To Play the Fool

Chapter Eleven

"Imogen, I need to rant!" I announced as I pushed myself past her when she answered the door.

"Uh, is this work related?"

"No, it's Jackie related. I can't go home; she's driving me nuts!"

"You know, I have a phone, and I'm pretty sure you have one too. A cell phone, even." She ran ahead of me, trying to pick up various things around her living room.

I wasn't really paying attention to anything in her house, just trying to find a place to walk around. "This is a rant that requires pacing." I moved a chair from the kitchen table out of my way and started making a small lap around her living room. "I don't know why I thought it would be a good idea to let her move in."

Imogen turned her laptop screen away from me a few inches. "Didn't you tell me she was living on the streets?" she said, trying to distract me.

It worked, of course. "Yes, and I could have used a roommate. I remember that conversation."

"And she's your little sister," she added. "I told you this would be a good way to get close to her again."

"She's the one that left us. Backpacking through Europe. Bah!" I threw my hands up in the air.

"But she wrote you letters. It's not like she cut off contact completely."

"Then why did she leave in the first place, Imogen?"

"You're the one that refused to write back," she argued, "and you made the offer to have her move in."

"I know! I can't figure out how I feel about all this. I've been wanting her to come home for the last three years, and I'm glad she decided to come back and save my life, but every time I look at her or talk to her, I think about the day she left and I'm mad all over again. It was a lot easier to hate her at a distance or just ignore her completely."

She stared at me after my flood of potent rage. "This isn't going to be the typical roommate rant, is it."

She was the only roommate I had ever been able to tolerate. Well, the only one that could tolerate me. That's beside the point. "She has a job at some fancy restaurant where she works most afternoons and evenings. Then she dresses up as Tex and hangs out with Batman so she gets home at all hours of the night."

"It isn't," she sighed.

"She comes in through the window, which doesn't wake me up, but it does leave us vulnerable to break ins. Does she care? I guess not."

"You live with a vigilante that beats up those kinds of guys on a nightly basis."

"She doesn't sleep in the bed I got for her. Instead, she uses this ratty old sleeping bag and sleeps on the floor. She thinks I don't know, but I do. She has exactly four changes of clothing, two of which are her work uniforms. All of these she washes religiously."

"That sounds … frugal."

"Then she makes me lunch every day before I go to work. Sometimes breakfast too. And she keeps bringing home dinner from her job, and it's the most amazing food I have ever tasted."

"I'm confused. What's the problem?"

"I just told you. She's making me lunch."

"Does she pay her share of rent?"

"Yes." Obviously.

"Does she leave dishes in the sink?"

"No."

"Does she steal your stuff?"

"No."

"Does she wake you up at all hours of the night?"

"No."

"Does she have annoying friends she brings over?"

"No. No friends."

"So she's the ideal roommate," she diagnosed.

"No!" Hasn't she been listening?

"Okay, I think I know what your problem is. She's being nice to you and you have no idea how to handle it because you know she was right and you were wrong."

"Why would she do that? It's diabolical!" I stopped pacing and flopped into an armchair. "She acts like a complete idiot, but she's an evil genius, and I am an evil genius."

"I know. I wish you had the psyche of a normal human."

"Bah! Dull. Alright, I'm done. Your turn."

She rolled her eyes. "What in the world do I have to rant about?"

"Oh, for the love of – first off, me. Your friend who chooses to ignore social graces whenever it's inconvenient to you and selfishly takes up your time. Especially when you're complaining to your friend on Skype about someone that walked out without paying for a very expensive hair style thingy."

"How -"

I gestured to the police papers and security camera screen-caps on her table which I saw as soon as I walked in the door. "Stop leaving this stuff out for me to see. Don't worry, I'll figure out who it is. And you." I went to her laptop and turned the screen to face me. It was the guy Imogen was talking to before I burst in. He was Indian, probably in his late 20s, with short black hair, square framed glasses, a neat, white polo shirt, and a little acne. "Where are you talking from?" I demanded.

