WARNING: VERY STRONG LANGUAGE . . .
Ten minutes out of Gotham and another five to reach the docks, Nightwing felt his cellphone vibrate. He had it hooked into the device in his helmet.
"Number," he intoned, and the number flashed onto the top, left-hand side of his visor.
He didn't recognize it.
"I.D.," he requested, and the name Harry Chon was displayed.
Nightwing frowned. He recognized the name of one of the detectives on the BPD. Why would Chon be calling him; he checked his chronometer, at twelve-fifty in the morning? Batman was counting on him. He couldn't afford to be called into work now.
"Ignore," Nightwing instructed. The buzzing stopped.
A minute later, his cell buzzed again. This time a different number came up.
"I.D.," he requests.
This time Nathan Campbell's name popped up in his display. Nightwing wasn't sure he knew this name. It sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it. But then again, he preferred to be left alone when out in this personae, so he didn't put much thought into it.
Must be a hell of an accident, he thought, a little guiltily. He ignored the pang. He would feel so much worse leaving Bruce in a lurch.
"Voicemail," he instructed. Curious, he decided he could just listen. If it were a wrong number, he could always delete it.
"Richard Grayson? This is Detective Nathan Campbell from the Bludhaven Police Department. It's important that you give me a call back at this number, ASAP."
What the hell?
His exit was coming up in another eight miles. He couldn't . . .
His cellphone buzzed a third time in about as many minutes. He almost declined it automatically, but then he recognized Elle's cell number. Her name popped up on his visor. Maybe now he would be able to find out what had frightened her earlier. Maybe Mook had gotten out of his terrarium again. The poor tarantula would likely be spending the night under the colander until he could get back. He smiled as he instructed the device to answer.
Finally! Someone he wanted to talk to . . .
"Hand me the vic's cellphone," Campbell ordered even as he ended his call and stuffed it back into his pocket.
Chon watched as the new girl plucked the phone out of a plastic bag and carefully handed it to the other detective. Campbell pulled another pair of gloves out of his pocket.
"My last pair," Campbell mumbled as he tugged them on, and then carefully turned the phone back on; scrolling to the number he wanted. "Well, if he won't pick up for us, maybe he'll pick up for her."
He pressed send and set it on the dining room table; placing it on speaker so that they could all hear.
"Hey, Baby! I tried to call you earlier," Nightwing said to her as soon as he answered. "What's up? Can't you sleep?"
"Richard Grayson," a deep male voice came through the line.
He was so startled hearing an unfamiliar male voice on his fiancée's phone, he nearly lost control of his bike. Braking hard, the squeal of the tires was loud, and the engine roared with unaccustomed ferocity as he skidded to a halt in the middle of his lane!
"Fuck!" Nightwing was forgotten and Dick came to the fore. "Who the hell is this? Where's Elle?!"
"Take it easy, Dick," the voice instructed him.
"Who the hell are you, and what the hell are you doing with my fiancée's cell phone?! Where's Elle?!" Dick roared that last question as he gripped the handlebars of his bike so hard he was surprised he wasn't bending the metal.
"Dick, you need to calm down and pull off of the road," the man told him with infuriating calmness. "You're on the road, aren't you? I can hear the traffic."
"You need to answer my fucking questions," Dick snarled into the built-in mouthpiece.
There was another squeal of tires as a pickup swerved into the other lane to avoid him. A horn blared in annoyance. Dick ignored it.
"What was that? Have you pulled off the road? Are you in a reasonably safe location?"
"You need to put my fiancée on the line," Dick demanded. "Right the fuck now!"
There was a sigh and some shifting noises. A murmur . . . Did this guy have him on speaker phone?
"Dick, listen to me. My name is Detective Nathan Campbell with the Bludhaven Police Department . . ."
"Oh my God," Dick breathed as his heart skipped a beat. "What happened? Where is she? Where's Elle?!" His voice rose with every question. "Is she alright?!"
"Who is Elle," the detective asked.
"What do you mean who is Elle? Elle is Arabella," Dick snapped angrily. "Something you would know if she had given you her phone!"
Another horn sounded as a car sped by him. Dick didn't hear it. Even if he had, he wouldn't have cared.
