Robin: Beginnings - Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

I Meet a Girl Called Babs

I don’t look out of the window as the police officer drives. Drives away from the circus, away from home. Away from everything. I don’t count the bridges, gawk at the twinkling lights, or snicker at how dark and dirty the streets are. 

I sit, my hands in my lap, my eyes on my trapeze boots. I didn’t even get any of my stuff from our— my— trailer. 

Dead… Zucco did it. He took the bolts. He killed them. I can still see him, smiling like a snake, his dual-eyes glittering as he laughs. He’s holding a knife. Mom, Dad, and Uncle Rick are behind him. They don’t move. He draws back the knife— he throws it at me—

I don’t know I’m having a dream until the police officer calls my name, his hands shaking me, his eyes soft through the glistening glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. 

Tears squeeze out of my puffy eyes, and my nose runs. I shake so much I fall forward, collapsing into his arms when he tries to get me out of the car. I want to ask what’s wrong with me— but I know what. And I don’t want to think about it. I sit in his strong arms, my back shaking, my breath heaving, getting snot all over his nice shirt. I want to apologize, in fact, a small “Sorry” squeezes out of my lips, but he doesn’t hear. He’s too busy rubbing my back.

Has he done this before? How many kids have their parents murdered in this city? Is that why I’m here and not in some home yet? Isn’t that how they do it in the movies? Drop kids off at the doorstep of some orphanage or house they’re stuck in for the rest of their lives, waiting for someone to come for them? Is that what's going to happen to me?

“Can you walk, son?” The officer’s voice is deep, rumbling, but soft. He knows what he’s doing; he’s got a purpose. But my purpose crashed to the ground when those lines slipped. 

I’m never, ever going back to the circus. They won’t let me. I know they won’t. How can a bunch of performers, who already have enough on their plate, meet all the stupid requirements to take me back? 

My shoulders heave, I choke, my nose blocked, stuffed as my eyes leak. I want to be embarrassed. I want to run away. I don’t want this man to see me cry. I don’t want to get his shirt any more tear and snot stained than it already is. I want to do something! But I don’t. I’m stuck in his arms. A twelve-year-old boy, shaking and sobbing like a toddler. 

So the police officer carries me in. His hands are light on my back and legs, carrying me like I’m made of glass, but he manages to get me into the station. The lobby’s massive, filled with a sprawling desk in the center and small cubicles on the sides. And stairs, lots of stairs and doors leading everywhere. 

My whimpers echo. Heads turn, but not many. So this does happen a lot. No wonder Mom didn’t want to come here. Who wants to live in a place where orphans are brought to the police station every other night?

The smallest thought of Mom hurts like someone’s pressing a blazing poker against my heart. It burns, it stabs, and it doesn’t let up. But I can’t change what happened. At least, that’s what I tell myself. They’re gone, and there's nothing I can do. Nothing anyone can do. 

But… I should have caught her…

I whimper in the police officer’s arms as he climbs a set of stairs, wishing myself back into a dream. Wishing that I could go back, only hours before, to when we were together, happy. 

But this is real. This is happening. I, Dick Grayson, am an orphan. I don’t have a home, a family, or a life anymore. Throw a pity party, why don’tcha? I won’t go. I have to do what Mom and Dad would've done. 

Keep going. Forget them? Never. Forgive? Nope. In fact, when I think about the accident, them plummeting to their deaths, all I can think about is Zucco. Laughing. I want to punch him in his gaunt face. I want to threaten him with a knife. I want to see him cry. See him get what he deserves. 

I clench my fists but say nothing as the police officer takes me into a room. This one’s carpeted, warm lights fill the space, casting soft shadows. There’s a desk in this one too, and a door that says ‘Commissioner’ on its frosted glass panel. 

A woman sits at the desk, typing on her computer, stopping to take a sip of her latte. She looks up when the police officer carries me in, the door swinging shut behind us. The drink clatters onto her desk, and she’s on her feet instantly as if the policeman just yelled, ‘hands in the air! This is a stickup!’ Wait, no, that’s what the bad guys say, right?

“Oh, Commissioner!” Her hair’s like butter, her eyes little blue birds. Her hand reaches for the phone. “Child Services?”

Is it wrong that I almost laugh at how quickly she knows what to do? It sure feels wrong. So I duck my head, rubbing my eyes furiously. There’s nothing left to cry. 

“Yes, Miss Williams.” The police officer, no, the Commissioner, sets me down. My legs wobble, but I manage to stand. “Put them through to my office. And once you’re done, how about getting him a blanket, spare clothes, and some hot chocolate from the lounge?” He turns to me. “How does that sound, Dick?”

