Chapter Text

 Chapter One

                                    New Places, New People

September 25th, 2005, Gotham, New Jersey

Arabella’s hazel eyes scan the airport filled with people, searching for her parents. She holds only one red suitcase; Arabella had no doubt her mother would buy her a new wardrobe, so she hadn't bothered packing much. Abigail’s borderline controlling habits had dimmed over the years, but Arabella knows her mother won't be able to bear it with her daughter so close once again. She tugs at her honey-brown loose curls that hung behind her shoulder blades before pulling Luke’s jacket tighter around herself. The airport is cold. New Jersey is cold.

She remembers her round, soft Aunt Lou pushing Luke's jacket into her hands, with a reminder that it was much colder up north and that she should put a sweater on underneath just in case. Arabella hadn't listened; she wishes she had. She had instead decided on simple jeans, an old pair from high school and an maroon, well worn blouse; Her blue, size eight sneakers squeak on the floor as she pushes through the crowd.

The sun was setting, the dying light shining through the airport windows, but the Archibald Goodwin International Airport in Gotham City was still bustling. Arabella scratches at the handle of her suitcase nervously. She regrets not buying a phone as she scans the crowd. She hadn't needed one in Mississippi; She had no friends to call or text, preferring her solitude, and Arabella was able to get up and leave if her mother or father called one of Rulmar Roads many telephones. Without a phone she was a free as a bird, only coming inside to eat, sleep, and bathe. Aunt Lou and Uncle Jeffrey would huff and puff, but as long as she had returned safely before sunset and came back for every meal, they wouldn't send someone to hunt her down. It was a compromise neither party had liked. 

Her eyes catch a couple standing by the gate, awkwardly waiting. Her mother's blue eyes met hers first, and they stare at each other in stunned silence as the world continues around them. They hadn't seen her since the 1741 Rulmar Road; Since her refusal to leave the spare room in her Aunt and Uncle's home. Abigail must remember it too because there's the same distress in her blue eyes as when she watched her daughter howl and scream and claw at anyone who tried to pry her from the room she had barricaded herself in. Abigail smiles, desperation written on it. She raises one pale, freshly manicured hand and waves to her daughter, jumping up once on her tiptoes to make sure Arabella sees her.

“Arabella! Sweetheart!” she calls out, the southern accent softer after all the time in New Jersey. Her voice is sweeter than Arabella remembered. Her curly blond hair bouncing as she tugs Arabella's father forward. The tall, honey-brown-haired man turns and scans the crowd. When his warm brown eyes settle on the approaching Arabella, his face goes soft and sad. He had missed her, and she couldn't deny she’d missed him too. It was always easier with her father, probably because he didn't expect much and didn't try too hard. It made being around him more bearable than anyone else. They meet in the middle, and her father pulls her into a hug, placing a kiss on her forehead before quickly untangling himself at Arabella's stiffness. She still didn't like to be touched.

“It’s good to see ‘ya’ baby girl.” he says, the mostly hidden accent slipping out. He had tried hard to forget who he was. It was a trait he passed to her.

“You too.” the young hazel-eyed woman says, because she did miss him. It, however, did not mean she forgot or forgave. Arabella turns to her mother, a tight smile on her lips. Abigail returns it before her arm shoots out and wraps her daughter in a sideways hug. Arabella briefly wraps an arm around her mother's shoulder before separating. It isn't much different than their usual hugs. A short side hug, lasting no longer than five seconds.

“You look… well. Sweetheart.” Abigail says, her smile was forced but bright enough that her dimples showed. Her golden hair was twisted up in an elegant bun, and her blue eyes scrutinize Arabella's thin form. Arabella is still pale and sweaty from the flight, her stomach ready to revolt any second.

“You too mama.” Arabella responds before they descend into an uncomfortable silence. Her father coughs once.

