Gifts - Part Three, Chapter Three

by Marla F. Fair

            Koriand’r crossed her wrists and raised her eyes to the darkening sky.  “X’Hal,’ she breathed, “let me find his killer and make them pay.”  She turned back from the window and stared at the tattered rug on the floor, stained with her husband’s blood. Kneeling she ran her hands along its surface, lost in thought.  It bothered her still the way they had found him and what they had had to do to identify him.  His body had been savaged almost beyond recognition. She remembered, afterwards, looking at the reconstructed corpse in the coffin and thinking it wasn’t him.  Bruce had assured her that it was.  There were tests, he said.  Structural DNA couldn’t lie.  But in that way that a lover knows, she had still doubted.  She knew she should have felt him die.  And she had not.

            The tall Tamaranean stood and placed her hands on her hips, once again surveying the room. Where to begin?  Just at that moment a car back-fired and a half-dozen raucous voices cut into the still night air causing her to jump. A radio blared, accosting her ears with some dreadful strain of acid-rock, and a girl screamed in delight as a dilapidated auto rattled off into the night.  Koriand’r laughed and placed her hand to her heart, amazed that such a simple thing could frighten her.  She walked to the window as another vehicle, a wildly colored mini-van, sped off into the night, careening wildly from one side of the road to the other.  She shook her head and muttered something disparaging about teenagers.  Then without a backwards glance, she left the death-scene and headed for the spiral stair.   

            Once on the lower floor she began a thorough investigation of every room. She  rummaged through the drawers and emptied all the closets.  A half an hour later it was obvious to her that Dick’s captors had not been living here, but had only used the room upstairs for their vile purposes.  She had been just about to leave when she remembered she hadn’t taken a look at the basement.  As she drew near the door she noticed it was ajar and that the dust on the threshold had been disturbed as if something of a substantial size had  been drug across it recently.  Several painful heartbeats later she stood in the center of a small lightless room, staring at the curious remnants of its recent occupation:  a projector, a patch-work teddy bear, and a small metal toy much like the ones they had found burned and melted in the warehouse where all of this had begun.

            In the warehouse.

Koriand’r sucked in air and spun about.  Lifting into the air, she flew up the stairs and out of the door, and landed in the middle of the street.  The mini-van was nowhere in sight, but across the street from Two-face’s childhood home was the place that had spit it out.  The placard above the open garage door read, ‘Gemini Enterprises.’  

Gemini.  The sign of the twin.

            Using caution, she entered the silent building, all too aware that someone might be laying in wait for her.  She powered up her hands and let the crimson light that fell from them illuminate her way.  It first caressed a pile of fallen boxes.  And then the body underneath.

            She didn’t know why the sight of it chilled her.  Dick was already dead.

            Wasn’t he?
            Moving with stealth, she crossed the grease-stained floor until she towered over the half-concealed, broken and bleeding form.  As she knelt, she placed her hand on its shoulder and rolled it over.  A familiar grotesque visage greeted her, the ancient wounds she had seen on the Batman’s monitor overrun with new ones, only minutes old.

            It was Two-face.

            The Pretender was singing a little ditty and dancing while driving with its hands in the air.  Dick winced as they hit another bump in the road and his head came down on the wheel-well.  He had no idea where they were going.  Now that he knew who he was dealing with—well, in a way—he also knew that anything was possible.  What had Harvey been thinking?  The two of them had been almost as mortal of enemies as he and the Batman.

            Perhaps it had been their hatred that had drawn them together in this bizarre fashion.  But then the very fact that the Pretender existed seemed to indicate some prior connection.  The other had been dead, what?  Fifteen years?  Maybe more.

            Suddenly the mini-van screeched to halt and he was thrown headlong against the back of the seat.  In his weakened state, it knocked the wind out of him and his head was still spinning when the hatch was thrown open and two hands—one gloved, the other naked—gripped his collar and pulled him to the ground.

            For some time after that he was dragged by his feet over the rough earth.  Branches and dead leaves clung to his costume, filled his mouth and decorated his hair.  When at last they stopped and he was released, he opened his eyes and was shocked to find they were on Bruce’s land, in the cemetery that lay a mile or so beyond the manor: the cemetery  where Bruce’s parents and Jason, as well as his own cloned self, were buried.  He had thought that with Two-face dead, the Pretender’s intention would have been to keep him alive—either to torture or as a sort of ‘prize’.  Warily lifting his head, he gazed at the lean creature.  It had something in its hand that flashed as it lifted it past the lantern it had placed on a nearby stone.  It plunged to the earth and then flew into the air over the saffron hair again and again.  When his captor noticed he was watching, its gloved hand moved lightning fast and a shining steel blade struck the earth centimeters before his nose. A moment later the tool was raised again and the Pretender drove it into the earth over Jason’s grave.  