I jump at the sound of my name. I know he said it before, but these people are strangers, not just strangers wanting autographs or pictures. They’re the only people I have right now. They’re in control of everything that happens to me. So I nod. I’m not thirsty or hungry, but I can’t say no. Besides, a blanket sounds really nice right about now. Call me a baby, but right now? I just want to hug something. Anything.

The Commissioner nods back and then turns, talking over into the corner. “Barbara, I need you to keep him company. We’re staying here tonight.” The Commissioner nods back and then turns, talking over into the corner.

I follow his gaze. In the corner, a girl around my age sits on a small loveseat. She’s almost drowned in a purple hoodie, tall striped socks yanked up to her knobbly knees, her mac’n’cheese hair pulled down in two frizzy braids. She smiles at me, green eyes taking in my puffy eyes, snotty nose, my bedraggled uniform. I can’t help but shrink back, my cheeks burning. 

If it were Raya, I’d be lectured about how sad and unpresentable I look. I’d be told to go and get washed up, to clean my face, fix my hair, and for goodness sake stop crying. Gosh, I miss Raya. Fresh tears squeeze out of my eyes. Pain pounds at my temples. I need water.  

Barbara doesn’t do what Raya would do. She nods quickly, and from the way she looks at the Commissioner and the way their hair is almost identical, I figure she’s his daughter. They’ve got that same kind of take-charge look. Barbara pats the seat next to her, and the Commissioner pushes me forward, his rumbling voice at my back. “Barbara, this is Dick Grayson. Dick, this is my daughter, Barbara.”

I nod at her and try a smile. It should feel wrong on my lips, but it doesn’t. In fact, it starts to lift the pressure suffocating my chest. Well, if smiling helps… Keep going. Keep smiling. That’s what they would’ve wanted. 

Barbara smiles back, scooting over so I can sit down. Behind the Commissioner, Miss Williams is talking rapidly on the phone, all while typing frantically on the keyboard. She holds up a finger and nods to the Commissioner, who heads for the office. The door slams shut, and though it isn’t abrupt, I still cringe.

CRACK! Keep smiling! Blood seeping onto the ground… Keep going! They’re gone… Why didn’t you catch her?

Miss Williams stands up, her fingers shaking as she clasps them in front of her, her smile trembling as she looks down at us. “I’m going to go— um— get you the things you’ll need— um— Dick.” She straightens her jacket. “Barb, do you want anything?”

“Pizza?” Barbara cocks her head, batting her eyelashes. “And hot chocolate? Please?”

“Alright.” Miss Williams runs a hand through her hair, nodding. “Hang tight— um— kids, I’ll be right back.”

I watch her leave, her high heels thumping on the carpet. Barbara and I sit in silence for a moment until I can’t stand it anymore. “So… do you go by Barbara?”

“Do you go by ‘Dick?’” Barbara squints at me before handing me a tissue from the box sitting on the corner table. So, she’s not going to lecture me about how I look. I miss Raya, but this is a breath of fresh air. No fussing, no pestering, no demanding answers, just handing me a tissue and asking me about my name. 

“My full name’s Richard.” I accept the tissue, giving my nose a good long blow. Stay strong. Keep going. Why didn’t you save them? Why didn’t you catch her? “Which is way better than ‘Barbara.’ What do your parents want you to be when you grow up, a crazy old cat lady?”

“We already have one of those in Gotham.” She says, kicking her legs, glancing over at me. “And for the record, my nickname is way better than yours. Though yeah, ‘Barbara’ is worse than ‘Richard.’”

“What’s your nickname?” I toss the tissue into the garbage can, finally able to breathe without boogers hanging from my nose. I want to wipe my nose again, maybe on my arm, but I don’t want to gross this girl out, not when I need her. 

“Babs.” Barbara grins at me, her freckles sparkling in the soft light of the office. “The kids call me that because I talk too much. But I like it.”

I like it too. And yeah, she’s right. It is way better than ‘Dick.’ “I don’t think you talk too much.” I pull my legs up to my chest, grinning back at her. “You should see me when I talk about something I like. I can go on for hours.”

“Me too!” Barbara, or Babs, pulls a small notepad from her pocket, showing me the sharpied Bat Symbol on the front. “I could talk about him forever. My dad works with him, you know.” She nods to the office. “Commissioner James Gordon, protector of Gotham, a friend of the Batman.”

