Fic: The Way Back--Chapter 5/? (PG-13)

[dragonbat2006]

Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4

Thanks to Kathy, Debbie, and Juliet for the beta! Thanks to billymack at ask_a_cop for help with police procedures!

Bruce's memory of his first night out is taken from Batman: Year One. Written by Frank Miller (DC Comics, 1988).

"Patterns" written by Richard Maltby, Jr. Originally recorded by Beth Fowler on the Baby soundtrack (Warner Chappell, Jay, 1983, 1999)

Patterns that begin as I walk though a door

Patterns in the curtains and the kitchen floor

Patterns in the days, routines I must arrange

Patterns in the ways I try... but never change

Just look, as I'm thrown a curve--again

I leap. Then I lose my nerve--again

In tears

Running home I go

Secretly relieved

Safe with what I know

Again...

And yet I know I am not the same...

--Richard Maltby Jr, "Patterns"

Chapter 5--Patterns

"Are you planning on staying here long, Ms... er...?"

Selina smiled disarmingly, and ruthlessly suppressed her nervousness. She hadn't broken any laws here, she reminded herself, and there was no reason for anyone to connect her with Catwoman. "Selkirk," she supplied. "Burmilla Selkirk. To tell you the truth, Officer, I really haven't given the idea much thought." She leaned back a bit in the sitting-room chair. "Or should that be 'deputy'?"

The man--Selina judged him to be in his mid-40s if he was a day--coughed. "Officer Paul Little. I'm a detective with the Maine State Police. I've been assigned here to investigate a series of recent break-ins that have been taking place up and down the coast."

"I see." She crossed her ankles together and shifted Helena to her other shoulder.

Helena chose that moment to start whimpering and fidgeting.

Little smiled. "You can put her down, if you want to." He looked around. "I don't think she can get into too much mischief."

"Do you have a lot of experience with fifteen-month-olds, Officer Little?"

"Enough," the detective said shortly. "Two sons, a niece and three nephews of mine have passed through that stage. I don't mean to keep you long, but we'll probably get done even faster if we aren't trying to have a conversation over her crying."

Helena crowed as her feet touched the ground. She tottered, landed seat-first on the carpet, and looked at her audience as though gauging its reaction. When nobody made a fuss or tried to snatch her back up, she crawled over to an end table and used one of its spindly legs to pull herself up. Selina felt herself relax. Her daughter was fine. "Very well, Officer," she said, leaning forward slightly. "I'm at your disposal."

"As I said, Ma'am," Little cleared his throat, "we're here assisting the local police forces in their investigations into a series of burglaries taking place in tourist towns along the coastline. A fair number of them have been taking place right here in Lincoln County."

"I see." But she didn't understand what it had to do with her. Wouldn't it be ironic, she thought, if they tried pinning this one on Catwoman? No, it wouldn't be. She was innocent this time. And... and, oh G-d, what about Helena? She wouldn't see her daughter go into the care of CPS. She'd have to call... She blinked, and focused her attention on the brooch that the officer was holding out to her in a plastic evidence bag. "I'm sorry?"

"As I said, Ma'am," Little repeated, "one of the other guests here saw a suspicious character exiting your room earlier today. We found this on her person. She said it was hers, but we were wondering if you recognized it."

Selina's eyes grew wide as they took in the small black onyx cat. It had two green emeralds for eyes, and a gold collar set with three diamond chips about its neck. She caught her breath, but when she spoke, her voice was steady. "If you turn it over and examine the back, there should be an engraving of the letters "B" and "S" intertwined. If so, it's mine."

She'd deliberately kept those initials in mind when she'd chosen her alias. In retrospect, she should have dropped the brooch in a safety deposit box somewhere; it was too memorable to keep with her when she was trying to maintain a low profile. Still, something within her had balked at leaving it behind. She was paying for that sentimentality now.

Little nodded. "So there is. Well, I've photographed it as evidence, so if you'll just sign and date this," he handed her a flimsy sheet of paper, "I can release the item back to you. The DA's office may be in touch with you, if they need the piece for the trial." He must have seen the nervousness in her eyes as he added, "I doubt they will, though. Seeing as we caught the perpetrator red-handed."