"Dick, are you off the road?" Campbell asked again. "Where are you, son?"
"Don't call me 'son'! I'm eight miles from Gotham City," he snapped. "Why aren't you answering my questions?!"
There was a slight hesitation. "Why are you going to Gotham City at this hour? It's . . ." there is a pause here, "one o'clock in the morning."
Fear was choking him. He was having trouble concentrating as he tried to focus on Elle and her emotions. He frowned. There were miles between them, but he would feel her if she were really scared or . . . hurt. Oh, shit . . .
"It wasn't a nightmare," he whispered.
"What was that," Campbell asked. "I didn't catch that."
Dick swallowed his heart so he could speak. "Please, just tell me . . . Is she alright? Is she okay?"
He couldn't tell . . . His fear was suddenly overwhelming him. He couldn't feel her at all, and that scared him more than anything else. It had been months since he had been alone in his own head. Even when he was out of range, he still seemed to be aware of her hovering . . . just there. But now. Now he felt nothing!
A heavy sigh sounds. "Please, Mr. Grayson, just answer the question."
Formality . . . Formality wasn't good. He wished Campbell would go back to calling him Dick.
"I was called home. Family emergency . . ." Dick told him.
"Okay, now one more," Campbell said with ruthless determination. "How'd you get out of the building?"
"What," Dick shook his head. "What the hell difference does that make?"
Speaking slowly, Campbell repeated, "How did you get out of the building without showing up on security's video footage? We saw you come into the building, but according to the video, you never left."
"You son of a bitch," Dick growled. "I was parked behind the building. I sometimes go out through the back door in the basement to save time. What part of a family emergency did you not understand?"
"Is Bruce okay?" Campbell asked, almost casually.
"Bruce?" Dick blinked. What the hell was he talking about now? What had happened to Elle?
"Mr. Wayne," Campbell clarified for him. "You said you were going to Gotham for a family emergency."
"It hardly feels like an emergency in comparison to this," Dick said. He hunched over the bike. "I think I'm going to be sick," he told Campbell and whoever else was listening. "For the love of God, just tell me . . . What the fuck is going on?!"
Campbell took pity on him. "We responded to a number of 911 calls; one of which originated here, in your fiancée's apartment."
"No, no, NO!" Dick tries breathing deeply a couple of times. When he speaks again, his voice is soft and maybe a little bit shaky. "Please . . . Don't tell me . . ." He couldn't say it. But he couldn't feel her anymore either. "Don't tell me she's dead . . . God! Just don't let her be dead . . ."
When Campbell spoke again, the 'official' voice was gone. He was now speaking to a fellow officer in need.
"Arabella . . . Elle," he corrected himself. "You don't mind if I call her Elle, do you?" Campbell didn't wait for Dick to comment, but plunged on. "Elle was missing when officers arrived on the scene. Her apartment is trashed from what was obviously a violent encounter with an intruder." Campbell paused a brief moment. "A man whom we know has already killed twice."
The sound Dick emitted was somewhere between a whine and a moan.
Campbell continued. "Witnesses claim they saw a man leaving the apartment with an unconscious woman draped over his shoulder. The man shot at them, causing them to duck back into their own apartment and slam the door shut. They were unable to describe the perp; neither were they able to confirm if the woman he carried was, in fact, Arabella Hamilton.
"The security footage from the lobby, combined with the eyewitness accounts, however, leads us to believe that it was indeed Elle that he left with," Campbell concluded.
Dick was silent for a long moment as he processed the information given.
"Are you still there?" Campbell's voice was soft; compassionate.
"So," Dick fell back into the safety of detective work," you cannot say for certain then if she is dead or not."
"No. But the evidence doesn't support the worst case scenario," the detective attempted to comfort.
"I heard a hesitation in there," Dick murmured. "What do you know?"
"I'm sorry, Dick," Campbell told him. "I can't divulge that information over the phone."
"Is there blood?"
"Dick, I cannot tell you that. You are still out on the road," Campbell said.
"Has forensics been able to determine whether or not the blood at the scene is hers?" Dick asked.
Another vehicle sped by; this one a semi-tracker trailer. The driver laid on the horn.
