![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
Title: Duality
Fandom: Superman Returns and Batman Begins
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,670
Characters/Pairings: Barbara Gordon
Acknowledgments: Thanks to
damo_in_japan for betaing this.
Warnings: Disturbing content? Yeah, let’s go with that.
Previous Part: Chapter 5
Next Part: Chapter 7
Summary: Barbara Gordon loses her innocence and gains something more useful.
Barbara Gordon had always taken the old saying “When you date a man, you date his family,” as a droll witticism, the kind of thing Jane Austen might write on an off day. In Dick’s case, Barbara Gordon was sure it was meant as the most dire of warnings.
Coming in late, Dick had offered her some coffee before taking her home. She’d accepted, fully aware that there might be more than coffee in the offing. Then they’d run smack dab into Dick’s parents.
They yelled in Romani, he yelled in English. From what Barbara was able to pick up, Dick had snuck out to meet her. And if this was his home life, she didn’t blame him. A lot of vitriol got directed her way, Dick inadvertently translating with “Barbara is not a” and so on. It didn’t take long for Barbara to have her fill of that, especially when the parents insisted on using “outie” instead of her name. She slipped away while all three of them were busy yelling at each other.
The Grayson family, like most of the workers at Haley’s Circus, had taken up residence in one of the Affordable Housing Action apartment complexes that Wayne Enterprises had built. In theory, that meant private security to pick up the GCPD’s slack. In practice, as Barbara could personally attest, the street was deserted and the streetlights were flickering. No way Barbara was waiting around for a cab. She ducked into the nearest subway station.
After delay after delay after delay in the Wayne Enterprises rebuilding of the monorail line, Lexcorp had made a bid at the lucrative contract. When he was rebuffed, a smarting Luthor had simply taken over the old subways that had fallen into disuse. Set-in-their-way Gothamites, Barbara included, preferred the monorail… but any port in a storm.
Barbara had always idolized Mina Harker, and not just because Mina had caught the attention of a dark, decadent creature of the night. And so, like her childhood hero, Barbara had the train schedule memorized. She double-checked the map, a two-dimensional Gordian knot of multicolored subway lines, just to be sure. Yup. Barbara swiped her E-Z pass in the turnstile and was on her way home within five minutes.
***
There was another reason Gothamites preferred the monorail, besides stubbornness. The eco-friendly revamp of the monorail line was whisper-quiet and rode smooth as a baby’s bottom. The Lexcorp line, by contrast, roared with electric hunger, its stomach grumbling at stops. The only other passengers in the car were an elderly Asian couple. Barbara waved at them from across the subway car. They waved back, then returned to holding hands.
The Jimi Hendrix on her iPod wasn’t enough to drown out the grind of the train, but as soon as Barbara got a text message from Dick, she stopped caring. He said he was under house arrest until his “promised” came to Gotham (which Barbara didn’t like the sound of on any number of levels) but he would still see her at school.
The train came to a stop with a bestial screech. The elderly couple got off and a middle-aged man, face ruddy beneath a bushy beard, got on. She clutched the pepper spray in her purse, but he didn’t last five minutes before the subway’s motion lulled him to sleep. Barbara followed suit. It’d been a long day and the fight at the Graysons had left her exhausted. She let her guard down and gave herself over to the hypnotizing rocking of the subway car.
When she jerked to full awareness, he was sitting across from her… wide awake.
“You smell nice,” he said, staring at her tennis shoes before his eyes crept up to her bare thighs.
All the Lex News scare stories – escaped Arkham killers who’d infiltrated society and fear toxin in the tap water leading to psychotic behavior – it all filled her head in once.
“Thanks,” she said, forcing a smile.
“Your cunt, I mean.” His smile never changed. Just his eyes; not his smile. “Your cunt smells nice.”
She jammed her hand into her purse.
There was a switchblade in his hand. “Don’t.”
It was a really long knife. The blade was shiny.
“The purse. Hand it over!”
She nearly sighed in relief as she did. A robbery. It was just a robbery.
He snatched the purse from her trembling hands. Poured it out on the floor, cosmetics and gadgets crashing down to hard metal.
“Now pick up the wallet and hand it over. Don’t even think of going near the spray. I’ll cut you!”
Without any sudden movements, she stooped to pick it up. “Please, just take the money and go. Don’t hurt me. My name is Barbara Gordon, my father is police commissioner James Gordon. He’d be very happy if you didn’t hurt me.” It sounded stupid even as she said it.
“Shut up!” He took the wallet from her, jabbed it into the depths of his coat.
