Okay, so this chapter has some pretty strong themes in it, so if those sorts of things bother you, just skip to the next bar line and get ready for the next chapter.
WARNINGS: Kidnapping, Non-Con, Stockholm Syndrome, and multiple forms of torture.
It's not pretty, but it had to be that way to make a woman like Kat totally forget her family. What I've written below is based off research I did on how to brainwash someone. It takes a long time, folks, that's all I'll say. She's been at the mercy of these people for almost two decades, so they've had a lot of time to warp her personality.
Whisper: Seventeen Years Ago
Queen Bee stared down at the coffin her men were uncovering, "We need to hurry. She won't wait on us forever."
"What about the cops? Or the owners of that big ol' house?" One asked.
"I can handle them all. She's what's important." Queen Bee snapped.
"Some dead girl?" Another queried.
Queen Bee smiled, whispering to herself, "She's not dead anymore." Before ordering, "Open the coffin."
The men did what she asked, and a loud gasp echoed through the dim cemetery. "What the hell?"
Queen Bee knelt at the edge of the hole, "Hello again, Kat. I hope your nap wasn't too hard. It's difficult to get reliable help these days. Especially help that's proficient with a shovel." She gestured to one man, "Get her out, and be careful. She's regrown quite a lot of flesh in the last few days."
Tear reddened blue eyes stared up at her. A hoarse voice asked, "What happened?"
Zazzala smiled, "Oh, Kat, you died. Don't worry though, we're going to make you all better." The girl was in a pitiful state. She'd been alert longer than Zazzala had feared. She'd had time to try to claw her way out of her own grave, and was covered in blood from torn nails that were only just knitting themselves back together.
"Lian." Katherine whispered, the sudden rush of oxygen dazing her. Hyperventilating, he lashed out at one of the men, but missed terribly.
Zazzala tutted, "You don't need to worry about her anymore. Soon, you won't even remember her." The men lifted her out of the coffin, and the dress she'd been buried in edged up her thigh, exposing a strip of scar tissue where her almost severed leg hadn't quite healed up right because her body had been too exhausted to smooth out the regenerating flesh. "Oh, that's a sad sight. A limitation of your incredible regeneration ability. Your doctors will need to know that. We don't want them to scar your pretty face."
They let her rest the first night, but then a man came in, covered in all white. "Get up, filthy little bitch."
That's what they called her for the next five years. She didn't eat, sleep, or go to the bathroom unless they commanded it of her. She'd lost frightening amounts of weight. She'd been thin her whole life, but she'd never ever been so skeletal. Her muscles atrophied so she was weaker than a newborn kitten. She stopped fighting every man she could get her fingers in. She didn't have the strength. She still fought, but only after careful planning. She always failed. They dragged her around by her hair so much, she wanted to chop it all off. She'd had the opportunity a few times, but the thought of how much Red loved her long hair made her stop. She'd slit her throat instead. When she woke up the second attempt, she was chained back to her bed, "God, just let me die!"
"You are nothing, you have nothing, you are no better than dirt." Was the response.
If she cried, the masked men would cut her, and she'd watch the flesh knit back together. When she tried to fight them and got free of her bindings, they'd gut her. By the time she woke from the blood-loss, her body was always finished healing.
The gas was the worst though. It would fill her tiny room and she'd hear those words, "You are nothing, you have nothing, you are no better than dirt." over and over through the speakers as hallucinations racked her, each more terrifying than the last.
Always her family, always watching them die, over and over.
In her dreams, she saw Red, whole and happy, like she was sitting down looking up at him. They would always jolt her awake from those dreams, like they knew what she was dreaming about.
Once she stopped thinking of her family, things got easier, "I am nothing, I have nothing, I am no better than dirt."
"Good little bitch, you can eat out of my hand today." Her captor told her. At one time, she'd known his name, but that memory was long gone.
Months later, and she knew his name.
Jonathan Crane, and he loved her. She was his wife, Mina, and she lived to serve him.