"It's too early yet for that to be determined. Dick, are you far enough off the road to be safe?"
"Why would the guy take her if she were already dead?" Dick struggled to distance himself enough from this that he could be of some help to her. "I understand taking a trophy, but not necessarily a body; particularly if that other body had been left behind. You said there were two other victims?"
"I shouldn't have told you that," Campbell sighed. "That's privileged information."
Dick continued as if Campbell hadn't spoken. "That would suggest that she was alive at the moment of abduction. Right? Why would he kidnap a woman who was already dead?"
He was grasping at straws and he knew it.
There was some murmuring as Campbell conferred with others. Finally, he spoke. "We are reasonably certain she was alive at the time of abduction; yes." Campbell confirmed. "Dick, we need you to come in."
Dick revved his motor. "Detective, you couldn't keep me away if you tried. I'll be there in less than an hour."
"Do you need an escort?"
Dick snorted at the offer.
"Don't speed," Campbell cautioned. "She will need you to be alive when this is over!"
Dick disconnected the call, yanked off his helmet, and threw it off of the road in a rage!
Goddamn it! He wrapped his arms around his waist and hunched in on himself, moaning.
She had asked him to stay . . . She had asked him to stay just one more night with her; just one!
. . . And he couldn't do it.
When she had needed him the most, he hadn't been there.
"What the hell is wrong with me?!" Dick clutched his head and screamed.
Another vehicle swerved around him; the passenger rolling down the window and yelling. Dick didn't hear him. Didn't care if he had . . .
A car stopped in front of him and put on its flashers. An older woman climbed out, despite the speeding cars around her and the dark, and made her way over to him.
"Are you all right," she asked him gently; bravely laying a hand on a stranger's arm.
Dick blinked at her; not that she would have been able to tell it what with his mask on and all.
"What?" He was disoriented for a moment; confused.
Dick suddenly realized he had been sitting in right-hand lane of an eight-lane freeway in the middle of the night. How was he still alive?
The woman repeated her question and added, "Do you have somewhere you need to be? Would you like for me to drive you?"
The kindness and bravery of the sixty year old woman struck him as being very Elle-like. This was something that his Elle would do! It was also very stupid. He raised his head to smile gently at her, and her headlights struck him in the face; illuminating him for her. She gasped a little, but didn't falter; didn't flinch.
"Oh, Mr. Nightwing!"
She recognized him!
"It's dangerous to be out of your car in the middle of the night," he told her ridiculously. He climbed off of his bike. "Let me escort you back and see you safely inside."
"I came out here because you looked like you were hurt or in trouble," she explained; her words barely carrying over the noise of the traffic around them. "Are you okay? Do you need me to give you a ride to the hospital or . . ." she appeared to be at a loss for a moment, "somewhere else? I have a cellphone," she offered.
"Would you like to call Batman?"
The offer startled him.
"Batman," he asked her as he opened her car door for her and helped her get in.
She smiled at him. "Oh, I know you are all grown up now, but I'm sure that if you called him, he would help you."
Dick's eyebrows shot up beneath the mask. "You . . . You know who I am?"
She chuckled a little as he leaned in to buckle her up. "Of course, I do. You're Nightwing; Batman's little Boy Wonder all grown up and catching criminals on your own now."
A smile edged his mouth. Dick didn't know he had it in him at the moment, but the lady startled it out of him.
"You remember me," he stated. "A lot of people miss the connection."
She patted his arm. "Well, I'm not a lot of people. You go on, now," she told him. "I'm sure you are in a hurry to somewhere and have people depending upon you to save them. I'll sit here with my flashers on until you get back on your bike and get moving."
His heart thumped in his chest at the reminder. "Yes, you're exactly right. I do. Thank you, ma'am. You go on and don't worry about me. Drive safe out there."
She smiled at him. "Such a nice, young man . . ."
Dick slammed the door and ran back to his bike. He pushed it onto the shoulder of the road and waved at the old woman. Her car picked up speed and she turned her flashers off as she disappeared into the sea of darkness and red brake lights.
He skidded down the embankment with a change of clothes, and flicked on his bat-light as he retrieved his helmet. He cursed the time wasted as he made a quick change. Running back up the incline, it was Dick Grayson that threw himself onto his bike and pulled out into traffic. He cut across several lanes, the median, and onto the freeway that led back to Bludhaven.