The monster that had devoured them shrieked again, jolted them with a sudden stop. Barbara almost made a break for it, but the man’s hand was clutching her arm before she could move. She watched, her eyes very wide, as he folded up the knife and stuck it in his pocket.
“Don’t try to run. Do anything stupid, I’ll cut you. I’m a real fast cutter.”
Barbara was doing it all wrong. All her father’s advice, all her self-defense courses, everything but fear had left her. She was skipping ahead in time with each ragged breath, before she had time to think or speak or scream.
Out onto the subway platform. It was empty except for a bag lady passed out in rags and empty bottles. The man pushed her down to the tracks, then jumped down after her. He hauled her over the humming third rail, then into an access door. The lock had been broken before they got there.
The hallway was all concrete, the floor damp and scummy from a burst ceiling pipe. The man… not ‘the killer,’ Barbara tried to assure herself, not ‘the rapist’… was brandishing his knife again.
“Please, sir,” Barbara sniffled as she was forced deeper and deeper down the tunnel’s slight incline. “Please, I don’t wanna die.”
“Sir… that’s a nice touch. I like that.”
He stopped her with a grip on her red hair, then tried the lock on a supply closet. It was open. Perversely, he got the door for her. When Barbara hesitated, he shook his knife. The dim light refracted off the blade at new, terrifying angles.
“Get in.”
The room was dark except for some light that came in through the cracks. It lit just enough for Barbara to pick up outlines, motion. “I’ve never done anything to you. Please, just let me go! I won’t tell anyone. Don’t hurt me…”
“I’m not gonna hurt you.” He closed the door behind them. “I’d never hurt anyone. The knife’s just for show. Part of the fun, right? I’m just going to make your wildest dreams come true. The ones where your dream guy holds you down and won’t let you say no…”
She was backed up against the wall, as far away from him as possible. All too soon his hot breath was burning her skin.
“Don’t! Please, Jesus, don’t!”
“I’ll understand if you have to pretend not to like it. Cuz a all the judgmental prudes out there. But I know you like it. You all like it.” He unbuckled his belt. “All you whores do…”
It was now or never.
She lunged at him, knuckles poised for his testicles. Expecting it, he twisted his hip so all she hit was thigh. It was still a good hit, and his left leg buckled. He shifted his weight to the right foot. His pants fell down. He pulled Barbara up by the hair and threw her against the wall. Shelves full of cleaning supplies rattled. She kicked him in the shin, but then he was against her, his meaty body pressing her against the wall. On her leg, she could feel his erection through his underwear. She raised her knee into it. He groaned and grabbed hold of her hair again when she ran for the door. It felt like half her scalp was going, but she managed to throw the door open.
Batman was in the doorway, his body silhouetted by the outside light. His eyes, cruel slits…
“Miss Gordon,” he said. “Don’t watch.
And he stepped past her into the room.
Barbara didn’t watch, but she did listen. She heard a scream, a sharp crack, a second scream, then nothing but whimpering and the steady breathing of the Batman.
“Your father’s worried about you.” His voice was like cut glass, like it hurt him to talk, like it might hurt her to hear it. She got the sense he chose his words carefully. “Robinson Street is well-lit. Catch a cab there. Or call someone you can trust. Call a shrink, if you’ve got one.”
She’d heard how this worked. When Batman saved someone, most of the time they didn’t press charges. And it wasn’t like he could give testimony in court. So the guy often walked, scot-free, with only the fear of the Bat in him. And that faded with time, until they got crazy or desperate enough to try again. And maybe that time Batman wouldn’t be there.
Barbara was here. Now.
“What about the cops?”
Batman looked at her, surprised. And a little impressed. “Your choice.”
She flashed, suddenly, on all the criminals who went free because no one would press charges. He would know that better than most. But he did what he did anyway.
“But don’t call an ambulance.” Batman wrenched the would-be rapist’s arms into handcuffs, which were hooked around a pipe. Barbara saw a ghastly compound fracture on the man’s arm. Looked good on him. “He’ll survive, but I want him to suffer.”
“Yes sir. Thank you. Marry me.”
Batman paused, looked at her, a little… amused? Barbara felt six inches tall. Before he could make it worse, she had her cell-phone whipped down and dialing 911. Batman gestured for her to follow him, then was out the door. Realizing she was alone with the man, who was howling like a coyote with his leg caught in a trap, she hastened to follow.
“Where are you taking me?”
“The surface. Your father will be waiting.”
