Chapter Fourteen: Gotham's Little Secrets

Lindsey was almost blinded by the harsh light of the restroom after she flipped the switch. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the white light before actually looking up from the ground near the door.

Lindsey walked the full way in and shut the door behind her. In contrast to the outside room, the walls were completely covered by newspaper clippings to the point where the color of the paint was a mystery.

Lindsey was not shocked to see the articles were all about death, some being obituaries. She assumed that all or most were ones the Joker and/or his minions had harassed, beaten, or killed.

Taped in the center of the large mirror on the wall above the double sink was the article about the fatal attack at Nick Ramie's party. Below the article lay a row of smaller clippings. The first one was announcing the death of Claire DeFranc, the circumstances at the time being undetermined.

Next to Claire's story was Nick's, which Lindsey could not bear to even look at for a second longer. The visual of the morning announcements was already playing back in her mind. Ian and Aubrey's starring story was taped next to Nick's. Then came John Carey's story. Lindsey immediately leaned against the counter to read it. Last she heard, John was still just 'missing.'

"The body of eighteen year old John Carey was found at Wickford Ski Resort in Wausau, Wisconsin. The resort had not yet been opened by the owners and grandparents of the victim, Jack and Ellen Carey, when the Gotham police arrived with a search warrant. The body was found in one of the storage closets in the basement…" She skimmed through the parts outlining the gas station incident until the final paragraph, "John's body was found with second and third degree burns on his arms, legs, and left side of his face. A smile was carved…"

The article cut off, having been ripped from the original paper. Lindsey wondered when the issue was released. The next article described Dominic's death, suffocation with a forced grin.

In the left sink, a couple of papers were crumbled into a messy pile. Lindsey grabbed the top bundle and carefully unfolded it.

"Dr. James Kinkirk named Trenton's citizen of the month," she red the headline out loud, eyes scanning over the information of the generous New Jersey psychiatrist James Kinkirk. She set the article in the right sink and spread out the next article, again praising the good doctor. The third article was of a more melancholy sort.

"A botched robbery left Jillian and Leslie Kinkirk dead in their living room last Thursday. The burglar was startled by the loud siren of the house alarm and by the residents' appearance that he shot the two. Police arrived before he could escape from the property. Jillian, 30, and Leslie, 6, were the wife and daughter of Trenton's James Kinkirk, who could not be reached…"

The article was cut off by the tear. Lindsey pulled out the fourth from the sink, which only contained the headline and the lead.

"Dr. Kinkirk admits to LA psych ward: Two months after the deaths of his wife and daughter, Dr. James Kinkirk has announced that he is checking in to a psychiatric ward in Los Angeles."

Lindsey grabbed the last two articles from the sink. One was dated to be her birthday, March 9.

"…On the first anniversary of his wife and daughter's death, Dr. James Kinkirk was taken to Arkham Asylum in Gotham, New York. The reasons behind the transfer are as of yet unknown…"

This article had not been torn off, but rather sitting in a shallow puddle of water, making the smeared print unreadable. The last article was still intact enough to read the main point.

"Seven years after James Kinkirk's disappearance…he has been pronounced dead."

Lindsey's brow knit together as she stared at the Kinkirk stories. What was so important about this man that the Joker would have kept the clippings? He was just a psychiatrist from New Jersey that, ironically enough, admitted himself to the psych ward after his family's death. He had been at Arkham before his disappearance apparently, but Lindsey had never heard his name before.

As she took a step away from the counter, Lindsey almost slipped on a few more papers at her feet. Crouching down, she picked up the two sheets. One was a summary of a case in which her mother defended a man who shot and killed his stepdaughter's biological father after receiving a phone call from her that he was in a drunken rage. That was Joan's first successful solo case.

The other article was Lindsey's very own- the one that started everything in her opinion – the varsity drug exposé. A corner of the paper was stuck under a loose tile. Lindsey plucked it away and blinked at the sight in front of her: part of a rusty metal handle over brown wood.

With a racing heart, Lindsey continued to pry the floor tiles off, thankful that they were merely cheap linoleum, until a door was completely revealed. Glancing skeptically over her shoulder at the bathroom door, Lindsey cracked the newly revealed flap open a crack, fearing both being caught from the main entrance and from below.

When she could hear no voices and see no secret meeting in the dark tunnel below, she jumped down.

"Mrs. Benedetti, you've got a call on line one from Joan Brooks."

Elvira Benedetti sent her assistant a curt nod to dismiss her before picking up the phone on the corner of her now cluttered desk.

"Joan?"

The women on the other end answered breathlessly, as if she'd been running a marathon, "Just tell me what's going on. Do not sugar coat anything the slightest bit."

Elvira Benedetti did not need to be told twice. Nothing sweet ever came from the straight laced woman's mouth. "The police and your designated guardian failed. Lindsey's been kidnapped. Angela and Monica are in the office with Carlo."

Joan remained silent as she evolved from a worried, frazzled mother to an uptight woman on a mission. "This is it then."

Elvira slid a few papers aside and revealed a manila file before her. "I've pulled up the files I could find here. I'm working on the LA asylum."

"Are we sure about this?"

Elvira's stone face relaxed as soon as Angela's blonde head poked through her doorway. The only question that had gone through her and Claudia DuPriest's mind was 'what if it had been my daughter?'

"We have to try, Joan. Maybe we can stop him rather than delay him for another year."

The fall was longer than expected, as evidenced by Lindsey's graceless landing. The door above her snapped shut.

"Damn," another voice sounded from next to her.

Lindsey wildly twirled around herself, trying to find the source of the tenor voice. A heavy sigh and sudden light stopped her movements.

"Who the hell are you?" she asked the man in front of her. Soon enough, she found asking had been unnecessary.

"Ah. You're the asshole who brought me here," she spat bitterly, "How's the day job working for you?"

The 'businessman' from earlier glared her down while shining his flashlight in her face, "I was on my way to help you, sweetheart."

Lindsey snorted. He sighed once again, "Alright. Fine. You're upset. I understand. But you need to trust me on this. I've got to get out of here just as much as you do. I was only temporary."

Lindsey bit back a snide retort and settled with a questionnaire. "Do you happen to know anything about James Kinkirk?"

"Not much. Why?"

Lindsey nodded toward the overhead door. "In the bathroom up there…it's like his own twisted memory box. He had four or five articles about James Kinkirk."

The man quirked a brow, and Lindsey caught a brief flash of anger in his eyes, "He's got newspaper clippings of his victims?"

Lindsey nodded, not bothering to add that she and her mother could be potential victims. The man pondered for a few moments before abruptly taking her by the arm and jogging in the opposite direction.

"This tunnel leads to the old subway station. We have to move fast though."

Bruce hated everything about this situation. His top priority was to find Lindsey and bring her home safely. He could not neglect his younger charge though. And while never since his return to Gotham had he been without Alfred, he did not feel safe leaving Abby with anyone else.

He'd sat Alfred down an hour beforehand to inform him of his plans. Both men were aware that Batman had never been without his guardian, but neither were willing to toss Abby in the potentially dangerous care of someone else.

Bruce tucked the sleeping Abby into the small couch on his private jet as Alfred spoke to the pilot. He tenderly brushed a few strands of blonde hair from her face. Soon enough, Alfred was by his side.

"You're sure about this?" the older man asked. Bruce only nodded, not taking his eyes off the youngest Brooks girl. He could not look Alfred in the eyes and claim to know just what the hell he was doing.

Finally! The end of the reposts! The next few chapters will be new to everyone. I'm not sure how many more there will be, but we are in the homestretch...again.