I try to keep my eyes popping out of their sockets. “Have you ever met him before?” 

Babs sighs, tucking the notebook back into her pocket. “No. He won’t come over for dinner. And every time I try to call him on the Batphone, he never answers.”

For one thing, a Batphone? That’s excessive. And for another, I can’t help myself. I deepen my voice to a rough growl, holding my hand to my ear. “Hello, Commissioner?” I grunt. “What? No, I asked for ham and cheese sandwiches. I’m allergic to peanuts.”

Babs bursts into giggles at my Batman impression, her feet slamming into the loveseat. “Keep going!” She protests, waving at me. “Oh, please keep going!”

I smile, then dip my head into a shadowy scowl. “Miss Gordon.” I drone, looking at her with such a glare she howls, putting a hand over her mouth to muffle the commotion. “What have I told you about using the Batphone? It’s for emergencies only. I don’t have time for interviews.”

“That’s him! That’s him!” Babs claps a hand on my shoulder, shaking it. “You got him down!”

I grin and lean back in the seat. Keep going. Keep smiling. Make others smile. Don’t worry about—

The door to the office opens. Commissioner Gordon stands there, looking at me with such a pale, tight look that I want to hide in the cushions. No… what is it now?

“Dick…” He runs a hand along his temples. He reminds me so much of Dad I have to fight the pressure building behind my eyes, “I’m sorry. Your parents have both been confirmed dead. Your father has a plot set aside for the family in Gotham Cemetery. I’ll make sure you get the address so you can… go… for the funeral.”

I wait for him to go on. My parents are dead. But what about Uncle Rick? I can’t say anything. I can’t look at Babs, who’s shifting around in her seat. 

“Your Uncle… he’s alive, Dick.” My heart jumps in my chest. I rub my palms on my thighs. I want to shout, bounce on the cushion, and dance for joy. But the look on the Commissioner’s face stops me. Something isn’t right. “But he is on life support.” The Commissioner rubs his neck. His eyes dart everywhere except my face. “They had to take him away to a special facility. And since he can’t take care of you, let alone himself—” 

I hold my breath. So… I really am alone in the world, aren’t I? But I need to keep smiling. Keep going.

You could’ve saved her… 

“He has been removed from the picture and, since you don’t have next of kin or any known relatives— I’m sorry, Dick. But we have to put you in the foster system.”

I swallow hard, forcing myself to nod. Uncle Rick’s alive… but he’s not okay, I’ll probably never see him again, but he’s alive. But… What about me? “The circus?” I know it’s pointless, but I ask anyway. 

The Commissioner shakes his head. “They have to go through the same process as everyone else. And it doesn't look—”

I nod before the Commissioner can finish. I already know. “So… I’m just….” I gaze around the office, drinking in the soft lights, the leafy potted plants, the cushiony loveseat, then turn back at the Commissioner, “staying here?”

“For the night, yes. I have a woman coming from the Gotham City Home for Boys. They can’t take you tonight. It’s too late to get everything settled now. She’ll take you to the Home in the morning.” The Commissioner puts his hands on his hips, trying to smile. “She’s going to be helping you, Dick… making sure you get to a good place— a safe place.”

I’m glad he doesn’t ask me what happened in the big top. I’m glad he doesn’t sit me in a witness chair and question me. I’m glad when he pats my shoulder and tells me not to worry, he’ll take care of me. Gosh, I’m glad he doesn’t put me in Juvie. 

I’m even more glad when Miss Williams comes back, her arms loaded with blankets, pillows, and new clothes, stacked with two thermoses and a pizza. I rush over to help her, giving her a smile. It’s a mistake. The way she looks at me, her eyes damp, her mouth pressed closed, lips trembling, almost makes me cry. I ignore the burning in my eyes and settle down with Babs, slipping the oversized T-shirt over me, using the cover to slide out of my leotard and tights. The shorts sag. I pull the string in their stretchy band all the way tight, barely able to get them to stay around my waist. 

Babs ignores the clothes; in fact, as soon as we sit down in a nest of blankets, we’re both shoveling down pizza and slurping our hot cocoa. We don’t talk, at least, not until the pizza boxes only have grease stains left and the thermoses sit empty on Miss Williams’ desk. 

“So… you lost your parents.” Babs and I settle down in the blankets, curling up like cats. I flinch at the declaration. It’s going to be like this from now on, isn’t it? Instead of people looking at me and seeing a twelve-year-old trapeze artist, they're going to look at me and see a poor little orphan boy. “I lost my mother too.”

