Chapter Text
Maps didn't really see people anymore. All she saw was fire.
Even now, she sat on a plush sofa with her brother at her side and their shared therapist opposite them. Maps had long tuned their idle chatter out, her eyes glued to the wall on her left instead. Orange flames licked up the wall, curling and uncurling as if they were an enticing finger. She watched as the ugly green and yellow patterned wallpaper peeled off slowly and slid down. Upon touching the fire, it turned to ash.
"Maps?" A voice asked, drawing her eyes away from the wall.
She stared at Lucy now, at what the fire had turned her into. People all burned the same, really; their skin bubbled and burst, their hair fell, and their flesh eroded. However, people did burn in unique ways, too. The unique part of Lucy was her eyes. Pretty bluish-green things, one had sunk into her skull, nestled in some of her exposed brain. The other was like a pendulum, and Maps watched it sway back and forth from where it hung by a fleshy string.
"Maps?" The voice asked again from behind missing teeth and an unhinged jaw.
She felt something squeeze her hand; she looked down and saw a skeleton gripping her; shredded flesh hung over the bones, and Maps knew what her brother's corpse looked like. For some reason, he was always turned to bones in her head. Always.
Her stomach churned; she looked up and watched the pendulum sway again before blinking.
One for sorrow,
Two for joy,
Three for a girl,
Four for a boy,
Five for silver,
Six for gold,
Seven for a secret,
Never to be told.
When Maps opened her cursed eyes, two perfectly normal blue ones looked back.
"Sorry, I completely zoned out; I was thinking about dinner," She admits with false embarrassment. Kyle laughs a little, as he never laughs a lot anymore, and squeezes her hand again before letting it go. Maps looks at Lucy, who frowns at her with concern. God, she hates therapists.
"We were moving onto the topic of school. Kyle has reservations about going back,"
Maps tried not to glare at the woman; it had taken so much patience to plant those seeds in her brother's head; she didn't need this woman ruining it all now.
"It's been a year since…the accident," Kyle begins, and Maps stiffens briefly to avoid a flinch. "A year feels like such a long time, but also like no time at all. I guess I'm just conflicted?"
"You told me you missed school and your friends? " She tilts her head and pretends to be confused.
"I do, but…the last time I left…boarding school was so far away. If anything happened again, I-"
Maps give herself two seconds before she turns sharply to look at her brother. She almost sighs in relief when there isn't a bone in sight. It's been so long since she could look at him, really, look at him. And now that the opportunity provides itself, she soaks him in like a sponge. Desperate and greedy, her eyes devour his healthy pink cheeks, still round and not lost to manhood just yet. His thick eyebrows, his olive glow, the whites of his eyes- the fact those are her eyes. Eyes Maps can only see in distant dreams and blurry pictures. His hair was brown, soft, and too short because she always wore it long. Mia had never known Kyle's father, neither had he, but the boy couldn't have looked anything like him. Because he was all her. All the beauty marks, freckles, and blink of dark, thick eyelashes were hers. It was glorious to look at a woman back from the dead in the only way possible, but all the more painful. It hurt, and it ached, and it made Maps want to cry because of how horribly beautiful her brother was. She wonders if he has the same hatred for himself when he looks in the mirror, the same twisted love.
"Sometimes bad things happen, Kyle," she says, throat raw under the shocked gaze of her mother- no, brother. "They happen to everyone all the time. You can't control it, it was-"
Maps feels sick to her stomach, and she swallows back a mouthful of bile.
"-an accident. You can't just be afraid all the time another one will happen; that's not how Mum would want you to live,"
She's evil.
Maps is evil and rotten to her core.
Kyle cries because he is an angel. Then, for the same reason, he smiles.
"You're right; I know you are, but I can't help but worry about you. You're my baby sister, I don't want to leave you again,"
Maps force a smile onto her, a perfect imitation of his, which fools everyone except herself.