“Well!” he says, fidgeting with his coat. “You must be hungry, Sweetheart?” he asks, looking down at her. Arabella shrugs, and her father smiles. “Good, let's get some meat on them bones.” he says, giving a chuckle and taking her suitcase. “And stop by a kiosk for a ginger ale.” he whispers conspiratorially. He must have noticed her skinny figure but was trying to make light of the situation. Arabella gives a tight smile. She is suppose to be 150 lbs, at least that's what she had been told at Clearheart. Arabella weighs in at a whopping 115 lbs. It had been one of Uncle Jeffrey’s talking points when he had been convincing her to return to New Jersey. Her father was a doctor; even if his brother-in-law hadn't said something, he knows a malnourished woman when he see's one.

They leave the airport, slipping into the cold air, and she could see the road that led to the bridge that would take them into the city. Gotham City, she had heard things about that place even as a little girl. Her mother had made a point of calling the place “Filthy” and “overrun by criminals.” Arabella gives a full-body shiver and tucks Luke’s jacket tighter around herself. She couldn't seem to regulate her temperature lately; she was either too hot or too cold. She can see from the corner of her eye that her mother frowns at the motion; it seems Abigail has finally gotten a good look at what her daughter was wearing. She’d probably hope Arabella would lose the jacket in Mississippi. They slip into a dark sedan and pull out of the Airport parking lot. Arabella watches a plane rise into the air as the sun sets below the horizon, her father playing “Take on Me” in the background.

They arrive at a small Italian restaurant twenty minutes later. It was small and homey, nothing fancy, and Arabella was happy for it. It was like when she was little in Mississippi, going to Mom and Pop restaurants. An old memory of her when she was five, full-bellied and eyes heavy-lidded as she was strapped into her car seat comes to mind. They sit, the restaurant is candle lit, in a warm, low light that was meant for the seduction of couples, no doubt. Arabella orders a slice of lasagna and rips tiny pieces of garlic bread as they wait. Her mother orders risotto and her father, spaghetti. Both women had watched with barely concealed amusement as the patriarch of the family looked over the many Italian dishes cluelessly, while the waitress had stood their waiting. She takes the order silently before departing and then returning briefly to give them each a wine glass and a water glass. Arabella can see a flash of concern on both her parents' faces as the waitress serves their daughter wine. the hazel eyed woman debates the wine before she decides it's best to stick to water tonight. Arabella takes a sip of her water, and their relief is palpable. They descend into awkward silence until it's her father, who once again starts speaking.

“So, how's Mississippi?” he asks, bringing out his napkin and laying it on his lap.

“'s quiet.” Arabella answers softly.

“In Lyonblanc?” he scoffs, and Arabella's lips twitch. He's right, the town was old, founded by some French settlers in 1812. Its main cash flow at the time was farming and beef slaughter; its peak for industry had been sometime in the 1920s. The Great Depression had been a big blow. If it weren't for the Davis family, Arabella's mother's side of the family, and their continued exports of beef and, later on, textiles, the town would have turned to dust. Well, the Davis family and the still-present trafficking of drugs into the south that kept the town going. It's mostly meth and Cocaine that went through the town, but from Arabella's discreet watching, the teenagers of Lyonblanc had plenty of access to weed as well. This overall usually kept the town at a decent hum of gossip and crime. Something always happens in Lyonblanc, it might not be what you expect, but something happened. Even with both incomes flowing into the town, Lyonblanc never fully recovered and had a small addiction and homeless problem. It wasn't large, not like Gotham, but you couldn't pretend it wasn't there. It wasn't much of a tourist attraction either, nothing but farmland, so nothing of real note had been built in the town besides it town square. this left nothing for the young generation to do, so It could be so boring in Lyonblanc, Arabella didn't blame the groups of teens she had seen wander into the dark fields to drink and drug themself into oblivion.

“I don't go much ‘inta town.” Arabella says, “But if there was some good drama, Aunt Lou woulda’ told me.” Arabella reassures. “It's quiet, beside the regular parties and some underage, unwed teen mothers.” her father laughs, and her mother's lips twitch.