"Jenny!" Imogen scolded.

"Michigan," he nervously replied.

"Uh huh. You're staying on the third floor of a Days Inn in Gotham City. Ask her out, stupid. She doesn't get cleaned up after work for just anyone. And I doubt you take trips to Gotham just for kicks and giggles."

"No, it's a business -"

I turned the laptop away. "Well, I've got to get to class. Great talk. Thanks."

I walked out of her apartment without waiting for a goodbye. As I closed the door, I heard her say, "So that's my brilliant friend that I hate sometimes."

I got home from class a few hours later. Jackie was out as usual, and I was too tired to turn the light on, so I just dropped my things by the door. That's when I noticed that the window in the living room had been left slightly open. I wasn't too tired to be suspicious of that. Jackie always closed and locked the window when she left. My mind leaped to the only logical conclusion: Burglar.

I did not have softball practice today, but I usually keep three bats around the house. One by the door, one by my bed, and one in my closet for actual softball. I do live in Gotham, after all, and I have to be prepared to defend myself. I slipped off my shoes and carefully picked up my bat, carrying it ready to swing. I tip-toed through my living room, avoiding the floorboards that creaked. Nothing was touched in there or the kitchen – not even the TV. I moved on to the bedrooms down the hall.

My door had been left cracked open exactly two inches, which was how I left it every morning. It was unlikely anyone was in there, but I pushed the door open another two inches and looked inside from every angle. Empty. I put my back to the wall and peeked over my right shoulder into Jackie's room. There in the shadows, someone was moving, going through her meager belongings. That made no sense. I owned everything valuable.

I stood in front of the door where he couldn't see me. At some point, he would have to leave through here, and it would have to be soon. Jackie doesn't have much stuff to go through. A few moments later, he gave up on finding anything. The door opened and I reacted instinctively. It was only after I hit his head like a softball to score a home run that I realized I just knocked out the Batman.

"Oh. Not good."

The lights turned on in the living room. "Jenny!" Jackie called. "Are you alright? The lights were off."

Thank God for her incredible timing. "Can you come here?" I still held the bat in an iron grip, ready to swing again. "I'm going to need some help with the body."

Jackie flew to me and looked in horror at the floor of her room. Then she turned to me with the same expression. "What did you do?"

"He broke in," I explained.

"Okay, give me your weapon." She pried the bat out of my hands, but she did not have an easy time with it. "Jenny … come on … let. Go!" She finally tore it out and set it on the ground before going to help the Batman. "How many times did you hit him?"

"Just once. I think I panicked."

"A little, yeah." She turned him over onto his back and put a pillow from her bed under his head. "Can you go get two glasses of water and a bottle of aspirin?"

"Is he going to be okay?"

"Well, from what I can tell, he's playing possum. Shoo."

My hands were shaking as I filled two cups with ice and water. Honestly, I should not be reacting like this. He was the one breaking into my home. I had a right to feel safe here, and he deserved to be brained with a bat. So why was I feeling so terrified of the concussed beast?

When I came back, Batman had gotten to his feet and Jackie was trying to get him to stay down. However, he was having a hard time keeping steady and she was trying to get him to sit down on her bed. "Sit, or I give her back the bat. Thank you, Jenny." He finally fell onto the bed. Then she took one of the glasses and the aspirin and held the water out to him. He took the glass and she poured four pills out of the bottle. "Let's just start with two and go from there."

"Don't need it," he growled.

"I'm the one that hit you. Yes you do," I bit back.

"Jenny. Sit. Drink." I did as she commanded. Then she turned back to her other patient. "Are you feeling nauseous? Lightheaded? Dizzy? Ringing in your ears?" Batman dry-swallowed the pills. "I'm going to take that as a yes. You're not fine." She put the other two pills in his palm and went to her closet to get her jacket.