They'd given her the fear gas again, pinned her to the floor by her wrists while her head was filled with images of people she couldn't remember. "They won't stop! Make it stop!" She cried, sobbing, "It hurts, it hurts so bad."
Crane had come in then, and knelt beside her, a clear mask on so at last she could see his face at last, "There, there, Kitten. If you're a good girl, all of this will go away. We can get you some pretty dresses, and you can start eating real food again. How does that sound? Do you want to be a good girl?"
"Yes." She whispered, voice hoarse from screaming. "Yes! I want to be a good girl! Just make it stop!"
They'd finally broken her.
Crane nodded, pulling the knives out of her wrists, watching the blood smear over her bare skin, "You are lovely, Kitten." He fingered some of her long hair, grunting in disapproval at the blood clotting in it. "You've made a mess of yourself. Oh, and look at the floor, such a mess." He shoved her away, "Clean it up."
Stunned still in confusion, he hit her, "Lick it up, little kitten. You wanted to be a good girl, remember?"
"Yes." She repeated.
He slapped her again, "Yes, Sir. From now on, Kitten."
She sniffed back tears. She'd learned a long time ago that they did nothing to help her. "Yes, Sir." With nothing to clean with, she knelt on the ground and licked up the blood.
"Good girl." He said, the praise doing odd things to her head. The blood made her nauseated, and the moment he left her alone, she threw it all up.
He'd come back in instantly, holding her hair back, "Poor little Kitten. Looks like you're sick. Don't worry, we'll help you."
Being sick was much worse than the previous torture. They moved her to a room resembling a hospital room, and strapped her to the bed as they force fed her the blood and bile she'd vomited through a tube they jammed down her throat. It took three times before it all stayed down. She'd never wanted it to all end so badly.
"You should have been a good girl." Crane chastised her as she lay sweating and shaking from the effort not to be sick. "I told you to clean it up, and you made an even bigger mess. You're not going to be so messy anymore, are you?"
"No, Sir." She answered, jaw trembling.
Crane leaned close, and she expected him to hit her, but instead, he pressed a kiss to her cheek, "Very good, Kitten."
The next move she made was to his rooms, as his wife.
The first time he touched her with his intent evident, she closed her eyes and turned her head. He grabbed her chin, "Don't close your eyes, Kitten." He stood, leaving her alone on the bed, "I'll turn the lights off, I don't want to scare you."
"No, Sir!" She yelled in protest. He looked at her sharply, a look that usually meant she was going to be beaten for her insolence. She stuttered to save herself, "Please, come back. Just, don't turn the lights off, please. Please, leave the lights on."
He grinned, "Good girl, if you want the lights on, we'll have them on, whatever makes this most comfortable for you. It's been so long after all."
When he touched her again, she really was broken.
She didn't enjoy sex with him. He was too boney, too...something she couldn't put her finger on. Sometimes, he'd turn the lights off before sex, and she'd have these excruciating images in her head of sex with some man she couldn't name. Those images were better than what she was getting with Crane, but that only made it hurt worse. She wanted something she couldn't have. She'd rather the images left her alone. She was Crane's wife, she shouldn't have thoughts of another man. She tried to get them to go away. She learned quickly not to refuse Crane though, even when he turned the lights off. Refusal earned her a week of being tortured awake in her first room before they took her back to Crane and he had his way with her exhausted body anyway. Once she stopped subconsciously fighting him, things got better. The images started going away. The other man disappeared, and all that was left was Crane.
One day, he was stroking her hair as she rest her head against his leg. His gentleness was rare. And it had been so long since he'd used the gas on her. Maybe she was finally pleasing him. He spoke softly, hand continuously moving. "You had a child. Do you remember?" If he said she had, then it must have been true, so she nodded. Vaguely, she remembered being pregnant, feeling her child move inside of her, the odd mixture of joy and trepidation. Crane smiled at her, and she lived for it. "She was a little thing. Pretty and dark haired, like you. She was ours."
"Ours?" Kat asked, wincing. She wasn't supposed to talk without permission.