“Well, I hope you aren't taking them as examples.” her mother gently cautions as she delicately folds her napkin on her lap. Arabella almost laughs.

“I wouldn't worry mama.” the younger woman says dismissively, and her mother frowns. The waitress comes back with their food. They manage a few bites before her mother speaks up again.

“Louabell said you wander off all day,” Abigail mentions offhandedly, but Arabella can see the crow's feet on her mother's eyes become more pronounced

“I like to go out, especially in the summer. The creeks are nice.” Arabella half lies; she does explore, but she doesn't go outside just to explore and enjoy nature. She needs to be there. It calls to her. Whatever wildness she had found in the Canadian forest never truly left.

“Have you made any friends you're going to miss?” the older woman asks, cautiously poking at her risotto.

“No.” Arabella answers honestly, taking a small bite of her lasagna. It’s warm and wet, and the bite is so small she barely has to chew it.

“Oh.” Her mother puffs out her cheeks, and Arabella shrugs, uncaring. She hadn't made any new friends since the wilderness and she didn't want to. Her father wipes his mouth before setting his napkin aside.

“Well, I am sure you will make some new ones in Gotham. Isn't that right, Abigail honey?” he asks her mother, taking a sip of his ice water.

“Of course, Levi.” Abigail answers stiffly.

“I'm sure.” Arabella says, adding, “I hear Gotham’s real friendly.” She takes another bite of lasagna. Her father snorts, shaking his head, and some of his hair brushes his face. Her mother sends her a sharp look, but Arabella can see the smile on her face.

“Well, at least you have the Big Bad Bat to keep the streets safe.” Abigail jokes, and no one can stop the giggling at the table. It feels like old times. A time so short before Father Elijah, for a moment, they feel like a family. Their dinner ends while they're riding on the high of being a family, both parents are thankful she only drinks water, and she is grateful they don't ask too many questions. They slip out into the cold street and find their car. There's the soft pattering of tiny cold raindrops descending from the night sky, and Arabella looks up into the darkness.

“It's good that the hotel isn't that far.” her father says as they slip into the warming car. She can hear the tiredness in his voice. They must have been worrying themselves into exhaustion before she arrived. “We have to go home. I have to work early in the morning, but your mama will be back before nine to take you to your appointment.” her father informs her before giving a small curse at the rain that begins to pelt the car. “Damn, weather can’t seem to make up its mind.” her father snarks, turning the windshield wipers on high. Arabella looks out to the street around them as they glide slowly through the night traffic. She can see people still walking the streets despite the cold rain, some in club clothes, girls in high heels clustered small groups; Others were alone, with their heads down to avoid the rain. There is a clash of thunder from above, and the rain continues to pour. They drive five more minutes before they come to a complete stop. Arabella looks to the dashboard for the time; it reads 9:45. P.M. Arabella frowns. She is tired and ready for bed.

“Damn!” her father says, slamming his hand on the steering wheel and rolling the window down. He sticks his head out the window, and Arabella feels a few stray drops of cold water dot her cheek. She wipes it away, watching her father curse at the people in front, but the long line ahead remains; and when she looks back, the line behind them only grows. She can see her father's frustration at the lack of movement, the clench of his jaw, and the tips of his ears turning red. It always made her laugh, her patient father so riled up at a jammed highway. Arabella’s hazel eyes flicker to her mother, and the amusement dies. Usually, when this happened- back before- Abigail would crack a joke. A good one that always made her father turn to her in stupefied silence before laughter took over. Her mother's lips are pinched tight, and the dark rings under her eyes in the dim car light reveal her lack of sleep. Arabella bites her cheek, and she can see the sign of her hotel from the front window. ‘The Marriott’ glows bright and neon for everyone to read. She debates, either the cold rain or the warm, hostile air around her. Arabella tugs Luke’s jacket tighter around herself, unsure. Her mother's eyes flicker to the review mirror at the movement and latch onto the jacket. Arabella knows what's going to happen next.

