How did it happen? Well, I know how it happened. So, what was I thinking? I wasn't. The real question is: why did I let it happen? Staring into my bathroom mirror, I did not fully recognize the girl staring back at me. I could still feel his hands on my waist, his breath on my neck.

"Damn. Barbara Gordon, why did you give in?" I whispered under my breath.

I continued to stare at the girl in the mirror hoping she'd tell me that all this was somehow okay.

Bzzz bzzz bzzz

My communicator echoed off the bathroom walls. Its yellow light blinked at me mockingly. After fumbling with my utility belt, the communicator came loose. "Hi."

"Crime scene on 5th and Paige, in an old office building. How soon can you be here?"

"In 10."

Batman hung up. Pieces of hair floated away from my face as air pushed its way past my lips from my sigh.

I pulled on my Batgirl gear, turned off the lights, and stepped out my window.

The lights from the police cars reflected in the water on the pavement. The splashing sounds from each step I took was drowned out by the freezing rain that had turned into small pieces of hail.

Stepping under the cover from outside the building, Harvey Bullock, a cop that works closely with my father, acknowledged me with a nod.

"Is he inside?"

"Yes, but-"

I didn't wait to hear what he had to say. Pulling the heavy door open, I entered the building, the smells of paper, mildew, and blood hit my face. My father, Commissioner James Gordon, was crouched next to Batman examining a body that at first glance appeared to be deformed. As the door shut, they looked at me simultaneously.

"Batgirl," Commissioner Gordon said with a nod.

My eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. "What do you know so far?" I asked, looking at the body in front of us. The blood was barely visible against the deep red carpet it was seeping into. The body looked almost like it was porous but melted.

"Not a great sight for someone with trypophobia," my father commented, likely noticing a small scowl on my face.

"Not a great sight for anyone," I said flatly.

"We entered the building a few moments before yourself. We have yet to identify the victim," Batman answered.

I wandered away from the body as he spoke. My steps made no sound as I explored the nearby cubicles, Batman and the commissioner still examining the body. Each cubicle had a neat stack of papers in the corner, a small desktop computer, and a desk lamp. Despite the rest of the building being old and run-down, all eight cubicles and the furniture and equipment in them appeared to be new… and clean. I dragged my finger across each desk I looked at. Not even a little dust was on my glove. I squinted, my cowl taking that as a sign to zoom in as I examined the cubicle. Dust takes just a few minutes to settle. For these desks to be this spotless, the place would have had to have been cleaned today.

"Could have been the Riddler. What's the estimated time of death? Who found the victim?" I raised my voice above Batman and my father's chatter.

"I was at Arkham just yesterday, and I passed Nygma in his cell," my father replied. "The person who found him was a man who works here. He claims he came in at 6pm to pick up some paperwork he needed for a business trip tomorrow. The GCPD received his call reporting the death at 6:03pm. Time of death is hard to say based on the current state of the victim."

A chair squeaked slightly as I plopped in it, elbows on the arm rests, fingers interlaced, staring at the empty, clean desk in front of me.

"Did you find something?" Batman asked from over the cubicle.

I didn't respond.

"Is she okay?" I heard my father whisper.

"I'm fine. Just thinking. Give me a minute."

A faint shadow appeared over me. I continued to stare at the desk, but the shadow did not leave. I turned the chair around slowly and found myself looking up at Batman.

"Yes?" I asked with a little more edge in my voice than intended.

He turned and walked towards another cubicle to examine it. I turned back to the desk and traced the base of the lamp with my finger, turning it on. The room went dark, except for the light. As I turned the lamp off, the room's dim lights flickered back on. I turned the lamp on and off again. The same thing happened. I stood up, looking over the cubicle towards my father.

"Crossed wires?" he suggested, while continuing to take pictures of the crime scene. I turned the lamp back off. Right underneath it, on the desk, there was writing in glowing ink: I'm sweet until I'm hot. When I'm hot, I rot. Healthy I may be, but heat will consume me. What am I? I noticed Batman next to me as I grabbed a vial from my belt, took the q-tip from inside, and scraped off some of the lettering.

"Jim, it's a riddle." Batman tilted his head towards the writing.

As my father walked towards us, I started to shuffle through papers on the desk. "What kind of company is this?" I mumbled.

"They sell furnaces."

My muscles tensed as I examined the body again. Who is this? Why was he killed? Are we absolutely sure the Riddler is in Arkham? Dozens of questions flooded my mind, and like watching a computer solve a puzzle, I could see the questions trying to establish an order, so when their answers revealed themselves, this would all make sense… complete a picture. Trusting that Batman and my dad would put the formal case together, I started heading towards the door to find someplace less distracting to think. Plus, I really didn't want to be around Batman any longer. At least not right now.

"Batgirl," Batman called out.

I stopped but did not turn around.

"Meet in the cave.?"

I ignored him and continued to walk, unsure if he was asking a question or giving me an order.

"Is there something going on?" I heard my dad whisper on my way out the door.

I spent the next few hours stopping petty crimes. The last pair of handcuffs I had with me clinked against the pipe I attached the latest criminal to. He was knocked out.

Rubbing my sore knuckles, my heart jumped suddenly as I turned around to find myself face to face with Batman. "God. Why do you do that?"

"Have you put any pieces together?"

I sighed. I hadn't. The questions had rearranged themselves, but they all remained unanswered.

"I'll take that as a no. Let me know when you do. I'm taking these samples back to analyze them."

I followed him. Both of us moved silently towards his car. Without any acknowledgment from him, I got in the passenger's seat. It was now 3am. Why did I follow? I told myself it was to help analyze the samples, but deep down, I knew that wasn't why. So, why did I really follow? That was a question I could not answer.