"Don't be stupid; just because you're going to boarding school doesn't mean I'm letting you leave me! Hah! You'll be sick of me by the end of the year based on how many times I'll call you. Every day- no! twice a day! And when you come home for Christmas, I'll never leave you alone. I'll follow you around, poke you, and hide under your bed, and I'll steal all your things and annoy you, and it will be just like before!" She says it with wide eyes, a slight infliction on her tone, and makes her smile slightly lopsided. She appears childish, innocent, and sad but desperately trying to be happy.
Maps decides to seal the deal.
"I just want everything to return to normal." She squeezes his hand and looks up at him. He looks back with a soft gaze, and she knows he'll be gone in three months.
"Besides, it's not like I'll be all alone. I'll have dad,"
For rest of the session, Maps slowly steered the conversation (as she always does at therapy) and ignored Lucy's eyes on her. They talked about more benign aspects of Kyle returning to school, such as whether his friendships would have changed. Will he have missed out on his classes? Will he still be good enough to play on the soccer team without training for a year? Everything was designed to make his return to school feel more essential and urgent. And then, when Maps thought any more pondering would cause him to doubt his decision again, she spoke about herself. Something she always tried to avoid.
She pretended to entertain the idea of her return to education: "If Kyle can do it, maybe I can too!" She pretended to be nervous but secretly excited. She pretended it made her feel guilty to be excited. To be happy. Kyle hugged her and told her that they deserved it. She smiled and agreed. In truth, however, Maps did not intend to return to school. She had no desire to watch children burn.
All the while, she kept an eye on Lucy; she was new to therapy- young and green compared to her older colleagues- but she was sharp. Hard to fool. Maps finally decided that Lucy had to go and that as they waved goodbye and left her office, it would be for the last time.
Their driver picks them up, and together, they slide into the back of a sleek black car.
Kyle chatters idly with the driver about mundane but polite things, and Maps rests her head against the cool window.
Maps spent much time listening to her father's warnings about Gotham City throughout her childhood. It was beautiful in a way he'd tell her, the architecture, the history, the deep-rooted feeling amongst all Gothamites that where they lived was special- somehow more so than any other city. But he'd tell her not to fall for it, that the alluring nature of Gotham was designed to make you forget just how ugly it is. How the streets run red with blood, how the pockets of the men who control the streets are filled by the misery of others. Misery, he would say, Gotham feeds on misery. It craves and causes an endless cycle in which anyone who gets too close gets caught.
He wrote about a spider once in one of his books. It was a tremendously large creature who spun a web that looked like a house; she spun walls and furniture, a garden, and even a couple to live in. The people didn't know they were a web when they adopted a little girl, a human girl, only that they had a house they wanted to turn into a home. The spider ate the girl, and the couple adopted another. Over and over again. An endless cycle.
Her mother didn't like him reading his books to Maps, so they did it secretly, and he told her that the spider was Gotham. "And the web?" She asked, and he leaned in close to whisper as if someone were listening, "You never know who is real or web in this city, not until it's too late,"
Gotham City was ugly, but it was also special. She knew this now in a way she had never known before. It made sense, really. Gotham was dark and grey, and the sky always matched. The air was wet and damp even when it wasn't raining. Because, in a way, it was always raining in Gotham City—not like Bristol, which was bright and green and dry.
One was a place where fire thrived, the other where it went to die.
A breath escaped her lips, and Maps slowly brought her hand up to the cold window. She pressed her palm against it and willed the glass to break under her, to free her from the blazing inferno surrounding her. Every time they drove through the City, she begged something to let her out of the blasted car, anything, but it never happened. It was torture to watch what she wanted to pass her by.
The red light she hadn't even noticed they stopped at turned green, and the car moved again.
Maps closed her eyes, unable to bear looking at the subject of her longing.
"Maps," Kyle said quietly after he pressed the button that brought on the privacy window between them and the driver.
"What's wrong?" She asked, bordering on a sigh.
"I think we should tell Lucy about dad,"
Maps snapped her eyes to him and stared at his skeletal corpse; she pinched her thigh and willed it to disappear with a blink.
"No," she said, voice like iron.
"He's not okay," he said, almost pleadingly. "If Lucy knew, maybe she could help him,"
"He doesn't need help," Maps replied, her heart racing.
