"Ok," Jon said, standing up and walking over to a nearby closet, "why don't you meet me in the garage then? You remember where it is?"

Of course, I signed, a bit annoyed. Do I need to bring anything with me?

"I assume you do," Jon continued, not seeing what I had signed. "Just go ahead, I'll be there in a moment."

He opened the closet and disappeared inside.

Letting out a sigh, I turned around and made my way out of the room. I supposed that what Jon was doing was nice, but that was just the issue; Jon was never nice. So why now? Why offer to help me? While it was most certainly strange, it wasn't past anyone to help another. He'd already told me a lot of stuff about my past and said that he'd tell me more. Not to mention that he'd help me get my memories back.

I shook my head to try and clear it as I walked into the garage. Glancing around the smaller warehouse, I studied the few different vehicles there wondering which one we'd be taking. I also wondered what Selina would think of this. She was much more understanding than Edward, probably. Would she be ok with this? It wasn't like I was going by myself, which I probably would've if I found it out without Jon's help.

"Let's go," Jon said from behind me, making me jump in surprise.

I turned around to see him standing there with a bag slung over his shoulder.

I thought you said that we didn't need anything, I signed with a frown.

"We probably don't," Jon said with a nod of agreement, "but you never know what could happen. I am a wanted criminal after all. Speaking of which..." He tossed something at me and I caught it in surprise.

"I can't have you be recognizable," Jon explained as I turned what I realized was a wig in my hands. "It wouldn't be good for us. You're too easily spotted with your hair the color it is."

Giving a short nod, I situated the wig so that it covered my hair before giving him an expectant look.

"Impatient, huh? I don't blame you." Jon chuckled before motioning over to a black BMW with tinted windows. "There."

Scrambling into the car, I sat down and buckled my seat belt. Jon settled into the driver's seat and started the engine before backing out and turning on to the street. We spent the good first few minutes in silence and I stared out the window watching the buildings pass by.

Can you tell me anything else about my past? I asked Jon, looking at him.

He gave me a sidelong look, keeping one eye on the road before saying, "I don't know as much as you think I do, but I'll do my best to answer any more questions that you have."

Where are we heading? I asked. Like I know it's— It's where I used to live, but where exactly is it?

"A little ways just outside the Narrows," Jon said, taking a left and merging into the Downtown Gotham traffic. "Normal, all things considered."

What do you mean by that?

"Well," Jon said, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as we stopped at a light, "for one thing, it's Gotham. The unemployment rate is horrendous. Even with such a degree that your mother had, it would be hard to find a good paying job."

And my father? I signed. What about him?

"Nothing much to say about him," Jon said dismissively. "Average middle class, divorced, typical useless degree for living in a city... the usual."

Woah, woah, woah, I signed, hold on a minute. My father was divorced before he met my mom?

"It's not that uncommon," Jon said.

You're missing the point! I signed. If he was divorced then that means that he had a family or something before.

"That's usually how things work," Jon said wryly.

I shot him an irritated look before signing, I know that. What I'm trying to get at is if he was divorced, and if he had a family before he married my mom, then would that mean that I have at least a half-sibling or two?

"It's possible," Jon said vaguely, "Edward would probably know more. He's obsessive that way."

What's your deal with him? I asked. I've noticed that you don't always treat him the best.

"It's really none of your business," Jon said shortly, driving down a small street.

I think it is, I argued, he's one of my friends after all. Plus, as his friend also, you should look out for, and be nice to him.

"You barely know him," Jon said curtly, gripping the steering wheel, "so don't tell me how I should treat him. You don't know one thing about him."

I know enough about common courtesy and general niceness to know that the way you're treating him isn't the best!

Jon stopped, albeit a bit suddenly, and scowled. "We're here."

I paused in the middle of making a rude gesture and glanced out the window.

The street that we were parked on was bleak and pretty rundown. My gaze flicked from one house to the other, searching for the one that I had grown up in. Placing a hand on the window, I found it, through a sort of recognition that I couldn't explain. Nerves built up in my stomach and I struggled with the feeling.

There's a car in front of it, I signed in surprise, turning to look at Jon.

"Well obviously," Jon said, rolling his eyes.

What do you mean by obviously?

"I mean exactly what I said," Jon replied. "Obviously."

I know that you said! I signed, letting out a huff of annoyance. I'm mute, not deaf.

"What I meant to say is that yes, there is a car in front of the house. People live there; obviously."

Stop saying that word! It's annoying. I signed with a slight scowl. But people would live in a house where a, ah, murder took place?

"Technically there were two," Jon said, "but yes. When the only option to keep off the streets would be to take a house where a double homicide took place... Well, people would be desperate enough to do so. I just didn't expect people to be there now."

So what where you planning on doing then? I asked. Breaking and entering?