“That was…” Barbara smoothed the cricks from her pants, tried to be as suave and mature as possible. “Really something back there. He didn’t have a chance!”
Batman didn’t respond.
“So, uh, thanks. Again. For everything.”
Batman was occupied, holding a device in his hand. He pressed a button and it shook, once, before falling silent.
“What’s that?”
“GPS locator. Your father has the technology to locate its beacon.”
Barbara tried her best to walk regally while still keeping pace with his long strides. “You and dad are pretty tight, huh?”
“He’s a worthwhile ally. You should be proud to be his daughter.”
“I am. But… what about you?”
Batman stopped at a ladder to look at her.
“Is there anyone… you have… to be proud of you?”
Batman took hold of the ladder rungs with what had to be white-knuckled grips. “No. Up.”
They climbed. The ladder led to a subway grille, which the Batman pushed open. Red-blue police lights hurt her eyes as she climbed up onto the street. Before she knew it, her father was engulfing her in his arms. She looked back to see the grille just being set back in place.
***
Harvey Dent entered his house like a hurricane coming ashore. Gilda was chopping carrots, mainly as an excuse to have a knife at hand. She cut herself at the sound of the door bursting open. Bright red blood spilled across the cutting board. She burst into tears, but not because of the pain. Seeing him alive was enough.
“Are you okay?” Harvey asked, grabbing hold of her arms so hard that the knife dropped from her fingers. “Did anyone hurt you?”
“No, no, I’m fine… they said there was an assassination attempt, an attempt on your life.”
Harvey shook his head. “It was nothing, nothing…”
“They called. They said… they said I was a widow…”
Harvey’s critical mass of nervousness came down on the phone. He ripped the phone line right out of the wall, taking the socket with it. His chest heaved as he breathed heavily, expelling rage with each breath. After a few deep breaths, he finally calmed.
“You feel like cooking tonight?” he asked her.
Gilda shook her head.
“Me neither. Let’s order in.”
He took out his cell-phone to call and it rang just as his thumb hovered over the number-pad. The caller ID said Gordon.
“Honey, find a coupon,” he told Gilda. “I need to take this.”
She hustled off to the drawer in the kitchen where they kept the leaflets, but kept a close eye through the frosted glass window into the rec room. Harvey sat down heavily in the east chair, not even bothering to take off his coat. He often got like this, at night more than any other times. In front of the cameras he could be the crusader, even with Gordon he could play the hero… but with her, he was vulnerable. It was like someone had tarnished that bronze image of his. After a moment, he got up.
She went back to leafing through the coupons, although nothing held her interest. Nothing, that is, until the door creaked behind her and she turned to see Harvey. He belatedly began shucking off his coat.
All he said was “Jim Gordon’s little girl.”
Gilda raised a hand to her mouth in shock. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah. The Batman was there. She’s a little shaken up, but… yeah.”
***
Barbara got home in something of a fugue state. Her father drove her, but he didn’t say much of anything, except for “You know we love you, right?” She had nodded fitfully.
They got home and Mom started fawning over. That, somehow, made it all hit home. She only cried a little, but it was enough to start Mom crying. Dad was on the phone to a police psychologist, but Barbara didn’t really think she’d need one. She was smart enough to know what she was going through. Profuse sweating, blurriness of vision, heightened awareness, accelerated heart rate… she was going into shock.
“Could someone bring me some water, please?” she asked.
Jim Junior, her little brother who was all of eight years old, brought her some. She took it gratefully and then was on the stairs up to her room. Dad hung up and followed her upstairs. She put her hand around the doorknob, couldn’t bring herself to turn it, and instead leaned there as she looked back at Dad.
“Barbara, you really think it’s a good idea to be alone right now?”
Barbara took a deep drink of water. “I’m fine. Nothing happened. I’m fine.”
“Okay, well… if you need anything…”
“I won’t,” Barbara said like cut glass, and closed the door behind her.
In her room, she gave the speedbag a tap as she went by, but couldn’t bring herself to abuse it more than that.
She knew that physical exertion was a curative for shock, but that really didn’t help. And crying was a symptom too, but she really genuinely felt like crying. And not letting anyone see her.
There was a sewing machine on her work desk, usually tucked away off to the corner. Her mother had gotten it for her on her sweet sixteen. She’d become proficient at it, but never had much interest at it.
The blurriness clouding her eyes was lifting; or transfiguring. She was not seeing red. She was seeing black. Something vast… terrible… swooping down towards her.
She grabbed some black fabric and went to work, only stopping to fetch some yellow.
