There is the use of a word, I don't normally use in here. Just a head's up!
Dick kneeled at the edge of the bridge where a car just plunged four stories into the Gotham River; where his girlfriend just dived in after it in a crazy effort to save the driver's baby who was strapped into a baby seat in the back. The car had sank below the surface in less than a minute; ridiculously fast! The ripples from both the vehicle and Elle's mad dive were already gone, and the dark surface of the fast moving water was blank again. He couldn't even tell for sure where they had hit exactly anymore.
Slowly, sounds reintroduced themselves to his consciousness. He became aware there was still gunfire being exchanged, and a woman weeping to his left. He realized in a vague sort of way that the detached feeling he was experiencing was symptom of shock. His mind kept replaying the last few seconds that Elle had been with him. Her running toward the edge of the bridge, determined to save a child from an impossible fate . . . His hand reaching for her, desperate to save her from certain death. Two inches! Just two fucking inches!
He needed to do something. What the hell did he need to do? The police near him were too busy to help him, and the fire department and coast guard wouldn't enter the area until the danger was gone.
Stumbling to his feet, Dick weaved his way back to Bruce's car. It was the first time Dick noticed the damage done to it. The entire right front end was demolished. The tire was bent and turned in such a way that driving on it would be impossible.
Inches, he thought, less than a foot from Elle's door. He realized that if the gunmen's car had hit them just twelve inches back, Elle might have been killed, or at least, seriously injured. But there would have been no way she could have been able to throw herself off a bridge into the freezing water below. Would that have been preferable? He didn't know. His head hurt. He was confused.
Dick walked around the $200,000 plus vehicle, and stared at the damage on the driver's side. It was more of a gouge than a scrape that reached almost bumper to bumper. He looked at the driver's seat. He wasn't even sure what it was he was seeing. His eyes stared at his phone lying in the floor beneath the steering wheel. He should call someone . . . But whom?
Bruce. He should call Bruce.
He pressed speed dial, and listened to the ringing as he stumbled back the way he came. He glanced at the woman weeping, but hadn't the desire to deal with her at the moment.
"Wayne residence," came Alfred's voice, sounding tinny over the phone.
"Alfred?" His own voice sounded odd.
"Hello? Master Richard? Is that you?"
"Alfred? She jumped," Dick felt like that was important to get out. "I tried to grab her, but . . . She jumped, Alfred."
The pause at the other end was almost undetectable. "Master Richard, are you all right?"
"I don't know what to do, Alfred . . ." Dick sat down on the ground. He ignored the gunfire around him, even though some part of him told him that there was no longer a vehicle to give him shelter.
"Dick," Alfred, realizing something terrible had happened, spoke very clearly and simply. "Who jumped?"
"Elle," he said. "I couldn't save her. I wasn't fast enough."
Alfred knew that whatever had occurred was far more complicated than what the young master was able to convey at the moment. He could hear the popping sounds that he recognized to be gunfire in the background and the wailing of a distraught woman; a woman, but not Miss Arabella because . . . Miss Arabella had jumped?
The butler suspected strongly that Master Richard was suffering from shock based upon the conversation he was having . . . or not having, as the case may be. The young man wasn't making much sense.
"Dick," he continued to use his charge's nickname as he seemed to get the most response from that. "I'm going to call Batman to come help you," he said. "I need you to look around you for a safe place to wait. Can you do that?"
"I can see where she dove into the water . . ."
Water? Alfred deduced that the young master was likely near the river. Batman would be able to listen to the police bands and determine where his lost bird was. The gunfire guaranteed that there would be chatter all over the place. Alfred turned to the den and the television. There should be a report about whatever was happening. No doubt Master Richard and Miss Arabella were right in the middle of it, he thought grimly.
He pulled his cell phone out and dialed nine-nine-nine followed by the pound sign.
"Oracle, here. Agent A?" Barbara's voice came over the line.
"Oracle, I need you to patch me through to Batman immediately." Alfred continued to listen to the pandemonium that was coming through the phone, but Master Richard had gone quiet. He ignored the thrill of fear that his charge had somehow taken a stray bullet or passed out from shock.
