quietly back down the hall, hoping he would find one of the offices unlocked so that he could use the phone.

As he passed the slightly open door of a classroom, an iron grip closed around his arm and jerked him inside, while a hand clapped over his mouth to muffle his cry. Terrified, Paul stared up at the hideous black mask that loomed over him, with only a cold glitter where the eyes should have been. It took him a long moment to realize who…what…he was looking at. The Batman.

Realization must have shown on his face, because the Bat took his glove off of Paul's mouth and released his arm. "Where are the other students?"

He couldn't repress a shudder at the inhuman voice. "In…in the gym."

"How many clowns?"

"F…four. There's one who comes and goes a lot. And there's a door guard too."

"Are they spread out around the gym?"

"No. They're all on the stage in the front."

"Where is the stage?"

Paul's terror was rapidly fading into excitement. "Against a wall, underneath the scoreboard."

"What else is on that wall?"

He frowned, trying to remember. "There's a window into the control room for the scoreboard and the lights and stuff."

The Bat nodded. "Stay here." With a swirl of his cloak, he slipped out of the door.

Paul blinked in surprise, and then he followed. He just caught sight of a dark shadow swinging around the corner toward the front doors. He's running right into that guard! Paul broke into a sprint, but by the time he rounded the corner, the Bat was already returning, the billow of his cloak obscuring Paul's view of the doors.

"I told you to stay put," he snarled, grabbing Paul's shoulder and propelling back the way they had come.

Paul craned his neck and saw the crumpled body of the guard lying in front of the door. "Holy cow!"

"Take me to the control room."

Paul eagerly complied, leading the way through the corridors and up the stairs to the door. He pulled at the handle and turned in dismay. "It's locked!"

The Bat shoved Paul out of the way and kicked the wood, just above the lock. The door snapped open as if it were made of cardboard, not solid oak intended to keep teenaged vandals away from valuable equipment.

There were two windows set in the opposite wall that looked down over the gym, and the control panels full of switches ran in front of them. The Bat stood slightly back from the windows, looking down at the lighted gym, before turning his attention to the controls.

"These," he rasped, touching a set of six switches, "control the lights. When I tell you to, pull them all at once. Wait for twenty seconds, and turn them back on."

Paul nodded and carefully placed his palms along the switches so that he could flip them simultaneously. The Bat pulled a gun from his belt and stood by the window. "Now."

Just before Paul killed the lights, he saw Batman lunge forward, and the darkness was accompanied by the crack of breaking glass. Out in the gym, a girl screamed, and there was a rapid series of thumps. Paul suddenly remembered that he was supposed to be counting to twenty.

When he got to fifteen, he thought he felt a faint breeze across his face, but the air was motionless as he reached twenty and turned the lights back on. Below him, on the makeshift stage, there was a pile of black clad bodies. The Batman was nowhere to be seen.

Paul stared down, dazed, then exclaimed, "Hey!" He turned and ran out the open door, but the corridor was empty. "Thanks," he said quietly.

To Be Continued

A/N Two more chapters and Epilogue before I won't be writing the above phrase anymore!

Congratulations to Chigger and Nightarcher 210 for showing me where they found quotes from the movie. Chigger found the most (actually, she showed me quotes that I hadn't even realized were quotes – don't know if this says more about the state of my mind or writers and generic clichés in general), but Nightarcher was the only other person who made the effort, so she gets second place. Prizes will be awarded before the end of the story.

I have written your review responses, but the journal site isn't cooperating at the moment. Hopefully, it will be back up by the end of the day.