"I may agree if I could just see him. Please, Maps, you need to convince him. It's been a year, and I need to see him," He was desperate, eyes filled with tears, but Maps shook her head. "Please! He never leaves his room; the maids leave food at the door for him, but it's usually left untouched. He'll only speak to me on the phone, and I can't tell if he's okay because every time I try and ask, he hangs up!"
"He doesn't want to see you; he doesn't want to see anyone," she's said it a thousand times before.
"He'll see you," he says accusingly and bitterly. It's so unlike her brother in every way that it makes her recoil. But then, like a snake, she strikes back.
"I'm his daughter,"
"And I'm not his son?"
Maps says nothing, and Kyle turns away from her for a change. He mumbles something under his breath, something about the accident.
Accident, she thinks bitterly. Yeah right.
One Year Ago
Maps couldn't sleep.
She tossed and turned in her bed for no apparent reason. Her father said that she was like him, a head with too many ideas that rushed about and kept you up. Right now, she was thinking about Mr Wayne or rather, Bruce.
She didn't know much about the man, only that he had gone away for a long time and that it was quite a big deal that he had come to her dad's party that night. Perhaps he was a spy, sent away to work for the government and go on missions. Maybe he was on the run from bad guys. She tried to imagine Mr Wayne wearing sunglasses on a jet ski with speed boats chasing after him but couldn't quite picture it. He was nice, nicer than the usual people who came to her dad's parties, but he was also terribly awkward. It was almost funny how his face strained under still smiles, and his eyes avoided hers. So yes, he was nice, nice but strange, but so were all her favourite people.
And, of course, there was the mysterious Wayne Manor.
She couldn't find a plan for the building, so no matter how hard she looked, the further she dug into it with her admittedly amateur hacking skills, the more mysterious it got. If Maps hadn't seen the Manor with her own eyes, (she and her classmates, up until a few months ago, used to tell spooky stories about it and try and goad each other into sneaking in (once George Perks said his older brother broke in after a dare and an old British man pointed a shotgun at him, then sent him on his way with a jam sandwich and a cup of tea- a story that no one believed)), she wouldn't have thought the building even existed.
What started as a simple idea to make a map of Gotham turned into a very thrilling mystery. Then Maps discovered the even more mysterious tunnel and cave system underneath the City while completing the rest of her maps. She wouldn't have even known it existed, similar to Wayne Manor, if she hadn't stumbled across some diary entries while exploring her recently late grandfather's loft, his relative- who came to America over one hundred years ago a wealthy man became even richer when he played a large part in building the cities underground train system.
The diaries spoke about how he and his friend explored the caves and the directions in which they stretched. The diary spoke of all sorts of things, how the two men grew closer and closer to one another. Maps remembered being seven (she was much more mature now. She was newly eight) and embarrassed at the romantic turn the entries took as she kept reading. She glosses over some of the more adult pages and discovers that the truth of the caves is among the other secrets the two were keeping. They planned to have their own extraordinary world beneath the City they called home, all to themselves.
His friend had plotted the caves on paper, and Maps could only assume that such precious sketches were in his ancestor's hands. And what a coincidence it was that the man Yoshitarö Mizoguchi fell in love with was called Solomon Wayne.
She had desperately wanted to ask Mr. Wayne about it, discover if he had access to the maps, if he was behind the absence of his own home's plans, if he or his family were behind the fact that no one, after all these years, had rediscovered Gotham's secrets, and if his sudden trip abroad had anything to do with it.
It now and indeed was truly a mystery.
Maps felt like one of the detectives in her father's books, and the idea thrilled her.
It also kept her awake.
Before she knew it, Maps was clambering out of bed and planning to sneak back to the gala to hunt down and interrogate the mysterious Mr Wayne. She was only stopped on her mission when she left her room and saw a glow seeping out where her parent's bedroom door was cracked open.
She knew her mother was retiring early and wondered if she had fallen asleep with the light on or if perhaps she was too having trouble sleeping. Map was an observant girl; she knew her mother was ill, and with every day that passed, the dread in her stomach grew. It was getting serious now. Perhaps she was having trouble sleeping but for sadder and less exciting thoughts bouncing around her head.