"Of course," she said. "What's going on?"
"What is happening down by the river," he asked. Oracle always monitored the police bands so as to best direct Batman to where he was most needed.
"A car chase that ended with a shootout. It's still going on. Who knows how much ammo these crazies had with them in the car. According to reports, the police have only managed to put one of the gunmen out of action," she said. "Batman," Alfred heard her speaking on another line. "I have Agent A. I'm patching you through."
"Agent A?" Batman growled. "What has happened?"
Alfred never interrupted a patrol unless some disaster had occurred. Batman and the boys were on their way to a stand-off on the Fourteenth Street Drawbridge, even as he took his butler's call.
"Sir, I have big D on the other line," Alfred said, using the code for Dick as a civilian while on an unsecured line. "I'm not one hundred percent positive, but I believe that he and . . . E were caught up in the mess on the bridge you may have heard about. I believe he might have been hurt. He sounds as if he's in shock, so he isn't making much in the way of sense. He speaks as though something truly terrible has happened to E. I fear he may have need you."
Batman frowned. "I am already on the way there. ETA two minutes."
"I can still hear gunfire over the line. I am afraid he may not be aware enough of his surroundings to take the proper care. But then again, he's no longer responding to my questions."
"Damn it! Acknowledged, Agent A. Batman out."
Batman hit his comm link. "Red Robin," he informed Tim. "Be advised that Dick and Elle may be at the shootout. One or both may be injured."
"Dick's hurt?"
Batman shot a look at Robin. "He was able to call Agent A just a few minutes ago, so it may not be too serious."
Robin didn't look as if he believed him. Batman clenched his jaw, and pressed harder on the gas. The batmobile shot forward, going from eighty to one hundred in the space of a second. As Batman he could generally set aside personal feelings in order to get a job done, and although he tried not to, the other part of him still worried whenever one of his birds had been hurt.
Elle plunged into the freezing river seconds after the car hit. There was no light to indicate which way was the surface, but she didn't need to breathe yet. The car, she could feel, was directly below her. She kicked hard to reach it. There was still time. The baby seat was rear facing, and there was a chance that the seat had mitigated the impact enough that the baby wasn't killed. She couldn't stop until she knew for sure.
Although she had sliced through the water cleanly, the impact had given her a terrible headache on top of the previous headache given to her from her head impacting the passenger side window. She ignored the throbbing as best she could as she reached out in front of her. It was too dark to see the car, but she knew it was there. She just knew it!
There! Elle's finger touched metal for a second before the current swept her past the vehicle. She fought with the current for what felt like an eternity. How long had the baby been under? Elle could hold her breath crazy long, but an infant wouldn't have but a few short minutes at most.
Her fingers found a door handle. She couldn't tell what side of the car she was on, however. She tugged on the door, but even though the water pressure must have evened out by now, there was no way she could budge it by herself. She felt for the other window. It was intact. That meant she was on the passenger side of the car.
Elle felt along the vehicle, catching hold of the metal that edged the windshield; found the windshield wiper. Good! She was at the front of the car. Knowing where she was gave her a frame of reference which would make traversing the inside of the vehicle easier.
There was a thump of the car hitting the river bottom that nearly tore away her grip. God, how deep was the Gotham River? She felt pressure, but not nearly as much as she probably should. The questions that generated were pushed aside by her mission, and the idea that her senses were screwed up due to the shock of the car accident and diving into the freezing water.
The second she found the broken window, Elle pulled herself inside. She felt the steering wheel and the head rest of the driver's seat, and used them to pull herself further. She oriented herself toward the back seat. Her hand swept the area in front of her until it hit something hard. The baby's car seat!
Elle felt frustration as she couldn't figure out the belt that strapped the child in. She suddenly feared that the device that might have saved the child from the fall would now contribute to its death. Her hand found the adult seat belt next. Familiarity allowed her to release it. If she couldn't pull the child from the car seat, she would take the seat with her.