“Arabella, you really ought to get a new jacket.” the blond woman scolds her daughter, using her favorite excuse. Abigail, Arabella knew, just wanted her to get rid of it because it was Luke's. She thought Arabella's grief was too much, and that keeping his jacket after all those years was foolish. “It's so old, it's going to fall apart, and it's probably so thin!” she complains, and Arabella's lip turns into a thin, flat line. Anger comes hot like Lava up her throat, and she bites her cheek. Arabella turns to her father.

“I can walk from here.” she says, pointing at the sign through the window. “I'm tired, let me walk to the hotel and just drop off my luggage later. You know my room number.” Arabella can't help the borderline snarky comment. “You bought it after all.” Her father bites his lip before looking over to his wife. Arabella keeps her gaze on him, ignoring the daggers sent to her by her mother. There's a silent discussion between her parents before her father sighs. He looks tired and defeated, she knows he's secretly relieved by Arabella's offer to leave, and he doesn't want a fight tonight. He nods and puts the car into park for her to hop out. He pulls out his scarf and hands it to her.

“Zip up your jacket,” he cautions her before finishing with. “Love you, be safe.” Arabella nods, unbuckling and scooting to the side, facing the sidewalk.

“Here honey.” Abigail says, handing her a woolen hat. “Love you.” she says, her blue eyes looking towards the traffic. and Arabella nods, taking the hat and slipping from the car.

“Bye, love you.” the young woman shouts quickly before she shuts the door and begins jogging in the rain. Arabella’s a block away from her hotel when she allows herself to start walking. She's already soaked; running won't help her now. She walks, the cars behind her disappearing as she takes a different street, not so occupied and filled with storefronts. She uses the store's canopies for brief protection as she walks. She mourns Lyonblanc in the cold rain. She mourns the hot summers; if she were still down there, the nights would only be cool. If it rained, it would smell of earth and would be gentle and cool; it wouldn't be this cold, unforgiving storm. She tugs Luke's jacket closer, wrapping her arms around herself in an attempt to warm herself. She could feel her purse, a tiny purple leather bag she's had since childhood, slapping against her thigh as she walks, her head down. She listens to the wet slap against her thigh over the roar of the rain as she walks.

Arabella doesn't notice at first, maybe it is the cold distracting her, or the sound of the rain muffling the world around her, but someone is following her. She sees the dark figure following behind her in the store window of an ice cream shop. He must have begun following her when she got off the main road. She only catches a glimpse of a tall, dark figure in a hoodie following behind her, but something cold and hot all at once shoots up her spine. A rush of adrenaline fills her, and she speeds up slightly; carefully, she didn't want to spook him. He matchings her pace. Arabella passes the last window and has to focus to track the splashing of his footsteps through the roaring rain. She takes a sharp right, leading them into an alleyway. Arabella quickens her pace, hoping to come out the other end and surprise him. Her plans are cut short when she notices the brick wall ahead.

Just her luck.

“Fuck.” she whispers under her breath. She places a palm on the rough brick, gritting her teeth before finally turning. She can feel him watching her. The man yanks his hood down; a bald, shining with water dome appears, it reminds her of an egg because he was so pale. She can see his eyes in the light of the back door of the building to her left, brown and narrowed at her. One of his thick, dark brows is raised, and he places both hands up, a pocketknife in one. The metal shone in the dim light of the back door. The lower half of his face is covered with a dark bandana, and he wears a black jacket with matching shoes and pants. Arabella tilts her head at him, waiting.

“The purse.” he demands. Arabella ducks her head and scoots back into the wall. Allowing herself to seem cowed by the knife. He steps closer, trying to crowd her. She holds her purse to her chest for half a second to appear frightened and unsure before slowly reaching out. Only extending her arm a few inches, she ducks her head down, hiding her eyes that remain on the hand with the knife. He would reach out and then….. And then what? He reaches out his fingers, grasping around the old purple leather. Arabella's arm coils like a snake ready to strike, but he isn't there. Her hand jerked out to wrap around nothing; the man was gone.