"No," Jon said sarcastically, "I was planning on knocking on the door and introducing myself. Yes you'll be breaking and entering, obv—"

Don't say that word again, I signed with a frown, and what do you mean by 'you'll'? You're not coming?

"Of course not," Jon said, "it's important for you to do this on your own; without any external complications."

Are you saying that you are a complication? I asked.

"Some would view me as such," Jon said. "Just go ahead."

What if someone is there? I can't just—

"No one's there!" Jon said. "Look, the lights are out, and no sound is coming out of the house. You'll be fine."

Well... I mean, I hesitated. I really did want to go and check it out, but at the same time I didn't. If someone was there, how would I explain things? The general public didn't even know sign language. I made it this far though, it'd be pointless to turn back now. I didn't want to prove what I'm sure Jon was currently thinking was true; I wasn't a chicken and I wasn't going to back out now.

"Just go," Jon said before I could make a decision. He reached over me and pushed open the door. "I'll stay here incase anything happens." In case you freak out and can't go, was the unspoken part.

I scurried out of the car and onto the street, stepping over a broken bottle. Halfway across the street, I paused and turned to look back. Jon was digging around for something in the backseat, oblivious to me. Clearly I wasn't getting any help or support from him.

My nerves grew tenfold as I walked up to the house. It was nicer than the others on the street, but still showed the wear and tear of neglect. As I walked up the front steps, I could see the chipped and flaking paint of the front door.

Hand shaking, I raised it to knock on the door, only for it to land on the door knob. Holding my breath, I turned it, surprised when it gave way. A feeling of foreboding settled next to the butterflies in my stomach.

Why would a door just be open like this? It wasn't safe. Anyone could walk in a steal stuff. That's what I was doing, minus the stealing of course. I was just going to look around and once my curiosity was stated, I'd leave. Easing the door open, I stepped inside, taking in my surroundings.

A old worn out couch made up most of the living room, a large oak TV cabinet on the left up against the wall. A low siting coffee table was placed in front of the couch, a pile of magazines on top of it. A staircase led up to the second floor flanking one side of the TV cabinet.

I paused there, expecting something, anything to come to me, but nothing did. It was more like an itch, one that you knew was there but couldn't reach. Annoying and persisting, something impossible to ignore.

Looking to the other side of the room, I saw an entryway leading to a kitchen. A memory pulled strongly when I saw the door and I swore I heard something from inside. A bark or scream perhaps, but it was faint, nearly no existent.

Shaking my head violently, I glanced to the side and froze as I saw a small picture frame on a side table. This one was different than the others lining the walls. It wasn't of a family dressed in their finest, but rather, a photo taken of three people and a dog; a crooked photo by a child attempting to take their first group picture of the family.

How the hell did I know that?

The itching in the back if my mind became furious clawing, raking it's nails down the inside of my mind. Wincing at the pain, I absentmindedly rubbed my arm before tentatively reaching out a hand, fingers brushing the picture as darkness slammed over me.

I can't see! I jerked back, eyes widening. Wait. I could see, just not what was really in front of me. It was like someone pulled an alternate reality over my eyes.

The side table with it picture was gone, the picture instead hanging crookedly on the wall, splattered with blood.

Whirling around heart racing, I beheld the new living room. A couch, this one different from the other, lay upside down, cushions scattered. A foot stool, in place of the coffee table was lying in the corner, one of its legs broken. And the worst thing...

A body of a man lay just a few feet from the kitchen door. Letting out a silent cry, I darted across the room. In another world I banged my shins against the coffee table and sprawled across it.

Blinded yet not blinded, I scrambled over it and crawled forward, shins aching.

'No no no no no!' I thought, panic rising. For I knew, without a doubt in my mind that this man lying there was my father. 'No! Please!'

I moved to roll the body over, but my hands just passed right though it.

'It's not real,' my mind whispered. 'Not real. Move on.'

Abandoning the body with some reluctance, I crawled into the kitchen I recoiled at the sight of a dogs corpse lying in the corner. Like the mans body though, my hand passed right through it. Trembling, I felt my way over to a counter and hauled myself up.

'Its not real. It's not real. It's not real.' I shut my eyes right and kept chanting that, focusing on what was real; the pain in my legs from running into the coffee table. 'Not real. Not real. Not real.'

Cracking my eyes open, I was relieved to find that the nightmare or whatever it was had passed. That relief was short lived though as footsteps came from the other direction.

Pressing my back up against the counter, I faced the person with wide eyes. Phantom pain shot through my body, and if I had my voice I would've cried out. The best I could manage was a pathetic croaking fart noise.

I knew, without ever seeing picture, who this was. It was like a recognition, a sick and twisted connection. Someone I knew from the very bottom of my soul.

'I know you,' my mind hissed, 'you hurt me.'

"Hello dear child," Zsasz purred, a wicked grin on his face.