Maps made her way to the door, her fingers brushing the handle when she heard a voice. A female voice, an American one that was distinctly not her mother.
"You can walk around with your head held high all you like, but I know what you are," The woman who wasn't her mother hissed.
"You're drunk and embarrassing yourself; go home before you say something you regret," Her mum said calmly.
"It's not fair! These stuck-up fucks can't even look at me, but you get to prance about as if you've been here the whole time! Everyone knows you're just a gold-digging whore, but they're too afraid of your freak husband to say it!"
Maps tried to look through the gap in the door to get a look at the horrid woman inside but couldn't see anything. Wherever they are stood, it was not in front of the door.
"You can spit your vile words at me, but you keep David out of it. He's a good man. " Her mum's accent only got thicker, and Maps knew that was a sign of her patience thinning.
"A good man? People around here seem to have a bad memory regarding one of their own, but there's nothing wrong with mine. I remember when a man beats one of his maids half to death because she burnt his fucking toast,"
Maps sucks in a harsh breath before covering her mouth with her hand; she isn't even in control of her body when she takes a stumbling step away from the door. Whoever this woman is, she is a liar. However, Maps feels her world crash when her mother hisses back.
"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about!"
Why wasn't she denying it? Why wasn't she laughing at such a ridiculous claim? It couldn't have been true after all. Her father couldn't hurt a fly. He cried over movies, made silly voices when he read bedtime stories and made her food in the shape of smiley faces and love hearts. That wasn't the type of man to hurt a woman for no good reason.
Maps thinks about the seemingly endless staff rotation throughout the Manor, which is just a coincidence.
"Let's not pretend you have an ounce of morality in you! The only reason you're here is you're angry your father was a bad man; what happened was no one's fault but his!" Maps' mother continues.
"You're the fucking whore who went after him!" There was a bang; the woman threw something, and for a brief moment, Maps worried her mother had been hurt.
"I was practically a child! I hardly knew a word of English, and I was his patient! He raped me, and David saved my life, so you keep his name out of your mouth!"
There's another bang within the room.
"My mother hung herself because of you two! Because of your affair! I killed that son of a bitch, and I swear to God I'll kill you too!"
A brief moment of stiff silence filled the air.
"Maps?"
She snapped her head up and saw her father down the corridor. He stood at the other end, head tilted curiously. He didn't look like a violent man at that moment, but Maps still felt sick.
The bedroom door smacked open, and a woman with stock white hair stood there. Maps knew her; it was her friend Olive's mum.
It's like a stalemate; she, her dad, and her friend's mother stare at each other in shock.
"Mia?" Her mother asks, appearing a foot or so behind Mrs Silverlock's shoulder.
"Mum," She whispers back dryly.
"Go to bed, Mia," she said urgently, and instantly, Maps took some stumbling steps backward toward her room.
She doesn't think she'll ever forget Mrs Silverlock's panicked look as she watched her retreat or the darkness that swirled behind her eyes.
Maps is plagued with thoughts now; she sits on her bed with her knees tucked under her chin. They're so loud in her head that her brain pulses against her skull, and her heart is no quieter. Hastily she scrambled around her bedside for her headphones and music player; Maps screws closed her eyes and turned the music all the way up.
She doesn't know what to think.
And she doesn't want to.
Her eyes stay closed, her face buried in her pillow until she feels her room grow hot.
"And you were asleep until the fire spread to your room?"
The police detective interviewing her had a junior officer sitting next to him. He was very young and green-looking, but he gave her a lollipop, which was a godsend after three days of hospital food and bland pudding. He had round glasses, a kind smile, and a funny-looking moustache. He introduced himself as Jim Gordon.
"Yes," She lies once, watching as Officer Gordon burns.
"And the man who saved you, did you see his face?" The second question came.
"No,"
Maps lies twice.
Officer Gordon holds her hand, and the flames roar.
She begins to learn that the nicer you are, the brighter you burn.