There was a fake back to her closet where she kept her more dangerous items. Jackie zipped up her jacket, gathered her hair and stuffed it down the back before activating her helmet. I've never known exactly what her suit could do, but seemed like it could do just about anything, including x-ray someone's head and see if there was bleeding in the brain. She held her hand up over his face and eyes as she took a good look around his head.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Checking for bruising," she replied.

"No, I mean -"

"Her hands have lead or something in them," I explained. "She's trying not to peek."

"Well, I'm not a medical professional," she declared before retracting her helmet, "but that is definitely looking like a minor concussion at least. She got you good. You're going to have to take tonight off."

"Absolutely not," he snarled.

"I will give Jenny back the bat and let her finish the job. You do not have to be out every single night. You are either going to stay here and get some sleep and have Jenny wake you up every two hours, or you can go home, go to bed, and have a trusted friend wake you up every two hours. You may also want to go visit the hospital and get some better painkillers. I'll only let you choose option two if that trusted friend can pick you up."

"The Tumbler has autopilot," he said, answering her question.

I raised an eyebrow in a questioning glance at Jackie, and she explained, "That big tank, Batmobile thingy." Ah, yes. That clears it up nicely. I did notice that Batman winced at Jackie's name for it. "I can take care of the city tonight, but please. Don't be an idiot. You have to get some sleep. However, while I have you at my mercy …" She sat down next to him on the bed. "What are you doing here?" She had a smile that could give you diabetes, but it had an edge of anger to it.

Jackie wasn't interested in asking him the right questions, so I filled in. "Did you really think that you could go through her things and find out something about her? Everything you'll ever want to know about her, plus some, you'll hear from her."

"It's true. I talk too much."

"You already know Jackie's name, which is a lot more than she's got on you. Were you just trying to prove that you know where we live?" My questions were coming faster and reflected my resurfacing wrath.

"Jenny," she sighed, trying to keep the peace. "Could you step outside for a minute?"

"No!" I jumped to my feet. "He broke into my apartment! You're supposed to be making this city safe, not making me insecure in my own home! And for what? To go through my sister's dirty laundry? What did you discover?"

"Calm down, Jenny. I'm not mad."

"Why not?"

"You hit him with a bat! I figured that was good enough. Now, Batman." She put a hand on his shoulder, more patronizing than friendly. "I swear to you that I will never pry into your life or identity. In return, I don't care if you feel like you need to dig into my past because you don't trust me or you think I'm dangerous, because you're not going to discover a whole lot that way. I was raised with her," she pointed at me. "I don't leave a whole lot of evidence behind. But please, please promise me that you will never piss Jenny off again. Seriously, this is going to take me three days to calm her down, and she was already mad at me."

What was wrong with her? That wasn't the problem here! "Oh, come on! I have a legitimate reason!"

"Okay." Jackie leaped off the bed, gently twisted an arm behind my back and pushed me out the door. "We're going to take our little family dispute outside and let you sneak out the window with what little dignity you've got left. Bye!" She kicked the door shut behind her.

I tore myself out of her hands. "That was entirely unnecessary."

Jackie bit her lip to suppress a grin. She held her breath for three seconds, then opened the door to her room. Batman had disappeared, leaving nothing but an open window in his wake. He had even taken the glass of water. Jackie burst into giggles. "You hit Batman with a bat!"

"Is this about the pun or the fact that I gave him a concussion?"

Her answer was several more minutes of laughter.

"He's definitely not going to live this one down, is he."

She caught her breath. "Ah, he will. He deserved it, but I kind of drove him to it. I've been giving him the runaround for the last three weeks. I'm going to get changed and go. You should go lie down."

"I'm fine," I shook my head.

"You're coming off an adrenaline high, and you don't handle violence well."

I held out my right hand. Still shaking, and cold. "But I do." I looked back on my night at the Iceberg Lounge with some fondness.

"You've never wielded the weapon before and you've never been this close to killing someone. Go take a nap."

"But I have homework."

She took me by the shoulders and pushed me to my room. "You'll have time later. Right now, nap."

Jackie operates under a 'sleep-cures-all' belief. But sometimes she's right.