Chapter Eight: And Then There Were Four
Bruce's jaw snapped shut, his lips forming a straight line as he marched over to where Lindsey was sitting on her bed. He took a lock of hair in his hand and demanded, "What is this?"
Lindsey stared up at him, "My hair."
He dropped her hair and glared down at her, "What did you do to it?"
"Washed it, brushed it, what do you mean?"
"You know what I mean, Lindsey," he snapped, "Did Joan ever give you permission to do this?"
Lindsey folded her arms and said in a slightly condescending tone, "Why don't you ask her? You're good at that."
Bruce fell silent. Lindsey could understand his shock. The almost black was a fairly big change from her usual light brown, almost dirty blonde hair. Bruce and her mother were not people who adjusted well to change of any sort.
"Bruce, I'm sorry," she said in a less severe manner, "It's just…it's really not a big deal. It's hair."
"It's not the hair," he droned, pulling her desk chair up in front of her, "It's the…while you're living with me, you need to come to me before you do something like this."
He cut her off when she opened her mouth to protest, "I know. It's your hair. It's your body. You can mutilate and discolor it however you want, but you need to consult me, or when they're home your mom and Shawn before you do."
Lindsey tore her glare away from Bruce at the mention of Shawn. "You don't…"
"I know I'm not your father," Bruce forced out exasperatedly, "But is it really so hard for you to just listen to me every once in a while?"
"You and Shawn aren't my father. You're right," she matched his tone, "Chris Brooks decided to go out late with his jackass brothers and psychotic sisters and end up taking a dirt nap."
"You shouldn't talk like that," Bruce scolded sternly.
"It's the truth," she said softly, barely above a whisper, "Obviously we all don't need a father figure or else he'd still be here."
"And Shawn wouldn't. You do need something-"
"If you're planning to keep lecturing," she cut him off in the same fashion he had done to her, "Then I'm sure Abby would love to listen to you all day."
She hopped up to her feet and began flouncing out of her room and down the hallway, grabbing her car keys off the hook in the kitchen as she passed. She figured Bruce wouldn't mind if she just took a spin for an hour or so.
"God Mom, it's just a little darker and it's just hair! It will grow out!" A few minutes after she left, Lindsey's mother called to give her an earful. Lindsey didn't even need to ask if Bruce had called her yet.
"You need to ask or at least tell someone you're doing these things!"
"I told Monica."
"An adult, Lindsey! Who knows, your hair could've caught on fire, fallen out, turned neon green, poisoned you, you could've been allergic to the dye, and who knows if it would've stopped with hair? I could come home next Saturday and see you inked up and have every possibly place on your body pierced! Where does it stop?"
Lindsey held the phone away form her ear and took a few deep breaths before speaking with Joan again, "I'm sorry I didn't at least leave you a message to tell you that I was dying my hair. I didn't want to interrupt Shawn as he tried to snake you into moving in with him and carting us off again."
Joan was silent for a few seconds before asking, "Is that what this is really about? Me and Shawn?"
"No forget it," Lindsey answered with a sigh, "It's not about you. It's about me I guess. Maybe the drive will clear my head."
"Wait, you're driving, too?" Joan demanded, "You should not be on the phone and driving at the same time!"
"Well then I'll talk to you later unless I'm interrupting any meetings!" Lindsey snapped her phone shut and tossed it carelessly on the passenger seat.
As much as she hated to admit it, she was feeling more and more guilty about her conversation with Bruce and somehow her mother. She thought about turning right then and heading back home until she checked her rearview mirror.
A black Jeep Wrangler had swerved and almost hit the Mustang behind her. The Mustang pulled off to the side and the Wrangler pulled in behind her, leaving no space between them.
Lindsey recognized the black Wrangler as John's. She made a lane change to avoid his tailgating, but he followed her into the new lane. Narrowing her eyes at the rearview mirror, Lindsey switched back to her original lane. Instead of following her, John sped up so he was driving right next to her.
Lindsey decelerated and moved behind John's car. He switched lanes again and repeated her action.
Now beyond frustrated, Lindsey rolled her window down, stuck her arm out, and flipped him off. She made a right turn and pulled into a gas station. John of course followed.
"What the hell was that?" Lindsey demanded, opening her door and standing behind it as John approached.
"Would you have pulled over if I didn't?" he asked, "I need to talk to you."
"And being an asshole driver is the best way?"
"Would you shut up for a minute? I know that'll be hard for you but listen!" With that, he pulled his hone out of his back pocket, pressed a few buttons, and held it out for Lindsey to read his text message.
"You're next, jockstrap," she read aloud, "And it'll be much more fun than banging Blondie."
"That's the fifth one I've gotten just today," he said shakily. Lindsey squinted, never having seen John genuinely scared before.
"Have you told anyone but me?"
"No. One of the threats was not to…or he'd kill Angela…and make me watch."
Lindsey fell silent. John hadn't gone to the police in some hope of protecting Angela. Despite her dislike for the classmate in front of her, she couldn't help but think of the act as chivalrous.
"Maybe we should go get Angela and, I guess, take this to Gordon."
John nodded slowly, "Yeah." He suddenly perked his head up, much in the manner of a watchdog, and sniffed the air, "Do you smell something burning?"
Lindsey shrugged, "Well, this is a gas station…"
"No. Not gas. Fire."