Fandom: Superman Returns and Batman Begins
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,670
Characters/Pairings: Barbara Gordon
Acknowledgments: Thanks to
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
Warnings: Disturbing content? Yeah, let’s go with that.
Previous Part: Chapter 5
Next Part: Chapter 7
Summary: Barbara Gordon loses her innocence and gains something more useful.
Barbara Gordon had always taken the old saying “When you date a man, you date his family,” as a droll witticism, the kind of thing Jane Austen might write on an off day. In Dick’s case, Barbara Gordon was sure it was meant as the most dire of warnings.
Coming in late, Dick had offered her some coffee before taking her home. She’d accepted, fully aware that there might be more than coffee in the offing. Then they’d run smack dab into Dick’s parents.
They yelled in Romani, he yelled in English. From what Barbara was able to pick up, Dick had snuck out to meet her. And if this was his home life, she didn’t blame him. A lot of vitriol got directed her way, Dick inadvertently translating with “Barbara is not a” and so on. It didn’t take long for Barbara to have her fill of that, especially when the parents insisted on using “outie” instead of her name. She slipped away while all three of them were busy yelling at each other.
The Grayson family, like most of the workers at Haley’s Circus, had taken up residence in one of the Affordable Housing Action apartment complexes that Wayne Enterprises had built. In theory, that meant private security to pick up the GCPD’s slack. In practice, as Barbara could personally attest, the street was deserted and the streetlights were flickering. No way Barbara was waiting around for a cab. She ducked into the nearest subway station.
After delay after delay after delay in the Wayne Enterprises rebuilding of the monorail line, Lexcorp had made a bid at the lucrative contract. When he was rebuffed, a smarting Luthor had simply taken over the old subways that had fallen into disuse. Set-in-their-way Gothamites, Barbara included, preferred the monorail… but any port in a storm.
Barbara had always idolized Mina Harker, and not just because Mina had caught the attention of a dark, decadent creature of the night. And so, like her childhood hero, Barbara had the train schedule memorized. She double-checked the map, a two-dimensional Gordian knot of multicolored subway lines, just to be sure. Yup. Barbara swiped her E-Z pass in the turnstile and was on her way home within five minutes.
***
There was another reason Gothamites preferred the monorail, besides stubbornness. The eco-friendly revamp of the monorail line was whisper-quiet and rode smooth as a baby’s bottom. The Lexcorp line, by contrast, roared with electric hunger, its stomach grumbling at stops. The only other passengers in the car were an elderly Asian couple. Barbara waved at them from across the subway car. They waved back, then returned to holding hands.
The Jimi Hendrix on her iPod wasn’t enough to drown out the grind of the train, but as soon as Barbara got a text message from Dick, she stopped caring. He said he was under house arrest until his “promised” came to Gotham (which Barbara didn’t like the sound of on any number of levels) but he would still see her at school.
The train came to a stop with a bestial screech. The elderly couple got off and a middle-aged man, face ruddy beneath a bushy beard, got on. She clutched the pepper spray in her purse, but he didn’t last five minutes before the subway’s motion lulled him to sleep. Barbara followed suit. It’d been a long day and the fight at the Graysons had left her exhausted. She let her guard down and gave herself over to the hypnotizing rocking of the subway car.
When she jerked to full awareness, he was sitting across from her… wide awake.
“You smell nice,” he said, staring at her tennis shoes before his eyes crept up to her bare thighs.
All the Lex News scare stories – escaped Arkham killers who’d infiltrated society and fear toxin in the tap water leading to psychotic behavior – it all filled her head in once.
“Thanks,” she said, forcing a smile.
“Your cunt, I mean.” His smile never changed. Just his eyes; not his smile. “Your cunt smells nice.”
She jammed her hand into her purse.
There was a switchblade in his hand. “Don’t.”
It was a really long knife. The blade was shiny.
“The purse. Hand it over!”
She nearly sighed in relief as she did. A robbery. It was just a robbery.
He snatched the purse from her trembling hands. Poured it out on the floor, cosmetics and gadgets crashing down to hard metal.
“Now pick up the wallet and hand it over. Don’t even think of going near the spray. I’ll cut you!”
Without any sudden movements, she stooped to pick it up. “Please, just take the money and go. Don’t hurt me. My name is Barbara Gordon, my father is police commissioner James Gordon. He’d be very happy if you didn’t hurt me.” It sounded stupid even as she said it.
“Shut up!” He took the wallet from her, jabbed it into the depths of his coat.