In a flash of black, he had been flung from her, and when she looks up, stumbling and confused, she finds a dark mass beating the thief into submission. Arabella holds her purse out, dumbfounded as the light on the back door reveals the creature's back. A black swishing cape, and its owner stood and lifted the thief into the air with both hands as if he weighed nothing. She watches it swing the man like a ragdoll onto his stomach and hog ties him. She feels a sudden flare of annoyance that this creature had stolen her…… Her what? Her hunt? Her Kill? Arabella swallows the bile in her throat. Had she really been ready to kill this man? The dark creature turns to her; It stands no shorter than six feet, covered in all black, and as it approaches, Arabella gets a good look.

It was a man she realizes, in dark grey armor with a black bat outlined in yellow. He wears a cowl with pointy bat ears and a yellow utility belt, and tall black combat boots. The rush of excitement and annoyance dies in the face of this superior predator. Instead, she has the sudden hysterical urge to laugh; she can't  believe it! She had just watched The Bat of Gotham put a mugger in a full nelson; it had felt a little unnecessary, but people in Lyonblanc would have ate this shit up. He approaches, and there is a twinge of fear in her belly, and she wraps her arms around herself. He stops a few steps away and looks down at her, she swallows and meets his gaze.

“Are you alright?” he asks gently, and he puts his palms out, showing her he is no danger. She's thrown off for half a second before she ducks her head down. She had forgotten where she was and who she is. She is Arabella Walker; in New Jersey, that name held some weight. Not the kind she would like, though.

“I think you dealt with him before there was ever any danger.” Arabella manages to croak out; she hadn't realized how tight her throat had clenched. They stare at one another.

“You're safe?” he says, almost like a question, and Arabella cocks her head to the side.

“You seem unsure.” she responded, fighting a hysterical grin. This was not the time to make jokes.

“You are safe.” he amends, standing straight and exuding a confidence that seemed both perfect and unnatural to him. An act he knows but not one he uses for these situations. Arabella nods, unable to offer anything else, as she is shivering so violently. It seems her time outside was longer than she thought. If that man hadn't tried to mug her, she would be in her warm hotel room.

“You're cold.” The Bat says, voice low and gravely. It was deep enough that it would scare away lesser men.

“Thanks, I aint’ noticed.” The brunette snorts and shakes her head. She can see a tick on his jaw and feels a rush. She bites her cheek; she can't go picking a fight. Not here, this is a new place. This is a new chance for her.

“Let's wait for the police. They will be here soon, and they can take you home.” he speaks slowly, and Arabella nods once more before turning to the hog-tied thief. He lies there, his bandana pulled down, showing short tufts of scratchy blond hair on his strong jaw. He stares at the wall as he lay on the dirty ground, silent and furious.

“You think a full nelson was necessary?” She can't help but ask The Bat. He stares at her in response for a beat before opening his mouth to speak.

“It was not a full nelson!” The man on the ground shouts, stopping The Bat short, and Arabella turns to face him and laughs.

“Honey! There couldn't have been a fuller nelson.” She says between her laughter. The man begins cursing at her, but Arabella just waves a hand at him before turning back to The Bat, who is watching her curiously.

“I think you may be in shock. It might be best if you wait until the police arrive; perhaps the medical unit can take a look at you.” The Bat says, and there is something scripted in the words. Like a cashier saying “Have a good day” at the end of every transaction. Something bone weary comes over her; the flight had been hell for her. The first time she had been on a plane since the crash, she had spent most of it in the bathroom with her head between her knees. It had pissed the passengers off, but Arabella couldn't have cared less. She had taken half an Xanax before the flight; it hadn't suppressed the panic, but it had been enough that during the landing, she had just white-knuckled her seat. She wants to go to her hotel room, to lie in a warm bed.