Lindsey looked over her shoulder. Sure enough, a small fire had started inside the station's shop and was spreading down one of the snack aisle. Her eyes widened at the cries for help.
"I'm gonna call- John, wait!" She shouted as John started sprinting inside. Lindsey groaned loudly and punched 911 into her phone. She quickly informed the operator of the fire and the address of the station before hanging up.
A few people ran outside and uncovered a safe distance away from the burning building. Lindsey desperately watched and waited to see if John would come out. He finally emerged in the doorway carrying a little girl and sprinted over to Lindsey.
"There's more in there," he panted, handing the crying girl to Lindsey, "I'm going back in."
"John, the fire department's coming. John!"
Lindsey gently laid the girl in her backseat, started the car, and turned the air conditioning on. A woman came stumbling outside, screaming about losing a child. Lindsey quickly pulled the girl out and waved the woman over.
"Oh thank you," she cried, taking her daughter, "Thank you! We need to get out now!"
"I know. I'm waiting for my friend-"
"No, honey, you can't wait. There's bomb in there!"
Lindsey chocked on her own breath, "What?" The lady and her daughter had already run off. Lindsey climbed back in her car and reversed to a safer distance. She shifted into park and glued her eyes back to the door.
A figure emerged from the flames just as the fire truck pulled up to the station. Lindsey turned off the ignition and climbed outside to see if the person was John. She gasped as she could clearly make out the figure of the Joker.
His laughed echoed in her ears right before the station exploded, the force of it tipping the fire truck over on its side.
"No," Lindsey whispered hoarsely to herself. Without even thinking, she started jogging toward the wreckage until she was grabbed from behind. She screamed and started hitting at the arms around her waist until a gravelly voice hissed in her ear.
"Stop. You're not getting yourself killed."
Lindsey could immediately recognize the Batman's voice. Contrary to what he just ordered, she went spastic. She turned herself so she was facing his and started beating at his chest and struggling in his vice grip.
"You let this happen!" she screamed at him, "How could you? You let him get away!"
He said nothing, just allowed her to continue until she finally wore herself out. She allowed herself go limp as he held her up on her feet.
"He's gone," she whimpered, "Another one. There're only four of us left now."
He didn't respond. Instead, he caught sight of Gordon as he and two other police cars entered the scene. In the same manner as he did at Nick's party, he placed Lindsey inside one of the cars. She didn't even bother to tell him she had her car.
'John's dead,' she thought, rocking herself back and forth in her seat, 'John's dead.'
No he's not. He could've survived, no thanks to you.
"Shut up," Lindsey told herself through her sobs. She pulled her feet up on the seat and rested her head on her knees.
She couldn't look at the fire. Any sort of flame was sinister. She could only imagine the scene at the party- the explosion after Aubrey, Claire, Nick, Ian, John, Monica, Angela, and Dominic were rescued.
You should've been there helping them. Instead you took the easy way out. Or at least, Bat Freak gave you the easy way out. Bruce and Batsy and your mom won't always be there for you.
The sound of water spraying from a strong hose started caused Lindsey to herself back into reality she was staring at the fire that was being put out.
"What is wrong with me?" she asked herself as she stumbled out of the car. She pivoted in the opposite direction of the destructed gas station and trudged down the road.
The only thing on her mind was to get away. She had no idea where she would go, but she knew she had to go somewhere else.
She had only been walking for a few minutes, thoughts of all of the deceased students- Claire, Nick, Ian, Aubrey, and now John playing through her mind. Until tonight, she'd still been in shock. Lindsey wanted so desperately for someone to jump out and tell her this was all a sick prank.
"Idiot. That won't happen," she berated herself. As she rounded the corner into a darker part of the street, someone grabbed her upper arm and yanked her around to face them.
Lindsey found herself staring curiously up at the familiar masked face. Something about the way his mouth was set in a straight line and his eyes blazed into her own felt somewhat familiar. She couldn't put a finger on why, but she felt like she knew this strange man.
"I told you not to move," He rasped out, his grip on her arm tightening painfully. Lindsey cringed in pain, "When?"
"Don't you listen?" he growled. She recoiled at the almost animalistic pitch. "Is it really that hard for you?"
His second question made her freeze. Why did that sound so familiar?
"I know I'm not your father," Bruce forced out exasperatedly, "But is it really so hard for you to just listen to me every once in a while?"
In her bemused state, he easily dragged her back in little ways in the direction she had come from. Lindsey was slightly surprised to see her car parked alongside the road, but safely assumed it was either Herbie (which was also a bug) or Batman had driven it. She climbed in the driver's seat as soon as he opened the door.
"Go back home. And stay there," he ordered before disappearing off into the night. Lindsey started the car and, as instructed, made her way back to Bruce's penthouse.
"It's a coincidence," she told herself, amused at her previous thought process, "He's just a crazy man in a cape. Bruce Wayne- dorky, cocky, annoying, pretty boy Bruce Wayne is not Batman. The Batman will turn out to be Monica or Alfred before he's revealed as Bruce."
Lindsey jumped in her seat as her phone vibrated loudly on the dashboard. She reached out and grabbed the phone flipping it open and seeing she had received a text.
Looking back and forth between the screen and the road, she read the message to herself, "I know you were there. He won't always be around. I thought about you as I was melting Jockstrap. From a friend."
Not too much logic was needed to deduct that the threat was from the Joker.