The monster that had devoured them shrieked again, jolted them with a sudden stop. Barbara almost made a break for it, but the man’s hand was clutching her arm before she could move. She watched, her eyes very wide, as he folded up the knife and stuck it in his pocket.
“Don’t try to run. Do anything stupid, I’ll cut you. I’m a real fast cutter.”
Barbara was doing it all wrong. All her father’s advice, all her self-defense courses, everything but fear had left her. She was skipping ahead in time with each ragged breath, before she had time to think or speak or scream.
Out onto the subway platform. It was empty except for a bag lady passed out in rags and empty bottles. The man pushed her down to the tracks, then jumped down after her. He hauled her over the humming third rail, then into an access door. The lock had been broken before they got there.
The hallway was all concrete, the floor damp and scummy from a burst ceiling pipe. The man… not ‘the killer,’ Barbara tried to assure herself, not ‘the rapist’… was brandishing his knife again.
“Please, sir,” Barbara sniffled as she was forced deeper and deeper down the tunnel’s slight incline. “Please, I don’t wanna die.”
“Sir… that’s a nice touch. I like that.”
He stopped her with a grip on her red hair, then tried the lock on a supply closet. It was open. Perversely, he got the door for her. When Barbara hesitated, he shook his knife. The dim light refracted off the blade at new, terrifying angles.
“Get in.”
The room was dark except for some light that came in through the cracks. It lit just enough for Barbara to pick up outlines, motion. “I’ve never done anything to you. Please, just let me go! I won’t tell anyone. Don’t hurt me…”
“I’m not gonna hurt you.” He closed the door behind them. “I’d never hurt anyone. The knife’s just for show. Part of the fun, right? I’m just going to make your wildest dreams come true. The ones where your dream guy holds you down and won’t let you say no…”
She was backed up against the wall, as far away from him as possible. All too soon his hot breath was burning her skin.
“Don’t! Please, Jesus, don’t!”
“I’ll understand if you have to pretend not to like it. Cuz a all the judgmental prudes out there. But I know you like it. You all like it.” He unbuckled his belt. “All you whores do…”
It was now or never.
She lunged at him, knuckles poised for his testicles. Expecting it, he twisted his hip so all she hit was thigh. It was still a good hit, and his left leg buckled. He shifted his weight to the right foot. His pants fell down. He pulled Barbara up by the hair and threw her against the wall. Shelves full of cleaning supplies rattled. She kicked him in the shin, but then he was against her, his meaty body pressing her against the wall. On her leg, she could feel his erection through his underwear. She raised her knee into it. He groaned and grabbed hold of her hair again when she ran for the door. It felt like half her scalp was going, but she managed to throw the door open.
Batman was in the doorway, his body silhouetted by the outside light. His eyes, cruel slits…
“Miss Gordon,” he said. “Don’t watch.
And he stepped past her into the room.
Barbara didn’t watch, but she did listen. She heard a scream, a sharp crack, a second scream, then nothing but whimpering and the steady breathing of the Batman.
“Your father’s worried about you.” His voice was like cut glass, like it hurt him to talk, like it might hurt her to hear it. She got the sense he chose his words carefully. “Robinson Street is well-lit. Catch a cab there. Or call someone you can trust. Call a shrink, if you’ve got one.”
She’d heard how this worked. When Batman saved someone, most of the time they didn’t press charges. And it wasn’t like he could give testimony in court. So the guy often walked, scot-free, with only the fear of the Bat in him. And that faded with time, until they got crazy or desperate enough to try again. And maybe that time Batman wouldn’t be there.
Barbara was here. Now.
“What about the cops?”
Batman looked at her, surprised. And a little impressed. “Your choice.”
She flashed, suddenly, on all the criminals who went free because no one would press charges. He would know that better than most. But he did what he did anyway.
“But don’t call an ambulance.” Batman wrenched the would-be rapist’s arms into handcuffs, which were hooked around a pipe. Barbara saw a ghastly compound fracture on the man’s arm. Looked good on him. “He’ll survive, but I want him to suffer.”
“Yes sir. Thank you. Marry me.”
Batman paused, looked at her, a little… amused? Barbara felt six inches tall. Before he could make it worse, she had her cell-phone whipped down and dialing 911. Batman gestured for her to follow him, then was out the door. Realizing she was alone with the man, who was howling like a coyote with his leg caught in a trap, she hastened to follow.
“Where are you taking me?”
“The surface. Your father will be waiting.”
