A wave of intense hunger rolled over her body, waking her instantly. Doubling over in pain, Barbara clutched her stomach and groaned. As she waited for her hunger to subside, she looked around the unfamiliar surroundings, finally noticing where she was.
The bedroom—which was way too sleek to be hers—was nearly all black save for the white walls painted behind her. The bed itself was a four-poster one, framed by a solid wood canopy and elegant white curtains. Brushing her hand against the sheets, she glanced down and realized these sheets were definitely not hers. Her sheets were nowhere near as soft or high-quality.
She was in a stranger's room. In a stranger's bed.
But whose was the question?
Sitting up straight, Barbara tried to recall her last memory before the world went black. The wedding that hadn't happened. The courthouse collapsed to a pile of rubble. Wayne Manor—
Wayne Manor.
Shit, that's where she was. That's where Richard had taken her and Pamela. Pamela was dead, burned to death by the sun. Richard and Bruce had...
What had they done? She couldn't remember. No matter how hard she tried to reach into the deepest part of her brain, she kept coming up empty.
Oh, God. What had they done to her? Panicking, Barbara looked down at her body and saw she was still wearing her gown from the wedding. Though it was nearly unrecognizable at this point with all its bloodstains and torn edges, it was still the same dress.
She couldn't help but heave a sigh of relief. So they were monsters, but not those types of monsters. Lucky her.
Barbara groaned into her hand. This hunger was becoming unbearable. When was the last time she had eaten? This morning? Well, no wonder she was starving.
Moving to the side of the bed, Barbara scanned the neat, spacious room for her wheelchair, but it was nowhere in sight. Figures. Of course, they'd leave her in bed, helpless and immobile.
Damn it. Why couldn't she remember what happened?
Running her hand over her face again, Barbara closed her eyes and searched for the smallest hint that could tell her what had happened before her blackout.
Speaking of which, practically everything in this room was black. From the black switched-off lamp beside her to the curtains drawn over the French windows, there was not a single drop of light pouring in. And yet, she could see perfectly.
Hold on. The last time she had 20/20 vision was back in high school, and that was over six years ago. Something wasn't right here.
Her hand lingered over her face, confirming her growing fear.
She was not wearing her glasses.
Barbara ripped her hand away as if she had been scalded. Just what was going on here?
Screw it. She'd crawl if she'd have to. But there was no way she was going to just lie here, waiting for someone to show up. She had to get the hell out of this place.
Dragging herself off the bed, she tumbled to the floor, fully expecting her head to bang against the tile. But that was not what happened. Not at all.
As if acting on reflex, her feet hit the floor first, preventing her from falling as she gripped onto the bedspread.
What the—
She glanced down, unable to believe what she was seeing. Her feet were planted squarely over the tile, her legs bent at the knee as they held her shaking, unsteady body upright.
This couldn't be possible. This shouldn't be possible!
But when she saw her toes wriggle after telling herself to do so, she couldn't hold her stupefied gasp back any longer. Her legs... She could stand on them!
But... how?
With trembling legs, Barbara stood up from her crouching position and toddled over to the vanity. But as she reached it, another pang of hunger hit her, one so intense, it caused her legs to suddenly give out. If she hadn't grabbed onto the edges at the last second, she would've surely collapsed on the floor.
"Ugh." Barbara scrambled to pull herself up, nearly knocking the vanity set over as she did so. Well, if they hadn't heard her before, they sure did now.
As she turned towards the shut door, awaiting the inevitable approach of either Bruce or Richard, Barbara caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror.
Or at least what she thought was her.
The figure staring back at her had the same colored hair as Barbara, pumpkin orange. She had the same build and the same dress as her. But unlike Barbara, this figure had unnaturally pale skin, almost like porcelain. And her eyes... Barbara's eyes never burned such a bright green.
"What the..." She reached out to touch the glass. Sure enough, the figure followed suit, mimicking each of Barbara's movements. When she touched her cheek, the figure touched hers. When Barbara gazed down at her working legs, the figure gazed down at hers. And when she pressed her fingertips against the thick layer of glass, the figure pressed hers, their fingers meeting right in the middle.
"So it seems that it worked." A smooth voice spoke up from the corner. "Richard will be happy about that."
Barbara stiffened at the sound. She had scanned this entire room and had not seen anyone. There was no way she could've overlooked him.
Glaring into the darkness, Barbara watched as the figure slowly rose to his feet from the chair he had been sitting in. Had he been watching her this whole time? Waiting until she woke up?
