Chapter Text
It had been more than five blocks, and he was still following her. Not closely, but close enough that she wasn’t comfortable with the idea of stopping at any of the empty bus stops--she felt certain that if she paused even for a minute, he would strike. And she didn’t have enough money to pay for a cab home, not after paying Lila’s tab in addition to her own at the bar.
Anna was starting to regret going out tonight at all.
He had seemed so nice at the bar. Attentive and interested in her and handsome enough--that was, until Anna turned away for a second to make sure Lila was okay over at the booth she’d slipped into with a girl 15 minutes earlier. Then, when Anna had turned back to the man--Aaron, he’d introduced himself as--his face, just for a split-second, had been twisted into a disgusting, frightening expression. Something angry. Something hungry. He smoothed it away quickly, but Anna had seen it. She’d excused herself a moment later, and gone to sit with Lila and her new bella.
Anna had thought she was safe when he left the bar before she did, but when she’d rounded the first corner on her way home, she’d caught a glimpse of him in her peripheral vision. Waiting. She had swiftly turned to take a different route, but he must have seen her, and now he was doggedly following. Anna didn’t want to think about what would happen if he caught up.
She tried to stick to more populated streets, but she didn’t know the area well. In her panic, she had wandered away from the main drag and into a more residential area. There was hardly anyone around.
He was speeding up. Oh, God, she could hear him! He wasn’t even running, but his legs were so much longer than hers, and the distance was closing. Anna fumbled for her pepper spray.
“Hey! Anna, right?” Aaron--if that was his name--called. He sounded friendly, but Anna wasn’t fooled. She’d lived in Gotham too long not to trust her instincts--and she’d seen his face. “I thought it was you. Talk about a coincidence, huh? You live around here?”
Anna sped up as much as she could, glad she’d opted for sandals over heels. But that wasn’t enough to deter him. “Hey, I’m talking to you!” he called, voice starting to warp into something angry and cold. He was just a few feet from her now.
Anna clutched the pepper spray, nozzle facing out, but it did no good. His hand clamped down on her wrist like a steel trap, squeezing hard enough that she dropped the bottle as her fingers spasmed. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound would come out, her voice caught somewhere behind her sternum. Aaron grinned down at her, smile wide with too many teeth. His eyes--so flat , how hadn’t she noticed before--glinted manically. “I said I’m talking to you, Anna--”
“There you are!” a new voice called. Startled, Anna looked up to find another woman hurrying towards her from across the street.
Heart pounding out of her chest, Anna widened her eyes frantically, trying to telepathically beam the cries for help that she couldn’t quite voice directly into the other woman’s head. She tugged against Aaron’s grip, and it loosened slightly. His eyes were trained warily on the newcomer, who had a cell phone pressed to her ear.
“Yeah, Rob, I found her. Gimme a sec.” The woman pressed the mouthpiece against her neck and addressed Anna directly, jogging over. “Where’ve you been , huh? We gotta get going or we’re gonna be late. Rob’s about to blow a damn gasket. You better calm him down.”
As she drew closer, Anna could see she wasn’t a woman after all, but a teenager. In ratty mom jeans and a cropped sweatshirt featuring a diagram of the solar system, she made quite the contrast to Anna and her carefully put together outfit. She handed Anna the phone and hooked an arm into her elbow, pulling her away from Aaron, seemingly perfectly confident that he would let go. To Anna’s surprise, he did, skeletal fingers sliding along her hammering pulse and leaving goosebumps behind as her wrist slipped through his grasp. The girl dragged Anna away quickly, tossing an errant, “Sorry, buddy, we gotta go or our brother’s gonna have an aneurysm,” over her shoulder.
Anna glanced down at the phone and saw that there wasn’t any call in progress. Rather, the screen was open to the notes app, into which the girl had typed, “PLAY ALONG. THAT DUDE’S A TOTAL CREEP.”
Struggling not to cry in relief--they weren’t out of the woods yet, but God if it didn’t make a difference to have someone with her--Anna pressed the phone to her own ear. “Yes, Roberto, I’m fine. I didn’t want to leave without seeing Lila off, you know how she is. We’ll be there soon.”
As it happened, Anna really did have a brother named Roberto, or Rob for short. Even though it was surely a coincidence, hearing his name from her savior's mouth helped Anna snap out of her daze, and going through the motions of talking to him on the phone--even if it was just pretend--was calming.
“Don’t hang up,” the girl murmured, even as they strode purposefully away, leaving Aaron behind. “And don’t look!” she urged hastily when Anna made to do just that. “That guy’s got seriously bad vibes.”
Anna snorted wetly. “You have no idea. Thank you so much.”