            Dick frowned.  “What are you doing?  You can’t— ”

            Blackness exploded as the flat side of the shovel slammed into his head and he saw no more.

            “Sleep-a-bye, little Robin,” the Pretender whispered.  Then it returned the blade to the earth and jumped on it, while keeping its mismatched eyes focused on the marker bearing Jason’s name.

            “Forever.”

            Bruce had left the Manor and was walking by himself through the still night, his steps, as ever, leading him to his parent’s grave.  He stopped though before he reached the gate to consider Diana’s parting words, remembering the promise he had made her that he would choose life, and that he would try to prove as good a surrogate father to Dick’s children as he had been to the man himself.

            Still his dark and brooding nature drew him like a magnet to the cold stone and freshly turned earth.  A single rose was clenched between his fingers and he pressed it tight so the thorns cut into his flesh and made it bleed.  He hesitated, resting his hand on one of the rough iron posts and turned his weary eyes to the sky, as if waiting for a sign—as if to dare the divine, as his friend had put it,  to make its presence known.

            Without warning a scarlet comet shot across the black void.  Bruce started and the rose fell to the ground. He staggered back, disbelieving, and then he began to laugh.  It was only  another lost soul come to call on the dead.  Nightstar had complained to him earlier that her mother had disappeared, leaving her holding the proverbial baby and the bath-water. It seemed, now, that the wandering Tamaranean had returned.

            As he watched the trail that marked her descent drop towards the stone-dotted landscape beyond, his keen eyes noticed the park gate was askew.  He should have noticed it earlier—would have, had he not been preoccupied.  He crossed to it and bent to touch the earth.  It was warm, and there were fresh tire tracks laid across those the hearse had left the day before.

            Later, he couldn’t find words to describe the feelings that crashed over him at that moment in an emotional tidal wave. He had wanted to scream, to laugh and to cry all at once and had had absolutely no idea what it meant.  He had stared at the tire tracks and felt almost giddy.  Then his mind had turned to logic: a homeless person had wandered in, seeking shelter for the night, or perhaps a thief had thought to find something of value on his son’s grave.  But neither of those scenarios accounted for the car or the gate being ajar.  Clasping the heavy metal with his fingers, he flung it wide and began to run.  He was on the far side of a lot of seventeen acres set aside for the Wayne Family Memorial Park and knew it would take him a full ten minutes to reach the other side on foot.  He felt his jacket as he picked up his pace.  The unit for controlling the Bat-bots was in the house.  Mar’i was asleep and Clark and Diana had gone home.

            There was no one but him and Dick’s wife, out there, somewhere, alone in the dark.

Not knowing how, as he continued to gain momentum, he began to pray.

            Koriand’r landed near the patch of land that held her husband’s grave and immediately dropped into a protective position.  Someone was in the cemetery and they were singing.  She frowned and slipped behind a gravestone capped by a weeping angel to listen.  The tune was jaunty.  Almost jolly.  And terribly off-key.  She waited a moment and then crept forward, passing Bruce’s parents’ tomb, heading for the area she had wept over the day before.  Pausing just behind the marker her father-in-law had erected in memory of his butler, she raised her eyes above it, only to have to duck as a load of dirt and stones came flying towards her head.  She cursed briefly and bit her lip and then peered around the side instead.  A lantern perched precariously on a nearby stone revealed a haphazardly-costumed gravedigger merrily shoving a silver spade into the ground. 

            Just behind the figure, she could see the withering flowers left from Dick’s funeral.

            Warily, she moved from behind the marker to the next largest stone, careful not to make a noise or remain in the open for more than a second.  Whoever it was singing, they  seemed oblivious and the tune continued uninterrupted.  She knew it now.  It was called ‘I’m a Little Teapot.’  Mar’i had had to learn it in pre-school. But the words were not the same.  Gripping the foot of a stone woman in mourning, she waited as the song ended and then began again. And when it did, it made her blood run cold.

            “I am the Pretender, lean and tall.  Here lie my victims, here lie they all.  When I lock the coffin, here them shout!”  The figure merrily tossed another shovel full of dirt over its shoulder and altered its voice so it became a whimpering cry, “I’m still alive! Please let me out!” 

            Kory squeezed her broad shoulders between two headstones as the strange workman went into a gale of laughter and rose up on her knees, glancing through the center of a stone wreath held by a playful cherub. Then she flung her hands over her mouth.  By X’Hal and all that was holy, had they dug him up?  Her heart leapt into her throat and she felt sick.  A moment later she realized her mistake.  Dick was lying on the ground, but his hands and feet were bound and he was in costume.  And as she watched, his moved his head and groaned.  She glanced at the grave he lay on.  It was unmolested.

            She had been right.  It hadn’t been her husband they had buried.

Dick was alive.