"I was never a hundred percent sure. This power can give life, yes. It can restore someone from the brink of death. But like everything, it has its limits." Apparently, restoring someone's eyesight was not one of them, as both of Bruce's eyes were fixed on her.
"What..." she started to say as the memory of what he and Richard had done slowly dawned on her. "The hell did you do to me?"
She shouldn't be standing here; she had lost too much blood for that. She should be dead.
She was dead.
"You son of a bitch!" Barbara stumbled forward. "You—You—"
Catching her by the wrist, Bruce easily stopped her in her tracks and shoved her up against the wall. "Enough," he growled down at her.
Quickly shaking off the sudden blow, Barbara tilted her head up, returning his sneer. "Pamela was right about you. You really are a sick bastard."
Bruce frowned, digging his fingers into her shoulders. "It's true that I have done many terrible things for this family. I can not—and will not—deny that. But Pamela was no different. She's done things I could never even fathom."
"Really?" Barbara scoffed. "I have a hard time believing that, considering you were willing to let all your friends burn to death just to kill her."
To her surprise, Bruce loosened his grip and moved towards the window. With the flick of his wrist, he yanked the curtains back, revealing a clear, moonlit night.
"I have to admit, I am impressed. It seems I underestimated you." He glanced back at her with the slit of an eye. "You really are your father's daughter."
"Barbara!" The door swung open and Richard burst in with two whole legs and a giant grin on his face. "It worked! It actually worked!"
But Barbara was too concerned with Bruce and his bullshit to pay him any mind. "How dare you speak about my dad right now! As if you didn't get him killed—"
"He's not dead." Bruce turned to her.
The glare on Barbara's face softened. "What?"
"Richard got him out in time. Right before the courthouse collapsed."
"Yeah, that's why I didn't come for you right away. That's why Jason went for you..." Richard trailed off, glancing down at his feet.
Even Bruce couldn't meet her eye for what Barbara guessed was the first time in his life, having shifted his attention back out the window. Although his back was turned to her, she could still see his reflection in the glass, the brief sadness that flashed across his eyes. But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, nothing more than perhaps an illusion of the mind.
A long, painful silence fell over the room, only to be interrupted by an equally painful groan from Barbara.
"Richard, give her the glass." Bruce gestured with a stern nod, whatever trace of emotion in his eyes now replaced with stone.
"Oh, right!" Richard approached her with a wine glass in hand. "Here, Barbara. It'll make you feel better."
Barbara was about to refuse, not wanting anything from him or Bruce when she caught a whiff of the sweet, savory scent drifting beneath her nose. Acting as if he had offered her the juiciest steak after a month-long fast, she snatched the glass from his hand and pressed it to her lips.
Relief came to her instantly.
It was unlike anything she had ever tasted. Not even the nectar of the gods could compare to this. As soon as the liquid entered her mouth, it was as if a rush of warmth spread through her body. Her tongue lapped up the thick substance until every drop was gone. And yet, she wanted more. She needed more.
"What is this?" Barbara stared into the glass where nothing but red dregs remained.
The blue hue in Bruce's eyes iced over, hardening into something sinister and unforgiving. "How you're going to survive from now on."
Barbara's fingers reacted before her mind could. The glass slipped from her grasp and shattered to the floor with a crash.
Oh, God.
"You—You mean this is blood..." If she were able to, Barbara would have had a panic attack right now. "Who—Whose?"
"A serial rapist who got off on a technicality." Bruce pursed his lips at the bits of glass scattered across the floor as if their presence annoyed him. "Before you ask, no. We cannot survive on animal blood alone. We feed on dangerous criminals." He narrowed his eyes at Richard, who could only give a sheepish chuckle in return. "Usually."
"I don't care whose it is!" Barbara ran her fingers through her tangled hair. "I can't do this! You can't make me do this!"
"Barbara—"
"I want to see my dad! Where is he?"
"Barbara, listen to me." Bruce's voice reverberated around the room as his figure suddenly loomed over her, appearing as if he were ten feet tall instead of six. "This is how things will be from now on. You will live here. You will do exactly as I say. And you will never see your dad again. Understood? Your life from before is gone."
No, she didn't understand. She would never understand.
So she ran.
Pushing past Richard, she ran out the door and into the hallway, never once looking back over her shoulder. She didn't need to. She knew they were right behind her.
Images of her dad flooded her mind as she sprinted down the stairs. So many memories, so fresh, so raw. All the times they spent together, all the conversations they had. He had been her hero, her reason for wanting to be a detective in the first place. He was the one constant thing in her uncertain life. And now he was just gone.