“Don’t thank me until we’re sure he’s not following you anymore,” the girl muttered, but she did sound a little pleased. “Are you okay? It looked like he grabbed you pretty hard.”
Anna rotated her wrist subtly. It ached, but not much worse than her muscles usually did after a long shift at the hospital. “It’ll bruise, but internally it’s not much more than a mild strain,” she diagnosed. The medical talk was strangely soothing, allowing Anna the space to collect herself a bit.
She examined her little rescuer a bit more closely as they passed under a street lamp. The girl’s hair was very dark, only revealing itself to be brown rather than black when they passed directly by a light source. She was rather small--on the shorter side of average, and slim to the point of being skinny--and pale. Exactly the kind of person Nonna would want to feed until she burst at the seams.
She was definitely young. Something about her bearing made her seem older--her confidence, or maybe the dark circles under her serious eyes--but her face was quite youthful. Certainly younger than 18, which rather put a damper on Anna feelings about her involvement. She was grateful for the help, of course, but this was a child; she shouldn’t be defending a grown woman from a predator.
The girl groaned quietly. “He’s still following us, just from further back.” Anna believed it, though she wasn’t sure how the girl knew that. “Ugh! Don’t be an ass, Rob!” she suddenly shouted, leaning towards the phone.
Anna repressed a twitch at the loud noise. “Ah, bambina, don’t shout at Roberto. Even if he is a bit of an ass,” she added teasingly, automatically playing along.
Her savior shot her a small smile and a conspiratorial wink. “I don’t suppose you live around here?”
Anna winced. “Little Italy.” She said no more than that. The girl had been helpful, but one didn’t simply give their address to a stranger in Gotham, no matter how kind they seemed.
The girl grimaced. “That’s not ideal.”
Abruptly, the sky ahead of them was illuminated by the Bat-Signal. In spite of herself, Anna couldn’t help but relax slightly. She had lived in Gotham all her life. Batman had been roaming the streets almost as long as she could remember--she couldn’t help it if that symbol made her feel safe, even though realistically its presence in the sky only meant the Bat would be drawn further away from their location.
The girl hummed. They passed beneath another streetlamp, and for a second, her stormy gray eyes appeared almost purple as they stared up at the floodlights in the sky. “Well there’s an idea,” she said, apparently to herself, before turning back to Anna. “Let’s go to the police station.”
Anna’s heart sank. “That’s almost 15 blocks from here.”
The girl eyed her seriously. “Closer than your apartment. Besides, things’ll get more crowded the closer we get to the Diamond District. If we can make it there, I doubt he’ll keep trying. Easier prey elsewhere.”
Well. That was unsettling. But probably true.
The eight block walk to the Diamond District was tense. Anna’s heart rate probably didn’t drop below 170 bpm the entire time. Faintly, she couldn’t help but think that her adrenal gland was getting quite the workout tonight.
At one point, the girl took her phone back and proceeded to have a 45-second screaming match with it, which was alarming, but Anna figured that Aaron would be similarly put off if he was still watching, so she accepted it. That, she supposed, was the idea.
Soon after they hit the moderately busy edge of the Diamond District, the girl relaxed, exhaling a long breath and loosening her shoulders. “I think we’re in the clear,” she said, finally slipping her phone back into her pocket. She hesitated. “Do you want me to stay?”
Anna considered it. The girl’s belief that Aaron had given up was oddly reassuring, but the idea of walking all the way to the police station by herself still felt daunting. She supposed she could just go home. . .
No. A thread of determination swelled in her chest. Aaron hadn’t seemed like a garden-variety creep. Anna wasn’t that tapped into her civic duty, but this felt like something she should report. “If you don’t mind,” she eventually answered.
The girl smiled. She couldn’t have been older than 16, but for some reason the expression put Anna at ease. “Of course.”
The rest of the walk was much easier. The busy streets of the Diamond District and Old Gotham had never been such a comfort, though Anna knew a certain level of caution was necessary no matter where you were in Gotham--especially on a Friday night. Still, the bustling Financial District was a breath of fresh air compared to the empty residential streets, where it had felt like there was danger lurking around every corner and any decision Anna made would be the wrong one.
Ten minutes later found them rounding the last corner before the Gotham City Police Department. A slight breeze kicked up, and the girl pulled her hood over her head, casting most of her face into shadow. The Bat-Signal was still glowing in the sky, now almost directly overhead.
The girl suddenly slowed, eyes going slightly distant. She tilted her head, as if listening to something very far away. Anna barely noticed, too busy eyeing the station’s glowing windows with trepidation. She’d never been here before, and the police didn’t exactly have a great reputation--Gotham PD especially. Was this even worth it? Maybe she should go home after all.