She found the infant's face. How long had it been without oxygen? The baby needed her air more than she did at this point. Elle pressed her mouth over the child's nose and mouth, creating a seal, and breathed. It was difficult. How much water had the baby inhaled? She pushed back the panic, and struggled to fit the seat into the front of the car and out the window.
Immediately, she pushed off from the car's roof; away from the vehicle, instinctively knowing this way was up! Surely she would need to breathe soon! What if she had saved the baby only for both of them to drown before they could reach the surface? Despite her exertion, she only felt slightly lightheaded. She kicked harder. She had to get them to the surface right now!
How long? How long? How long?
Her head broke the surface of the black water, and she gasped; pulling in much needed oxygen . . . Although, she thought she might have had it in her to go a little longer. Elle struggled to pull the car seat up. It was waterlogged and incredibly heavy, and it took some effort on her part to keep them both afloat. She hadn't swum in so long; it was amazing that she hadn't lost some of her strength over the last few months. She used to swim every day for hours!
Was the baby breathing? She pulled the child to her and pushed air into its lungs once more, twice, three times! The infant convulsed, vomiting up water, and coughing spasmodically. Oh, thank God! Elle breathed for it once more, forcing more of the life-giving oxygen into its little lungs! More coughing followed, and then a glorious cry! The cry was weak, but it was as beautiful to Elle's ears as any music she had ever heard.
For the first time, Elle looked around her. Where was she? The bridge was no longer above her. She turned around in the water, straining to see some outline to give her an idea how far the current had pushed them. There! The flashing lights of the police cars crowding the bridge! Elle was shocked by how far they had traveled; were still traveling! It was difficult in the dark, but the bridge was getting further and further away!
Elle began swimming for the closest shore. The shoreline was invisible in the dark, but she felt positive that she was heading in the right direction. She should be exhausted, she thought, but she still had more than enough energy to make it. Must be the adrenaline coursing through her system . . .
Minutes or hours later, Elle was dragging the baby's seat out of the water. She dropped to her knees, and fiddled with the latch until it finally sprang free. It had taken too long. Had she continued to struggle with it in the vehicle, the child would have died! But the baby was alive!
New energy flooded her as elation coursed through her veins! Unfortunately, a stiff wind blew across the river, making them both shiver. The baby's cry warbled. She gathered the child up in her arms to share her heat with it as best she could, and stumbled to her feet. She wasn't about to lose this baby to hypothermia after all she had just gone through to save it from a watery grave. She began making her way up the embankment in the direction of the lights. The poor mother must be going out of her head with grief right now.
She gasped; her head jerking up to stare at the lights. Dick! Oh, God, what must he be thinking? That she had jumped to her death, surely! Faint popping sounds could now be heard. Was the shootout still going on? The stray bullets that hadn't concerned her before now pulled to the forefront of her brain. What if he were hit by one? What if he were, even now, bleeding out on the bridge? Would he fight the darkness? Or would he, in despair, allow himself to be pulled under?
She picked up her pace, tripping and stumbling, until she stood on the semi-flat surface on top of the embankment. While she didn't have it in her to run, Elle began to jog. Slowly at first, and then picking up speed, she fell into a rhythm. She jogged hunched over the infant in her arms. The movement helped to warm her, and allowed her, in turn, to warm the child.
The shock that Dick is suffering from is not from blood loss, (although injury from the crash might exasperate it) but is a type of shock called "Psychogenic Shock". Symptoms can come on quickly and last anywhere from hours to days to more than a month. A serious, but not necessarily life-threatening condition that cause low blood pressure; nausea; dizziness; fainting; confusion; rapid pulse; cold, clammy skin; and psychogenic amnesia which is most often situation specific. It is often associated with the psychological stresses of PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder). While Psychogenic Shock is treatable, it can often be resolved on its own. The danger of this type of shock is more from injuries sustained from fainting.
Of course, Alfred wouldn't know this from the stilted conversation he had with Dick over the phone.
The rest of this will be resolved before the day is out. Check back this evening for the Bridge - Part 3.