No. She would get to him. She had to.
Wet tears spilled down her cheeks, but when Barbara brought her hand up to wipe them, it was blood she found on her fingertips.
This only spurned her on.
Navigating each twist and turn, Barbara ran through the labyrinth that was Wayne Manor. She would get out of here. Even if it meant running for the rest of her life, she would escape.
When the entrance appeared in front of her, Barbara practically flew down the staircase. She felt weightless. She was weightless. This body was so much more than the meat bag she was used to. It was something else entirely.
Throwing the front door back, Barbara darted out of the manor and down the gravel driveway. She should have limped with pain, but she couldn't feel the tiny rocks as they dug into the soles of her feet. She should have frozen, but she couldn't feel the bitter cold of the November air on her skin. She should have been exhausted, but she couldn't feel her muscles aching after running so long.
She couldn't feel anything.
Even her breath, which should have come out as frosty clouds in the night, was absent.
The realization startled her, making her trip over herself and tumble to the ground. Not even that hurt, not in the slightest.
But what did hurt was knowing her dad was out there alone, wondering where she was. Did he think she was dead? Crushed beneath the rubble?
Or worst of all, did he think she had left him on her own accord?
"I know you love him. You wouldn't have sacrificed so much for that man if you didn't." It was as if Bruce could read her mind, his hushed voice seemingly echoing from all directions. "You were willing to kill for him. To die for him."
Sitting back on her knees, Barbara listened to the sound of dead grass rustling in the gentle breeze and waited for him to speak again. Whatever fight that remained in her had long vanished.
"But Barbara," he said after a lengthy pause. "What did he ever do for you?"
It was as if he had twisted a knife into her already wounded, bleeding heart.
Actually, that might've been less painful. She was no stranger to physical pain, not anymore. But emotional and psychological torture? She would take being paralyzed and eaten alive again if it meant being spared this type of suffering.
"He took you away from the friends—from the life you knew back in Chicago. You gave up everything you knew for him. But what happens? He puts work before family. Starts coming home late, if he comes at all."
Barbara screwed her eyes shut, desperately trying to block out his words. Why was he doing this? What could he possibly gain from reminding her of all these terrible memories?
"Then, of course, there's Sarah Essen," he hissed, and Barbara could just picture his tongue pressing against his teeth. "All he did was kiss her, swore nothing else happened. But that was enough to tear your perfect, happy little family apart."
A watery smile came over Barbara's lips as she nodded. "We were so happy back then."
"Don't you want that again?" Another voice whispered from the side of her, a voice just as captivating as the first. "Because you can have it... With us."
"No!" She clamped her hands over her ears. "I want to leave! Please! Just let me leave!"
Someone snickered. "You wouldn't make it past daybreak."
"Please—"
"A few years pass, and you return to Gotham, hoping things have changed. But things never change here," a calmer, deeper voice interrupted. "Once again, he puts a woman before his own daughter."
Barbara shook her head, unable to listen to this any longer. "No, he—"
"He breaks up the one happy relationship in your life. He has you committed to Arkham. Why? Because of a woman. And even when he finally breaks it off with her, it isn't for your sake. It's never been for your sake." Bruce's voice—or maybe it was Richard's—sounded as if he was right next to her, whispering into her ear. "When has he ever put you first? Listened to you? What has he ever sacrificed for you, Barbara?"
"That isn't true!" Barbara screamed, pounding her fists against the dirt.
"Isn't it?" A velvety tone had replaced the previous sinister one. "With your dad, you had nothing. But with us... You have everything you've ever wanted. A new beginning, a new chance at life."
Though her mouth opened to answer, no words came out. Only tears. She had no answer. Everything they said—no matter how painful it was—was the truth. She had been willing to give up her life to keep her dad safe. She had given up her life for him.
She had given up everything for him.
Would he have done the same for her?
"No, you should've just left me dead!" She pushed the tantalizing thought out of her mind, refusing to believe that these two had given her anything in return. This wasn't a life. This wasn't even a death. Whatever this was was so much worse. "Why didn't you just leave me dead?"
"He wouldn't have let me." Barbara figured this "he" Bruce spoke of was Richard, which was all but confirmed with his next sentence. "He's grown quite attached to you. Like a tick on a dog."
"Bruce is simplifying things quite a bit." Barbara heard the grass split apart as Richard trudged through it. "Not only was it the right thing to do since I was the one who got you into this mess. But a long time ago, at one of his Christmas parties, he made me a promise. It was just now he could finally make good on that promise."