“Hey,” she called, turning back to the girl. “Do you really think this--Oh my God! Are you alright?”
Anna rushed back to the teenager, whose face was frozen in an expression of indescribable horror and disbelief. “No,” she whispered, but it didn’t sound like an answer to Anna’s question. “That can’t--” Her face twisted in despair, and for a second it looked like she would weep.
“Bambina,” Anna began, realizing abruptly that she didn’t know the girl’s name.
“No, sorry,” she said, visibly forcing her face to smooth out once more. She smiled at Anna. It was convincing, save for the fact that her eyes were still cracked wide with something painful. “Um, I have to go. But you should ask to talk to Detective Montoya, she’ll listen to you. That’s her over there.” The girl pointed to a dark haired woman in the corner of the bullpen. Anna turned to look, and while she was still facing the windows, the girl spoke again. “Good luck, Anna.”
“Well thank you, bambina,” Anna said, still studying Detective Montoya nervously, “but are you sure you’re alri--” She turned around, only to be met with open air. “Bambina?”
Shocked, Anna looked in every direction--across the street, down the nearby alleyway, even up on the fire escape. The girl was nowhere to be found.
A moment later, the other shoe dropped.
How did she know Anna’s name?
* * *
Jim Gordon had not had a very good day. Granted, no one would ever accuse Gotham City’s Police Commissioner of having a particularly cheerful job, but today had involved some especially depressing work.
As he handed the results of that work--a compilation of files, crime scene photos, and evidence samples--over to Batman, he strongly considered lighting a cigar for the first time in weeks, longing for the tang of tobacco on his tongue, and for the nicotine that would soothe his throbbing headache. His hand twitched towards his pocket.
“Not worth it,” the Bat rumbled knowingly. “Your daughter would be furious.”
Jim sighed. She would be, too. Barbara had been trying to get him to quit for years, and was far more excited by his recent efforts than he was himself. Exactly how Batman knew that went carefully unsaid between them. Still. “Take a look at those files, then tell me it’s not worth it.”
The two of them stood on the roof of the station, barely lit by the Bat-Signal glowing above their heads. Even so, the Dark Knight didn’t seem to have any trouble reading the reports or looking over the photos, judging by the look of tight but thunderous fury that stole over his face. The play of half-light and shadows across the cowl brought an even more dangerous slant to the expression.
“The third body was just found yesterday,” Jim explained unnecessarily. “It’s officially serial. I wanted you on it from the beginning--had a real bad feeling even from the first body--but I couldn’t justify it. You know how the courts are about admitting vigilante evidence.”
“Their brains were dissected .” It wasn’t a question, and the Bat would never sound truly incredulous, but Jim got the sense that was the feeling behind the statement.
He understood the sentiment. All his years on the force, working the roughest city in the country and dealing with crazies like the Joker on a near daily basis, and he’d still never seen anything quite like this before.
The victims were three boys, roughly between the ages of 10 and 13. They’d all been found in low traffic areas with no camera access, carefully positioned sitting up against a vertical surface--a wall or a fence. The reason for this arrangement was unfortunately discovered by the witness who had found the first body, when she had shaken the boy’s shoulder roughly, only for the top of his skull to slide off , revealing a mess of cut apart and reassembled brain matter within his cranium.
“And put back together again,” Jim confirmed, disgusted. “Roughly at least. There’s some pieces missing, God help me. The M.E. says tissue samples were taken from all three victims. Not just from the brain either--the spinal cord and the gut were hit, too.”
And that combined with the surgical scars, electrical burns, and track marks scattered across all three bodies in various stages of healing. . . Well, Jim was trying not to think too hard about the way those puzzle pieces slotted together.
Batman shuffled through the crime scene photos, pausing on one in particular and staring for a long moment. If it weren’t for all the years they’d worked together, Jim wouldn’t have been able to recognize that as the breach in his composure that it was. Unfortunately, he could guess what it was about.
All of the dead boys were around the right age, but the most recent victim, with his close-cut black hair and warm brown skin tone. . . Well, he could have been the current Robin’s twin.
“What’s the cause of death?” Batman eventually asked.
Jim huffed, giving in and reaching into his pocket for a cigar and his lighter. Just this once. Barbara would understand, when she saw the files--and Jim was under no illusions that she wouldn’t. “Well, now, that’s the thing we’re not sure about,” he said around his first pull of sweet, sweet smoke. “M.E. says all three of ‘em were brain dead before the skull cutting started, small mercies, but she’s not sure what caused the brain death, on account of all the. . . post-mortem damage.”