Bruce had lost sight of the red fire that marked the Princess’s position. He was certain she had landed in the cemetery, but he had no idea where.  If what he suspected had actually happened, then she was in danger.  As he paused to catch his breath, he thought of the sacred trust his son had left him.  If his last years counted for nothing else, he would use them to see that Dick’s family was kept safe, and that included the tall, strong-willed, overly impetuous tempestuous Koriand’r of Tamaran.  

Even if she told him where he could put it.

He began to run again, drawing the crisp cold air into his lungs, and as he did, he actually smiled.  More than four decades had passed since he had tossed the cards on the table and declared Death the winner.

No more.

The singer continued to hum its macabre ditty.  Sometimes the words varied, but the intent was always the same.  She realized now that whoever it was, they were digging into the earth which held Jason Todd’s coffin.  She shuddered as a chill snaked down her spine.  The boy had been in the ground over twenty years.  What could they possibly want...?

And then she knew.  She gazed at her husband lying bound and bleeding on the cold uncaring ground and she knew. 

He had come here to finish the job begun all those years ago.

To kill Robin and lay him in the grave.

            “I know you are there, my dear.”
            Koriand’r’s started.  She drew a breath and held it and tried to melt into the shadows.   She had been hoping to move up behind them, unseen.  It was killing her that Dick was there and she couldn’t touch him, talk to him or hold him. 

            “I thought I saw an omen earlier up on high, like a fire in the sky,”  the lean creature pivoted towards her, leaning its chin on the handle of the shovel which it had thrust into the upturned earth.  “By and by, I realized it was a fire-fly.  A Star-fire-fly.”

            She hesitated, wondering if they were sure or only guessing.  Then as she watched, the gravedigger shifted the shovel and turned it so the sharp blade rested on Dick’s spinal column near the base of his neck.  A booted foot settled on the muddy edge.

            “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”  The figure shook its head and its saffron hair waved like neon wheat.  “If you don’t I may get so angry that I lose my head.”  It paused and leaned on the shovel, digging the blade into Dick’s flesh.  “Or your husband may lose his.”

            The Tamaranean swallowed hard, then she stood and raising her hands before her, stepped into the light.  She stared the creature before her.  It had to be him.  But something was different.  Something was not quite right...  As the figure shifted so the lantern-light struck its long angular face, she frowned.

            “Not who you were expecting, my dear?”  Dick’s captor leaned down and locked its fingers in his hair, hauling back on the unconscious man’s head.  The white-gloved hand twisted it at an odd angle and then two disparate eyes locked on her face. “Hello from Hell, Princess.”

            She shook her head, her eyes on her husband’s face.  From the way his neck was bent, it could be snapped in a second.  “You belong in Hell,” she whispered as she fought to keep the fire from her fingers, “but you haven’t come from there.  I thought you were the Joker.  But you’re not.  You couldn’t be.”

The demented creature pouted and for a moment, it seemed as if it might cry.

Then it lifted its head and turned so the twisted golden half of its face was toward her.   “Then I must be Two-face.”

Koriand’r swallowed hard.  Her full lips curled with distaste.  “X’Hal...you’re both.”

“And neither.”

The tall woman jumped and a small cry escaped her.  She reached out as the creature  jerked Dick’s head back and then let it fall to the ground.  Within seconds, it was on its feet.  Bruce had appeared, as was his habit, out of the dark night without a sound. 

“Who’s idea was this,” he growled as he stepped on what they had believed to be his son’s grave, “this transgression against nature?  Was it Harvey’s? Or something born and nursed in your original’s warped and demented mind?”  The thin creature stepped back so the light illumined it fully, revealing the curious pairing of a finely tailored suit with the undisciplined outfit of a circus clown. Bruce refused to show any reaction to what appeared to be the amalgam of two of his most horrific foes.  “Well, Pretender?”

            “It was ours.”  Its chalk-white face eclipsed the lantern like a crescent moon.  “Ah, dear Batman, heart of our heart, blood of our blood.  We always knew one day you would win.  Do you think we went to our grave unprepared?  The process was in place, all it took was someone willing to be used....”

            “Harvey,”  Bruce’s voice was heavy, “in his search of his impossible cure....”

            “The deal was made long ago, when we were still strong and whole—just after this one,” it kicked Dick in the back, ‘appeared again.  He knew where and what.  And when the time came, in return for our helping him, he was bound to recreate me.  Of course, we never told him the secret....”

“The secret?”  Koriand’r’s eyes were on her husband.  If the Pretender had not been so near. 

It turned its blazing eyes on her.  “Kill us.  Kill him.”

“Kory.”
            She glanced at Dick’s foster father.

“Power down.”  Then he turned to the Pretender.  “Go on.  I’m listening.”