“That was…” Barbara smoothed the cricks from her pants, tried to be as suave and mature as possible. “Really something back there. He didn’t have a chance!”
Batman didn’t respond.
“So, uh, thanks. Again. For everything.”
Batman was occupied, holding a device in his hand. He pressed a button and it shook, once, before falling silent.
“What’s that?”
“GPS locator. Your father has the technology to locate its beacon.”
Barbara tried her best to walk regally while still keeping pace with his long strides. “You and dad are pretty tight, huh?”
“He’s a worthwhile ally. You should be proud to be his daughter.”
“I am. But… what about you?”
Batman stopped at a ladder to look at her.
“Is there anyone… you have… to be proud of you?”
Batman took hold of the ladder rungs with what had to be white-knuckled grips. “No. Up.”
They climbed. The ladder led to a subway grille, which the Batman pushed open. Red-blue police lights hurt her eyes as she climbed up onto the street. Before she knew it, her father was engulfing her in his arms. She looked back to see the grille just being set back in place.
***
Harvey Dent entered his house like a hurricane coming ashore. Gilda was chopping carrots, mainly as an excuse to have a knife at hand. She cut herself at the sound of the door bursting open. Bright red blood spilled across the cutting board. She burst into tears, but not because of the pain. Seeing him alive was enough.
“Are you okay?” Harvey asked, grabbing hold of her arms so hard that the knife dropped from her fingers. “Did anyone hurt you?”
“No, no, I’m fine… they said there was an assassination attempt, an attempt on your life.”
Harvey shook his head. “It was nothing, nothing…”
“They called. They said… they said I was a widow…”
Harvey’s critical mass of nervousness came down on the phone. He ripped the phone line right out of the wall, taking the socket with it. His chest heaved as he breathed heavily, expelling rage with each breath. After a few deep breaths, he finally calmed.
“You feel like cooking tonight?” he asked her.
Gilda shook her head.
“Me neither. Let’s order in.”
He took out his cell-phone to call and it rang just as his thumb hovered over the number-pad. The caller ID said Gordon.
“Honey, find a coupon,” he told Gilda. “I need to take this.”
She hustled off to the drawer in the kitchen where they kept the leaflets, but kept a close eye through the frosted glass window into the rec room. Harvey sat down heavily in the east chair, not even bothering to take off his coat. He often got like this, at night more than any other times. In front of the cameras he could be the crusader, even with Gordon he could play the hero… but with her, he was vulnerable. It was like someone had tarnished that bronze image of his. After a moment, he got up.
She went back to leafing through the coupons, although nothing held her interest. Nothing, that is, until the door creaked behind her and she turned to see Harvey. He belatedly began shucking off his coat.
All he said was “Jim Gordon’s little girl.”
Gilda raised a hand to her mouth in shock. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah. The Batman was there. She’s a little shaken up, but… yeah.”
***
Barbara got home in something of a fugue state. Her father drove her, but he didn’t say much of anything, except for “You know we love you, right?” She had nodded fitfully.
They got home and Mom started fawning over. That, somehow, made it all hit home. She only cried a little, but it was enough to start Mom crying. Dad was on the phone to a police psychologist, but Barbara didn’t really think she’d need one. She was smart enough to know what she was going through. Profuse sweating, blurriness of vision, heightened awareness, accelerated heart rate… she was going into shock.
“Could someone bring me some water, please?” she asked.
Jim Junior, her little brother who was all of eight years old, brought her some. She took it gratefully and then was on the stairs up to her room. Dad hung up and followed her upstairs. She put her hand around the doorknob, couldn’t bring herself to turn it, and instead leaned there as she looked back at Dad.
“Barbara, you really think it’s a good idea to be alone right now?”
Barbara took a deep drink of water. “I’m fine. Nothing happened. I’m fine.”
“Okay, well… if you need anything…”
“I won’t,” Barbara said like cut glass, and closed the door behind her.
In her room, she gave the speedbag a tap as she went by, but couldn’t bring herself to abuse it more than that.
She knew that physical exertion was a curative for shock, but that really didn’t help. And crying was a symptom too, but she really genuinely felt like crying. And not letting anyone see her.
There was a sewing machine on her work desk, usually tucked away off to the corner. Her mother had gotten it for her on her sweet sixteen. She’d become proficient at it, but never had much interest at it.
The blurriness clouding her eyes was lifting; or transfiguring. She was not seeing red. She was seeing black. Something vast… terrible… swooping down towards her.
She grabbed some black fabric and went to work, only stopping to fetch some yellow.