The Bat hummed. “The tags in their ears are concerning.”
“Understatement.” The bodies had all been found with flexible plastic tags punched through the cartilage of their upper ears. Numbered, like cattle. That was alarming enough on its own, but the numbers raised an even more unsettling question. In order of discovery, the bodies had been numbered 5-04, 5-11, and 5-01. “We’ve got 5-01 and 5-11. What about all the ones in between?”
Batman looked up from the files, a troubled pinch to his customary frown. He tucked the folder under his arm. “Is there anything else I need to know that isn’t in those reports?”
Jim grunted, digging around in his coat for the sleek WayneTech micro cooler he’d stashed there earlier. Designed specifically for medical use, it could keep tissue samples, vaccines, or other delicate medicines cool for up to three times longer than the LexCorp equivalent. It was available in other sizes as well, of course, but for this purpose, the smallest version was more than enough. “Blood samples,” Jim said, handing it over. “It’s in the file, but the initial toxicology report turned up evidence of an unknown chemical compound in the victim’s bloodwork. They’re sending it back for another look, but I figured you might have better luck.” He sighed, taking another puff of nicotine. “Not to mention we still haven’t been able to ID any of the bodies. I know you have other methods.”
The radio at Jim’s belt crackled to life, spitting static into the humid air. Montoya’s voice came over the line. “Commissioner, we’ve got a witness down here reporting she was stalked and harassed on her way home from a bar in Lower Gotham Proper. The MO and description match the ones we got last week--I’m thinking it’s him.”
Jim furrowed his brow, turning away from Batman to face the street as he pulled the receiver up to his lips. “And she got away from him?” Over the past couple of weeks, Montoya’s team had been investigating a series of assaults--physical and sexual--taking place across the southern island. The attacks had been escalating in intensity, to the point that the most recent victim was in an induced coma for several days before she woke up. For this woman to have gotten away unscathed. . .
“She says a good Samaritan helped her out, came up to her on the street and pretended they were sisters. Walked her all the way here,” Montoya reported, “but ran off rather than coming in and giving a statement. Witness has no idea where she went--says she turned around and the girl was just gone .”
Jim raised an eyebrow at Batman, half wondering if the mysterious good Samaritan could have been one of his girls in civilian garb. The man shook his head, seeming, as he did so often, to read Jim’s mind.
“You want me to send a couple of guys after her?” Montoya asked. “She might have good info.”
Jim shook his head, though the detective couldn’t see it. “If your witness has had time to give a statement and a description, then this good Samaritan is already long gone.”
“Where did the altercation take place?” Batman asked. “I’ll have someone swing through. Oracle can do a sweep.”
Jim nodded his thanks. “I appreciate that.”
Without another word, the vigilante pulled out his grappling gun, ready to depart. This reminder of all the people out on the streets who still needed help had obviously made him eager to get a move on. “Let me know if you need anything else from the department,” Jim said, raising an acknowledging hand as the man moved to the roof’s edge. “And Batman?”
The Dark Knight turned, one foot up on the ledge, waiting for Jim to speak. He gestured to the folder still held in the Batman’s grasp.
“Get this guy, would you?”
Batman nodded sharply, just once, before stepping off the roof. The loud bang! of a grapple deploying split the night, catching the Bat as he swung off into the deep Gotham dark.
Jim watched him go, puffing on his cigar. He savored it for a moment, sure it would be his last once Barbara discovered that he had backslid in his efforts to quit. It was important to enjoy the little things, like a good cigar and an even better daughter--especially when one spent so much time thoroughly entrenched in misery.
Tomorrow, Jim would have to resume work on one of the most disturbing cases he’d ever investigated. Unless the Bat miraculously produced results within the next 10 hours, that work would involve pouring endlessly over the same pieces of evidence--the same tragic, infuriating crime scene photos and autopsy reports--and coming up with the same disheartening lack of leads.
But that was tomorrow’s work. For now, Jim had a cigar to smoke, and a rapist to catch.
Only, when Jim arrived at the station early the next morning, he found a new lead to follow after all--one he certainly hadn’t been expecting.
His office door was closed, but unlocked. The same was true of his desk safe, where he had left the official copies of the files he’d handed off to Batman the previous evening.
Said files were arranged neatly on his desk. On top of them, a sheet of paper torn from Jim’s own notebook was pinned down by a small paperweight. The corners of the papers fluttered slightly as the AC kicked back to life in preparation for a hot summer day.
The note was short, and to the point. In fact, the first line was more than enough to confirm Jim’s worst fears--and to reignite the migraine that had only just been suppressed by his illicit cigar-smoking.
“HE’S EXPERIMENTING ON THEM.”