Chapter Thirteen: Three Blind Mice

"I had to prove that he…"

"Anything could have happened! The poor attendant could have issued the SWAT team…"

"Well, you said you wouldn't listen to any more of my so called 'conspiracy theories' no matter how right…"

"You've got no proof! What did you expect to gain from this?"

"Can I at least explain?"

"I don't want to hear it right now, young lady!"

"It could help!"

"If it's about the three men you think are the same person-"

"Because he is all three one person!"

Angela and Monica sat in the living room while Lindsey and Gordon brawled in the kitchen. Not to any of the girls' surprise, they had been left off the hook while Lindsey received the full brunt of the red faced commissioner's berating.

"Do you think we're incompetent?" Gordon asked half yelling, "That we haven't already checked into that possibility?"

"Well, since that tape was to be recycled, then yes I do!"

"You're mouthing off to an officer and in any other situation you wouldn't be let off so easily," Gordon warned, "I'm going to have to inform Bruce and your mother about this incident."

Lindsey scoffed and snapped before stomping off to her designated room, "That seems to be all my guardians are good for these days!"

"Keeping your unappreciative hind safe? I see why you find that so appalling," Gordon retorted before he too left. Lindsey just groaned and slammed her own door shut. At that point, she couldn't have cared less that she had just sassed a man with cuffs.

"You didn't," Bruce stated doggedly. His elbow was resting on the table with his head in his hand, his other hand drumming exasperatedly on the steel surface. Lindsey waited stoically for him to continue.

"You can't…why?" he asked, hinds now folded as he stared her down with a chilling gleam in his eyes, "If it's going to save your ass, why can't you listen? You can't do everything yourself. Anyone could've just waltzed right in and finished you off. You're not better than the police and detectives on the case. Didn't you think they might've already had your theory in mind when they interrogated the man?"

Lindsey didn't answer, just returned his angry stare with her blank one.

Bruce sighed roughly at her silence and leaned back in his chair, "You know, I should just say screw it. You want to be skewered and roasted on an open fire be my guest."

"That would sure save you the burden, wouldn't it?" Lindsey responded bitterly, trying to mask the hurt she felt at his words. Bruce's gaze immediately softened. "Lindsey…you know how much it would affect your mother, your sister, your friends, Alfred and me if anything happened to you."

"Yeah," she answered shortly, "You pretty much just said it."

"Your words," he confirmed, "Not mine."

"It's not what you say it's just…common sense."

Bruce's brow knit together as he leaned forward in confusion, "How?"

Lindsey let out a curt laugh, "Come on! None of this would've happened if not for me. You wouldn't be here right now having to send me to time out and scold me for sneaking out. You wouldn't have to be my dad…" She trailed off, suddenly unable to hold eye contact as she stared down at the table, "Babysitter…now."

Lindsey felt the tears stinging her eyes as she swallowed the lump in her throat. How could she forget about her father? What would he think of her now? Would he be ashamed? Would he support her? The main question floating around her head was what would her dad do?

"You know better," he lectured softly, "You know how important you, Joan, and Abby are to me."

Lindsey remained silent, still unable to look at him. She feared more than anything to see her father's disappointed face in Bruce's.

"Hey," he began encouragingly, "How about another tiramisu?"

Lindsey involuntarily smirked, still staring at the table, "I'm grounded."

"Come on, it's me."

She chuckled, finally able to look at his face, "Bruce freaking Wayne. I forgot."

Bruce managed to convince Gordon to allow him to take Lindsey out to eat with the promise to "ease her recklessness" along with the convenient fact of very low crime activity being reported in the past few days following Dominic's death. Much to her irritation, he felt compelled to stop for gas on the way to the restaurant.

"You're not even half way empty," she argued.

"It's a long drive."

"Well, let me get a Coke for the ride then."

Lindsey's late request was followed by a very lengthy list of what not to do in Bruce's car. Whilst he was explaining his rules, Lindsey decided to make a bathroom run and smuggle in a Coke. Whether she was planning on distracting him when she wanted a sip or not was still undecided.

Keeping true to her word, Lindsey did take care to actually enter the restroom. She stood in front of the mirror and almost laughed. She knew there was a reason she'd never gotten her hair colored in any way. In just a few days, she had developed light brown roots, which contrasted greatly in the bright light with the almost black dye.

Lindsey pulled a thin black headband out of her purse and adjusted it in her hair to help hide the color line. She couldn't remember when she'd actually taken the time to work on her appearance in the past week and a half.

As other women started to file in, Lindsey took her leave, bumping in to a hurried businessman on the way out. She stared after him as he rushed to swing the door to the men's room open.

In the brief seconds the door was open, Lindsey could see the reflection of two men in the mirror; two men in the process of putting on angry looking plastic clown masks.