“I want to go to bed.” she tells him, her eyes slide closed, and she is so tired. “I just wanna go to bed.” she repeats once more before opening her eyes to find the Bat almost deflated. Not in a disappointed way, but as if he was trying to make himself smaller, he didn't want to frighten her.

“I can take you.” he offers, gently extending a hand, and Arabella balks. He steps back and takes his hand back. He retreats so quickly that Arabella feels bad. In his eyes, he had protected her; she didn't need to be a bitch on top of it.

“Would it be dangerous?” She asks, “How do you even travel?” She asks herself, looking around suddenly, looking for a hiding spot in the narrow alley, for an explanation on how he got there. When she looks back at him, he points up to the rooftops.

“I won't let you fall. I promise.” he adds the last part when he notices she didn't find comfort in his first words. She had found flight terrifying, imagining whatever involved the rooftops to be just as bad, she licked her lips. Arabella looks back at the rooftop shining in a flash of lightning. The rain doesn't look like its stopping, and she is cold and wet. Perhaps that would outweigh any fear.

“It's the Marriott.” She informs him, still staring up at the blank night sky for a long moment. When she looks back down, she finds The Bat beside her, in one hand a grappling hook. “So that's how-” he wraps an arm around her waist, and they are in the sky. She hadn't even heard the grappling gun go off. Arabella opens her mouth into a silent scream against the armor covering The Bat. She can taste the thick, tough armor on her tongue and feel the insignia of a bat on her lips. She wraps her hands around him, clutching him tightly, refusing to open her eyes, and they fly through the city for what feels like an eternity. She only knows they’ve arrived when The Bat clears his throat and she feels the solid ground below her. Her legs feel like jelly, and she holds him for a second longer before releasing him from her iron grip and stepping away. She felt sick, and even if the cold was gone, she would have been shaking after the flight through the city. She looks out across the street to see her hotel. She didn't want to go suddenly; she is tired, yes, but the exhaustion would make her sleep, and sleep would bring morning, and morning would bring the appointment.

“Thank you.” Arabella whispers, one hand grabbing some of her wet hair and pushing it away from her hazel eyes. The Bat nods down to her. Arabella turns back to face her hotel, hesitating. “Well, goodni-” she turns back to find him gone. Arabella blinks, stunned, before letting a puff of air into the night. She turns and hunches down before running across the street into the safety of the warm, brightly lit hotel. The receptionist is almost unsure if she allowed to give Arabella the key but allows her the room booked in her name in the end. The woman promises to have her luggage delivered when it arrives as she escorts the dripping Arabella to the elevator. The ride is silent and awkward; the young woman is happy to escape the curious gaze of the receptionist behind her door. Arabella enters her warm room, making sure to lock it before stripping and laying Luke's jacket on the table to dry. Arabella runs her ice-cold, freckled hands over the thick, wet fabric. Arabella stares at her pale fingers, thin and bony.

She finds eating difficult, meat especially. Arabella was beginning to consider perhaps a vegetarian diet or something alternative. She didn't mind fish at all that much; maybe she would become a pescatarian. She leaves it to dry before filling the bathtub with warm water. She sinks into it, nails drumming at the edge of the tub as the water warms her. She finds her hands wandering to the twisted burn on her arm, the one she had gotten for Luke. She brings the burned flesh to her mouth and begins to lick at it, a wanting, desperate feeling growing in her chest. It had been so hard coming back to the real world. Luke's jacket had helped, but she had still felt so lonely. A loneliness that getting high and drunk with Natalie hadn't even fixed. She had tried, Arabella remembers the blurry drunken stupors and being high as a kite in the backseat of Natalie's car while the blond ripped through the roads. Arabella thinks of the mugshot that she had kept tucked away, looking at it sometimes with both disgust and yearning.