His hand didn't stop. She hadn't angered him with her speech. "Ours." He confirmed. "You let her die."
"Me?" Kat echoed, lifting her head from his leg to look at his face, tiny red curls flitting through her mind.
He stroked the side of her face, "It's okay. I've been helping you. You were so distraught by her death that you lost your mind. I've been trying to get you back for so long. Do you feel safe, precious one?"
"Yes." She answered instantly, her head trying to supply images of her supposed daughter, "Can I see her? A picture? I can't remember what she looks like."
He smiled again, "Of course." He showed her a picture of a little girl, "Her name was Elise."
"Elise Crane?" Kat pondered, taking the photo slowly from his hand. The child in it was dark haired, like both of them, but nothing like the red curls in her head. She knew better than to question him though, and took to memorizing every one of the child's features, "What happened to her?"
"You weren't strong enough to protect her. The Justice League, they killed her because they saw how happy we were." He whispered into her ear. "They have to pay."
"They have to pay." Kat echoed, looking into his eyes, picture pressed to her chest, "But I wasn't strong enough before."
Another pleasant stroke, "I know, Kitten, but my friends, they're going to make you strong again, if you let them."
"Anything." She said softly, "If they killed our daughter, they need to pay. I need to help."
He beamed at her, "They told me you weren't ready, but I knew you were. You've been so good, Kitten."
The League of Shadows took her then.
Instead of flesh tearing, it was muscles being rebuilt, and bruises constantly littered her tanning skin. Many of the members avoided her, and she had no idea why. Sometimes, the whispered name 'Talia' would reach her, but she rarely gave it any thought. Under the tutelage of the League of Shadows, she grew strong. They gave her some protection too, when Crane came to visit, he was not allowed to bring his fear gas or to strike her. She finally had power over him, and she loved it because she didn't love him. Perhaps the loss of their child had killed any love she'd once felt for him, but when her friend Barsad came to tell her that Crane was dead, she couldn't have cared less. They started letting her go on missions, and sometimes, if she'd gone a while without offending anyone, they'd let her go out on her own. She lived for those days, when she'd be able to don normal clothes and wander the city.
"Raven, over here!" A young female yelled.
The voice shouldn't have caused her a second glance, but it did. A teenaged girl with bright red curls was waving above the crowd where she'd perched herself on top of a stack of crates. A dark haired girl moved to the bottom of the stack, scowling, "Get down from there. You're fourteen, not four."
The red head appeared not to hear her friend, "Raven, just look at all of this! It's beautiful!"
The dark one scowled, "Yes, the desert markets are beautiful, but get down! We've got things to do. Don't make me get you down myself, Lian." Kat's heart jumped at the name Lian. It didn't make sense. Her daughter's name was Elise, Crane had told her so. Head spinning in confusion, she ran back to her home.
A few years later, she saw the girl again. She was almost grown by then, walking hand and hand with a boy through the streets of Gotham. Kat couldn't resist following them, for hours, back to a large mansion on the outskirts of town.
Over the next few years, any time she was near Gotham, she'd return to that house. And one day, the red head went into the empty house with her man, dressed in all white. From her spot in one of the trees, Kat fell asleep, into her nightmares, jolting awake when a scream echoed from the house. Standing in the shadows, she watched for several more minutes, seeing a flash of white in what she'd realized was the kitchen window. Lian was standing there, searching the darkness for something, a hand on the head of the massive puppy that often roamed the grounds.
Kat drew farther back into the shadows where she was certain the blue eyed child couldn't see her. She forced herself away from Gotham after that, and didn't see those red curls until one night as she stole from STAR labs.
"Don't move." The girl said, pointing an arrow at her, form perfect.
Kat paused, not looking, "Let me go, and we won't have to fight." She said silkily.
"I can't do that, you're stealing." The girl said.