Lindsey was back outside making a mad dash to Bruce's car before her mind could fully function. Bruce jogged a few steps to meet her and caught her by the arms as she was rushing past him. She was caught off guard and stumbled, but Bruce held her up.

"Lindsey, what…" He heaved an irritable side when she continued struggling to get into the car. He pulled her into one arm and practically carried her back into the car, carefully looking around in a quick check for reporters before climbing in the driver's seat.

"Lindsey, breathe," he ordered sternly. Lindsey shook her head violently and stared into the store of the station, an overwhelming sense of déjà vu consuming her mind.

"I am…I am, just…can we go now?"

"Tell me what's wrong," he commanded once again, not bothering to conceal his impatience.

"Clown men," she whispered. Instead of sounding the alarm, Bruce sighed, "Ok…ok, I'll go check. Will that make you feel better?"

"This isn't the monster in my closet or under my bed," she snapped, "This is real!"

"I'm going to go check for your Boogeymen," he continued as if she had not just spoken, "And then we'll just go back. I'm sorry."

Lindsey half groaned half yelled as he exited the car and walked toward the store portion of the station. The scene was way too familiar. She could almost see the fire and subsequently hear the maniacal laughter ringing in the air.

She leaned her head back against the seat and took deep, shaking breaths. A tap on the window startled her and she looked up at the face of the businessman she'd almost run into- the one that had gone into the restroom the clown men were in.

Lindsey rolled the window down slightly, but said nothing. The man – tall, dark haired, golden tan, bright blue eyes – looked just as on edge as she. "If this is your car, you might want to book out."

"Where the hell is he?" Lindsey asked unintentionally out loud. Hardly thinking straight, she opened the car door and stood behind it, staring at the door to the station. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, but she only then realized how empty the lot was. Bruce's car was the only vehicle…so where did this man come from?

A hand clamped tightly over her mouth from behind. Lindsey tried to scream and fight out of the man's hold, but suddenly felt something jab into her upper arm. Immediately, her vision turned fuzzy and distorted. The voices of the people rushing outside to help echoed into one distant, muffled sound.

The last thing she heard was a gunshot.

Lindsey woke up not on her own accord. She had rolled onto the arm her assailant had jabbed the needle into. When she checked the area, she noticed slight discoloration and hoped it wasn't infected.

Looking around the room she found herself in, Lindsey was bewildered. Instead of a dusty, dark dungeon as she had been expecting, the room seemed fit for a young child. The four walls were a bright yellow and held neatly aligned framework of poems and paintings of flowers. Stuffed animals of all forms were scattered along the walls and around the bed. The comforter Lindsey sat on was a light pink with matching yellow and pink pillows at her head. The carpet was pink as well.

While Lindsey had not expected the room she woke up in to be so cheerful, only one thing stood out in her eyes. One of the poems lay on the bed near her feet. Upon further examination, she found the title to be just as classic as the motif of the room.

"My three blind mice," a chilling yet familiar voice drawled from the doorway, "How does that one go again? Something about them running and getting their tails chopped off by the farmer's hag? Well, dear me, that's terribly unfortunate."

Lindsey stiffened as the Joker approached. He continued with his speech, "Perhaps if the other two mice had kept that one little squirrelly mouse under control and locked up, bad things would not have happened to them. Am I right, my squirrelly one?"

Lindsey dared to look up at him as he came to a stop at the bedside. The Joker chuckled, "Well, now those pretty little doe eyes should not be tainted by such a sour look." He flipped open a pocket knife in front of Lindsey's face and grasped a handful of her hair, "Fix it or I will."

Lindsey did not know exactly what he wanted, but found she could not be scared. Even though she was sure she had the police and Bruce out looking for her, she knew she was going to die. With the feeling that she had no chance anyway, she could not even pretend to be scared of the weapon. On the contrary, she was wishing the process to speed up.

"Interesting," Joker drawled, tipping the knife to trace the features of her face in the air just inches away from actually skimming the surface. Just as soon as it had appeared, the knife clicked shut and he stuffed it in his breast pocket as if it were a pen.

"Duty calls now," he announced, "You just sit tight and don't fly away, pigeon. Unless of course you'd like to take a shower. You smell lovely, but I don't much like the dye job."

Lindsey cringed at his faux friendly tone. Before he shut the door behind him, he said slyly, "I can tell we're going to be really good friends, Leslie."

As soon as the door slammed shut, Lindsey asked herself, "Leslie?" She shrugged it off, knowing the man was irrevocably insane. She stared back down at the framed poem on the bed.

"Three blind mice."

Do you know how good it feels to be one chapter away from being done with fracking reposts? Ok, so many of you do. Anyways, I just realized how irresponsible I made Bruce in this part, and I guess Lindsey too but she's a teenager and we're all stupid in our adolescence.