The gloved hand went to the cheek that was hidden in shadow, “Harvey did not fail

us, did not try to cheat, but he could not leave well enough alone.  The coin was tossed and I was born, as you see me now.  Part of him, part of me and deliberately de-formed and de-arranged.”  One rail-thin leg lifted as it laughed and planted its jester’s boot on Dick’s chest.  “After a certain time I came to understand the artistry.  Poor sensitive Harvey.  It’s part of why we had to kill him.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened.  He glanced at Dick’s wife and she nodded.  “It’s true.”  Koriand’r watched the older man closely, understanding in part what he was trying to do.  He knew this creature—whom he had just met—probably better than anyone in the world.  But it was killing her.  If this Pretender touched Dick one more time....

            “What are you doing with Jason’s grave?”

            “Jason?”  The mouth turned down in a frown.  “There is no Jason.  There was no Tim.  You made them up to confuse me.”  It grasped Dick’s hair again.  “There is only this one.  There had always only been this one.  When I pull the coffin up, it will be empty.  But not for long.  I am going to put him inside.” Its blue eye winked.  “Then he will be dead for sure.”  The Pretender held Bruce’s eyes, shaking its head sadly, “I am afraid you will have to hold another funeral.”

Bruce drew a breath and held it.  He had thought he might be able to talk it into

releasing Dick.  After all, he had been the target.  But apparently he had only been the target of Harvey’s madness.  This creature, this pseudo-Joker—the pretender to the Clown Prince of Crime—was fixated on his ward.  For a moment, he was at a loss.  Then he saw Dick’s eyelids flutter. His own ice-blue eyes flicked to Koriand’r and back to her husband.  She nodded.  She had seen.   

The Pretender had produced the small black keypad with which it controlled the micro-creatures in his son’s blood. So he meant to kill him after all.  He shifted on his feet.    “Another?”

            It pointed at the earth just turned from Jason’s grave,  “There is no body here. We would know.  We killed him but he wouldn’t stay dead.  Two-face wanted to kill him—to destroy you.”  The Pretender rammed his heel into Dick’s chest again and again, punctuating its words, “But...I...have...al...ready...done...that!”

            “You will stop now!”  Koriand’r couldn’t stand it.  The aura around her was pulsing and her hands had began to seep crimson fire.  She took a step forward.  “Don’t touch him!  Leave him alone!” 

            “Or what?”  The Pretender lifted the keypad and held it before its’ face. One finger danced on over the small square buttons.  “Or what?” it whispered with menace as a morbid smile touched its twisted lips. “One touch...just one, and your son and your precious husband go ‘boom’,”  it tilted its’ head and made a gurgling noise, “aaggghhhhh...splat.”

            She sought Bruce’s face and saw him slowly nod his head. 

Koriand’r closed her eyes.  So, it had come to this.  She knew what he had told her, but now she had to trust.  She had to trust the old man with her husband and her son, two of the most precious things in her world.  When she looked at him again his eyes spoke volumes, seeking to bridge the gulf of guilt and shame and regret created by the last ten days.

            Her jaw tightened. She squared off before the Pretender and said softly, “Go ahead.”

            The creature frowned, one white finger dangling above the keypad.  “What?”

            She drew a deep breath and raised her hands, pointing them at its head. “Go ahead, you bastard.  Push it!  Give me a reason.”

            “Koriand’r.  No.”

            “Kory, no!”

            As she watched Dick rose shakily to his knees, reaching out towards her.  Damn him!  He was more concerned with preventing her roasting the man who had tried to kill him and kidnapped his son than he was with his own safety.  She saw him pivot towards the hybrid-clone that was the sum of the two men who had hated Robin more than any other villain he had ever faced and shuddered as his hand just missed gripping the control device.  As he fell to the ground, the finger descended and the Pretender howled in triumph.

And the world went into slow motion.

Dick winced and raised his hands to his head.  Bruce raised to his side and fell to his knees, catching him and holding him in his arms.  The Pretender spun to gaze at them and froze, and then its finger came down on the pad again and again and again.

Nothing happened.

Then it turned and looked her in the eye. 

The tall Princess felt the power of a thousand suns running through her, boiling and

churning  and seeking to escape.  She glanced at Dick and saw him watching her horrified.  His mouth was open and her name was on his lips.  The black head shook from side to side.

            Her gaze returned to the Pretender and she screamed and lifted her hands above her head and all the power and anger and rage that was within her exploded, showering the night sky like a firework display.

            A moment later she walked over to the creature and stood looking down at it.  It had fallen to the ground and was cowering near the marker which bore Jason’s name.  It looked up at her, raising its divided face and wide mismatched eyes.  She lifted her fist and struck it with all of the strength and might her muscles contained and smiled as it toppled into the shallow depression like a broken rag-doll.

            “Go back to Hell.” 

Finished in the Epilogue