He checked his chronometer. Twenty minutes! He was supposed to be meeting Batman right about now. Damn it!
He activated his secure comlink.
"Oracle?"
"Loud and clear, Nightwing. Go ahead.
"Let Batman know that I'm not going to be able to make it to Gotham tonight, after all. Something's come up. He'll have to get Red Robin to help." Dick kicked his bike into a higher gear.
"A little short notice, don't you think?" Bab's irritation came through the channel perfectly.
"Unavoidable." He snapped.
"You realize that months of work is culminating tonight," Oracle said.
He supposed she was angry because this concerned her dad, too. The commissioner was supposed to be there.
"I'm aware," and he really didn't want to get into it with her.
"You're aware? Are you aware of how many people will suffer if this operation fails? How many could die," she tossed in for guilt's sake.
It didn't work because it couldn't compete with the guilt he was already dealing with at the moment. Was Elle suffering? He tried to feel her, but his own emotions were preventing him from being aware of anything other than his own terror. His heart was pounding.
He needed to calm the hell down. He would be no good to her, if he fell apart out here and managed only to kill himself, and her, in the process.
"Oracle, now's not the time . . ." he warned.
"See? That's just part of the problem," she snarked. "This is about more than just you!"
He considered for all of ten seconds about trying to explain things to her, but realized it didn't matter; there was no way she would ever understand.
Babs had met Elle for all of twenty minutes during Bruce's New Year's Eve celebration party. What he and Babs had shared as a couple couldn't compare to what he had discovered.
The proof of that was her shock when Bruce had officially announced his and Elle's engagement at the party; that and the flash of temper he had seen cross her face before she had managed to school her features. The two of them had chatted for a few minutes more while Elle had danced with Tim, and, all of a sudden, Babs was warning him about rebound relationships and telling him to use caution; that she thought that maybe he was moving too fast.
No, he thought. She wouldn't understand what he was going through right now. He had had no desire to explain the bond to her then, and he certainly wasn't going to do so now.
Bruce? Bruce would understand, but he didn't want to pull Batman away from this operation, too. Dick would take care of it. He would find Elle, and when she was safe, then he would explain himself.
. . . If Bruce would talk to him again after tonight.
Gah! He didn't need this . . .
"Just deal with it, Babs," he sighed. "I'm busy."
"Really," she snapped, angrily. "It had better be something important to bail on him like this!"
Terror, worry, guilt, anger all suddenly flared, and he lost it. "Yes, Goddamn it! It's fucking important! When have I ever bailed on anything for something that wasn't life and death important?!"
There was a momentary pause where Dick figured she was collecting her jaw off of the floor.
"Whoa! Oookay . . . Maybe you'd better explain," she said, this time her irritation was replaced by caution.
But he wasn't taking it. "Why the hell do I have to explain anything to you?! Since when do you get to determine whether or not my emergencies are serious enough to take priority?!"
"Dick, I . . ."
But Dick cut her off. "No! You and I? We're over! Isn't that what you said to me?"
"Hang on a minute . . ." she tried to interject again.
"Yeah, well, I get it now. You no longer have the right to judge what is life and death important in my life, Barbara! And honestly, you never did," he snarled across the comlink. "You know what? I don't care anymore. Fuck you, Oracle! You can tell B whatever you want. I've got more important things to deal with right now!"
"Dick, wait! Where are y- "
"Transmission over," he growled.
Revving the motor, he took it up another notch; swerving around vehicles in the night at breakneck speeds that would raise the hair on the back of even the Batman's neck. Dick tried again to focus on Elle's emotions . . . On her presence . . . On anything! But nothingness greeted him.
Was she unconscious? Was she . . . dead? If that were the case, if he were too late, he thought smearing himself over two miles of asphalt would be preferable.
REACTIONS?
Hm, Dick's freaking out a little bit and it shows . . . Okay, a LOT! Dick's freaking out a lot! Give me your thoughts after this! I'm dying to know!
Not sure if I can get another chapter out today or not, but there is always a chance for a Two-fer! (Two-fer: two chapters posted in one day!)