Barbara finally looked up. "So that means you wanted to?" Her voice cracked into an involuntary laugh.
Of course, he would have wanted to kill her. Why should she think any differently? Bruce hated her guts, something he had made crystal clear on more than one occasion.
"Barbara." The gravity in Bruce's voice forced another hysterical laugh back down her throat. "It's not about what I want or don't want. What we are, we cannot afford to take half-measures. Even if the most likely outcome was you being locked up in Arkham because you decided to talk, I could not risk that one percent chance you weren't."
"I can't predict everything, as seen with what James pulled back at the courthouse." Bruce strode towards her, his steps silent and measured just like the rest of him. "But I do know what would've happened if I left you alive. You wouldn't have kept quiet."
Barbara glanced down at the blades of grass between her fingers. No. She wouldn't have.
"Left to rot in Arkham. That would've been your fate. And frankly, that's a fate worse than any death." He stood over her with his hands in his pockets, watching as she grabbed a fistful of grass and ripped it right out of the dirt.
And her fate now? Left to rot in Wayne Manor minus the rotting. She was dead, killed by the very person she trusted.
Yet, her fate transcended death. She would forever appear as she did now, like the taxidermied skin of some unlucky animal. That's all she was, right? The mounted skin of Barbara Gordon, no longer living or breathing. A trophy after a successful hunt, a display created for someone else.
An empty shell of the woman—of the human who had been Barbara Gordon.
"This will not be an easy life by any means. You will have to do things you never thought possible. Any rule you set for yourself will be eventually broken. You must be willing to do what it takes to survive, even if that means killing. Are you prepared to do that?"
She didn't answer, fixing her unblinking eyes on the treeline ahead of her instead. It was hard to imagine this was the same man who, just a few days ago, spoke to her as if she was nothing more than a pest. But now, he sounded like he was actually concerned about her wellbeing. Like he actually cared.
Of course, that was bullshit. He didn't care about anyone but himself.
With the last remnants of her sanity, Barbara wondered if there was something more to the story Bruce had told her about why he had kept her around. Something about a promise Richard had mentioned...
"You feel as if you haven't had a choice in any of this. But you do now." He knelt beside her and removed something from the inside of his jacket. "What happens next is up to you."
Lifting her head, Barbara stared wide-eyed at the object in his hand.
It was a stake.
And from the looks of it, it was the same one she used to stab Richard. His dried blood still coated the tip of it.
"But I know you're not someone who gives up. You're a survivor." He placed it carefully in her hands. Even the wound across her palm had healed.
Barbara met his gaze and laughed in his face. Not at anything he had said, but at the irony of the situation. To survive meant to give up and rely on someone else—on Bruce and Richard. After everything she had been through, and she still depended on someone. Perhaps even more so.
It was enough to make the last threads of her already frayed mind finally unravel.
Sitting beside her, Richard placed his hand over her shoulder and gave it a sympathetic pat. "I hated it at first too. But I promise it'll get better."
Barbara gaped at him, a manic smile still spread across her face. Did that mean Bruce had killed him too?
Probably.
Like he said, there were no half-measures in this life. No line that couldn't be crossed. Even the one that meant killing your own son.
Even the one that killed your best friend's daughter.
Barbara laughed again, bringing the stake closer to her chest. She could feel their eyes on her, watching and waiting for her next move.
This wasn't the life she wanted. Killing people, eating people, she would be better off dead. Permanently.
It would be easy. All it took was a quick, hard thrust into her chest and it would be over. She reminded herself of everything she had lost. Her life, her dad, everything. There was nothing to go back to, nothing to look forward to.
But hadn't she gained something in return too? Something that had been cruelly ripped from her before it even began?
Another giggle bubbled up from her throat, one that turned into full-blown laughter as she grazed her breast with the tip of the stake. If she were still alive, her stomach would've ached and fresh tears would've been streaming down her cheeks from how hard she was laughing. And yet, tears were running down her face, but not from any sort of laughter.
A new life, a new beginning. It was everything she had ever wanted. But it was something that had come at an extraordinary cost, one she wasn't willing to pay.
So then why was she lowering the stake back into her lap? Why did she let her last chance at an escape slip from her grasp and roll to the ground?
A strangled laugh left her lips, quickly morphing into a high-pitched sob. Covering her face with her claws, she leaned onto Richard, certain that without his support she would've slumped right over the grass.
Her cries, which no longer sounded like those of a human but more like the screeches of a bat, told her all she needed to know.