The rotting feeling inside her had been slowly poisoning her. The sickness, despite her separation from Natalie, hadn't stopped. In Mississippi, she’d spend all her time alone, in the woods or her room. She didn't talk, and when she had stopped eating, it was the final straw for Aunt Lou and Uncle Jeffrey. It's why Aunt Louabell had decided to send her back to New Jersey. At least it wasn't Clearheart. At least they didn't force her back to Wiskayok; she wouldn't have survived Wiskayok. Her Aunt and Uncle had been accommodating and gentle when they had broken the news to her.

“We can't keep you anymore, sweetheart. One day we're going to walk in there and you're just going to be gone.” Uncle Jeffery had explained after Aunt Lou had begun to cry when she had tried. Uncle Jeffrey looked sorry, like he didn't want her to leave. Arabella had wanted to stay, it had been nice and quiet. She had been lonely, yes, but at least it had been a stable and consistent loneliness. Something she could rely on to be there. “I just-” Uncle Jeffreys' voice had caught, and she could see the lines in his face growing more pronounced as his hazel eyes welled with tears. That's when she realized he truly was scared for her. He was scared that he would walk into her room and find her dead.

She had given in then, a dropping of her shoulder and the bowing of her head. She had been sure that they were to send her to a hospital. Somewhere to keep her, to ignore her until they fixed the decrepit bandage over the gaping wound on her heart and mind. She expected this. After all, her parents had been the ones to send her to Clearheart. The six months in The Clearheart Psychiatric facility had been cold and numb. It made sense that they would send her back. It was in Kentucky, close enough that they would make a day trip of the affair. Perhaps go shopping after they visited her in her white, bare room and spend the hour trying not to look at her.

“There's a good Psychiatrist in New Jersey. We and your parents have already set up your appointment.” Aunt Lou had said after calming herself down. Arabella had gone pale as a sheet at the thought of Wiskayok, of being home with her parents, of being in her old room. Being in the same town Luke had been in, seeing the school they had gone to together. It would be a living hell, she was certain she would kill herself.

“Not home.” Aunt Lou had finally clarified. Uncle Jeffrey reached out, palm up. He leaned forward, his blond hair brushing his eyebrow, and gently cupped her cheeks.

“It's not a hospital.” he reassured her, and Arabella realized she was shaking. “We will get you a hotel for the first week or so, and then your mother will come and find you a good apartment. She even spoke of living with you for a while.” he finished. Arabella makes a face and jerks away from the touch. He was lying. Abigail wanted nothing more than for Arabella to get as far away from her as possible. “She misses you,” he said earnestly, the golden tan of his face making him look older. He was tired, sad eyes looked ancient, and Arabella couldn't help but pity him. He was so gullible, and Arabella's mother was his sister; why wouldn't he believe she loves her daughter?

“The city might be good for you.” Aunt Lou tried pushing some of her black hair behind her ear, and Arabella just kept her head down. The older woman gives a soft sigh. “Please.” She begged so softly that Arabella had looked up to find Aunt Louabell teary brown eyes

“Okay.” Arabella had agreed reluctantly, and the relief from both had been palpable.

Arabella watches the last of the now-cold water disappear down the drain. She is warm, but as she sat there in the empty tub, unmoving, she begins shivering once more. She stood after a long silent moment, wrapping herself in a towel, and exits the bathroom to find her luggage at the entrance. They must have dropped it off when she was in the bath. She finds a pair of pajamas and changes before slipping into the hotel bed with Luke's damp jacket. She looks over at the clock, which reads 11:47 P.M.

She had to wake up at eight, be dressed and washed by eight thirty, and be in the car with her mother by eight forty. Her mother would get her to her appointments a few minutes before nine. Arabella knows why Abigail hadn't simply gotten another room in the same hotel and instead made the hour trip back to Wiskayok only to wake up at seven in the morning to commute to Gotham. Arabella presses the wet fabric to her nose, inhaling, hoping for a whiff of a long-disappeared scent as she lets herself drift into a restless sleep.