I jump and stare, searching her large, emerald eyes. They’re wide, glistening. She knows. 

“I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say. What can you say? What sounds right when a person’s lost so much? “Gosh… I know that was pathetic.” I snort, burying my face in my pillow. “Sorry isn’t really—”

“No, it’s fine.” I peek up at her. Her smile’s small, her mac’n’cheese hair sticking all over her face. “I’m used to it. You’ll understand. They mean well, but it’s just….”

“It hurts.” I rest my chin on the pillow, inspecting this girl. This girl with the oversized hoodie, with the Batman journal. This girl who wolfed down half a pizza in less than fifteen minutes. “It hurts so much. The way they look at you. But then you feel bad for getting angry ‘cause most of them mean well.”

“Exactly.” Babs turns onto her side, facing me, blowing some hair out of her eyes. “What were they like? Your parents?”

I bite my lip until I think it’s going to bleed. It’s not a question I want to answer. But I find myself telling her all about my family. About the pillow fights, the dance fests, the early mornings and late practices, and the good times. And the more I talk about it, the more I miss them. I want to laugh, to turn to my parents as they smile at the stories, Uncle Rick injecting the details I left out. But they can’t… because they’re gone. 

They’re gone… 

“What about your mom?” I’m done telling Babs about my family. It’s her turn. “What was she like?”

“Fearless.” Babs doesn’t hesitate, closing her eyes as if she is picturing her mom right now, a small smile teasing her lips. “Fearless and funny. You’d think that dads have all the bad puns? Oh no. Mom was a hoot. She loved flowers too. And pizza. We had pizza all the time.”

I nod, tilting my head all the way back to look at the empty pizza boxes. That makes sense. “How…?”

“The Joker.” Babs doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t need to. His name holds power. I’m curious what actually happened to her, but I’m not sure I want to know. The Joker’s a lunatic, a mad man, a serial killer. Honestly, she could’ve died from anything from a gunshot to a poisonous whoopee cushion. 

I don’t remember falling asleep, but as soon as I do, I want to wake up. My parents are falling, Zucco’s laughing, they plummet towards the ground—

CRACK!

I run to them screaming, but their bodies are broken. Red runs around them… but this time, Mom reaches out for me, her once lovely eyes now dead and white, her voice hoarse. “Dick… why didn’t you catch me?”

They all stand up like puppets on strings, their hands reaching toward me. They moan— they look at me with such loathing that I can’t stand it. A hand grabs me; something is wrapping around my ankles—

I wake up to screaming. Something’s trapping me. It’s only when someone shakes me that I realize that I’m the one screaming, that I’m wrapped in my own sheets, and that Babs is sitting on the loveseat, her eyes wide, her mouth pressed in a thin line. If she wasn’t worried or pitying me before, she is now.

I look up at the person shaking me. She’s a woman I haven’t seen yet, but from her ‘school teacher’ look and the identification tag hanging around her neck, I know she’s the woman who’s going to take me away. Behind her stands Commissioner Gordon and Miss Williams, whose hands shake around her coffee cup, tears welling in her eyes.

I clear my throat, looking at the woman in front of me. Her tag reads ‘Sophia Corvi Gotham City Home for Boys.’ 

“Sorry… I had a nightmare. You’re… Ms. Corvi?” My voice is hoarse, dry. My head aches so much that I want to lie back down. But if I close my eyes…

The woman smiles at me, taking a step back and nodding. “Yes. And I will be taking care of you, Dick. We’ll get you situated.”

I point at the floor, raising my eyebrows. “Here?” It's hopeless, I know, but now more than anything, I want to stay with Commissioner Gordon and Babs. 

Here, where it’s safe. 

Sophia laughs, and it’s a lovely sound, like the chirp of birdsong. It reminds me of Mom. “Not here. I was able to get all your things from the circus. They’re in my car.”

I glance back at Babs before looking up at Ms. Corvi. “We’re leaving? Now?”

“No. Not yet.” Ms. Corvi checks her watch. “I’m waiting for a call. Then we’ll go to my office at GCHB.”

I stand up, tugging my oversized shirt, trying to ignore my sweaty, spiked-up hair. “Then what?”

“Don’t worry, Dick.” Her hand’s on my shoulder, her eyes soft and black. Her smile soothes my jittering hands and slows my pumping heart. No wonder she’s in this business. She’s handling all of this like a pro. “You’re young. I’m sure there are a lot of good people just waiting to take you in. You won’t be at the Home for long.”

I nod, smiling back. Keep going. Keep smiling.

And hope. 

To be Continued...