"You must have skills to be involved with the Justice League." Kat said, surprised that she hadn't noticed before that the red headed girl she was uncontrollably obsessed with was part of the Justice League. She could tell it was her by the curls though, they were unmistakable, even if her pretty face was covered. Kat held an olive branch to the girl in her mind. "If you wanted, you could steal too. I almost didn't know you were coming up on me. You breathe too loudly though. You're anxious, not collected."
"I don't need someone like you telling me what I am." She hissed.
"So you're not going to let me just leave with what I want?"
"No." The girl said firmly.
"You're young, so I'm gonna try not to kill you." Kat said, knowing as she spoke that she could never hurt the girl with red curls.
The girl, Lian, scoffed, "Who are you?"
Kat was behind her in an instant, arms wrapped around her in a mockery of a hug. Lian struggled, but her movements were distracted, disjointed, and hardly effective against someone like Kat. "Sorry, little girl. It's just not your day. I like your spunk though, hopefully you live. I'd like to see you all grown up and worth my time." As she slid the short blade between the girl's ribs, she made sure not to do too much damage. She was with the League, they'd be there soon to help her, Kat just needed her out of the way.
"I'm going to get what I came for." Kat whispered as she lay the girl gently down, blue eyes watching her every movement as Lian started foaming at the mouth. Kat wanted to stay, to hold the girl, to soothe her panic, but she couldn't. She grabbed what she needed and left, trying to put the red curls out of her mind.
It wasn't that easy though. Not at all. When the red haired man ripped her mask from her face a night later, she knew her days of going under the radar were over, and red haunted her dreams again.
Present:
"The DNA matches up perfectly. This woman is Kat. There's no sign of cloning." Dick said slowly.
"It's impossible." Bruce snapped, "We buried her. Seventeen years ago."
Selina rubbed his shoulders, trying to keep the both of them calm as she said, "That's right. We buried her. We buried our daughter. We need to see for ourselves."
"No." Red answered instantly.
Selina set her jaw, like he'd seen Kat do so many times before, Lian too, "Yes, Red, we need to know. If that's really my daughter, I want to know."
That's what found the small group standing over Kat's grave three days after her forty-third birthday. The men that had been called to exhume the coffin of Bruce Wayne's dead daughter were confused, but did what they were told.
Selina cried out when they opened the coffin, turning into Bruce's side, clutching his pressed suit. "Oh my God!"
The coffin was empty, just as she'd feared and hoped, but she hadn't been prepared to see the inside stained with streaks of old blood, the satin shredded.
Red knelt next to the coffin, touching a hand to the blood, face white in shock, "She did wake up. We buried her and she wasn't really dead. We should have waited."
Bruce was still, "Obviously she woke up in the coffin, tried to claw her way out. We had no way of knowing she would wake up. She wasn't healing. She was dead."
Red stood, carding a hand through his hair as he turned away. He couldn't look any more. "Yeah, well, someone knew it would take more to kill her, and they dug her up."
"Who?" Selina asked softly, although she knew the answer. They all did.
Bruce held her tight, trying to keep images of a terrified Kat suffocating in her own coffin out of his head as he said, "Who else? The Light."
"Catch me as I fall
Say you're here and it's all over now
Speaking to the atmosphere
No one's here and I fall into myself
This truth drives me
Into madness
I know I can stop the pain
If I will it all away
If i will it all away
[Chorus:]
Don't turn away
(Don't give in to the pain)
Don't try to hide
(Though they're screaming your name)
Don't close your eyes
(God knows what lies behind them)
Don't turn out the light
(Never sleep never die)
I'm frightened by what I see
But somehow I know
That there's much more to come
Immobilized by my fear
And soon to be
Blinded by tears
I can stop the pain
If I will it all away
If i will it all away"
Whisper
By: Evanescence
Hope you guys are still with me! If you looked close enough, you'll see some evidence of where Lian's getting her nightmares from. Keep in mind what she said about being connected to her family members, she was able to track Damian down using her power after all!
Anyway, next chapter, Lian's curiosity gets the best of her again! She's not at all like her parents, is she?
Review please!
-Jenn