Selina nodded. "I understand," she agreed automatically. But her thoughts were in turmoil. This place wasn't as safe as she'd thought. If the local papers got a description of the brooch, hell, if the thief talked, someone might well speculate as to the ownership of such a piece of jewelry. Sure, it was probably paranoia. That didn't alter the fact that the police still had a few outstanding warrants on Catwoman. She didn't want the attention.

Little, apparently unaware of her discomfiture, smiled apologetically. "I really do hope that this experience hasn't soured you on our state," he added. "The thief isn't a local, by the way--they rarely are in these parts," he remarked. "It's not like the big cities where folks barely recognize their neighbors. Around here, everyone knows everyone else, and it's harder to keep criminal activity hidden." He sighed. "Of course, exceptions happen. Well, we caught her, so hopefully, that's an end to it." He rose to his feet. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Selkirk."

After the officer had gone, Selina scooped up her daughter and headed for her room. Mechanically, she began to pack.

"You're not leaving us, dear, surely?" Her hostess stood in the doorway. "I can assure you that nothing like this has ever happened before."

Selina nodded brusquely. "I understand, but I don't think I'm safe here anymore," she said. She knew that the woman would think that she was referring to the bed-and-breakfast, and she was sorry for giving that impression, but she could think of no way to allay the woman's distress without having to explain more fully about her situation. And there was no way that she would risk Helena's safety by providing any additional information that might point back toward Gotham.

She knew that no place was truly safe. She still didn't care. She'd settle for the illusion, for now.

"I'll be downstairs shortly to settle my account with you." And then, then she'd figure out where to go next.

"Alright," Dick said grimly. "Did anyone think to stick a tracer on him?"

On the split screen before him, Batgirl shook her head. Harrier looked like he could have kicked himself.

Dick sighed. "I knew I should have hung around with him," he said wearily.

The screen wavered, then split once again. Now, it resembled nothing so much as a vertical envelope, with a triangular screen at the top--like a pointed flap. While Batgirl and Harrier remained on opposite sides of the lower half of the display, a familiar redhead appeared above. "It wasn't your fault." Oracle--no, Barbara--stated.

"Whose, then?" Dick asked. "And don't say yours." He raised his index and middle fingers to his temples and rubbed gently, trying to fend off a tension headache. "The cave isn't shielded against teleporting. Hell, there's a JLA transporter in the closet. I know I asked you to keep an eye on him, but seriously, once he decided to leave, there was no way you could have stopped him."

Barbara smiled sadly. "I hope you're listening to yourself, Mister, because the same holds true for you."

"Sorry, Babs," Dick said, straightening his stance. "Leaders don't get that luxury." He took a deep breath. "Okay. He left. We have no idea where he was going or how big a head start he has. Once we find him, he's going to be pretty darn hard to corner..."

Harrier snapped his fingers. "Hold that thought. One second. I think I know--"

Dick's eyes grew wide. "Oh for..." He slapped himself across the forehead. "I am such an idiot! If S.T.A.R. Labs was using Raven's abilities for their template..."

Harrier grinned. "Took the words right out of my mouth. Problem is, I don't know where she is at the moment. She left the Titans a couple of months back."

"If that belt's tapping into the Astral plane," Dick said, "she probably knows about it already. Babs, can you...?"

Oracle nodded. "I'll put out some feelers."

"I'll keep my commlink open."

"Harrier and I... keep eyes on Gotham," Batgirl said. "Crime... still out there. So we are too."

"Okay," Dick said. "But if you do spot Dodge, even if you're otherwise engaged, try to get a tracer on him. He grimaced. "So far, he's been trying to help us every time he sees us. That might still be true."

"He'll be in way."

"I know. But it won't be the first time you've had civilians in the crossfire. Deal with it." He locked eyes with each of the three faces on the display. "You know your assignments. Let's get cracking."

Two of the screens went dark. "Dick," Oracle ventured, "you're not going out tonight, are you?"

Dick shook his head. "I want to," he admitted. "More than anything. But I can't. This 'two-nights-on, one-night-off' business might be the only thing keeping me in the saddle these days." He exhaled. "I'm just going to stick something in the microwave, and then I'll probably make an early night of it."

Babs considered. "If you're still up in an hour... maybe I'll head downstairs myself and join you." She sighed. "We both know that Raven's only going to respond five minutes after I turn in. No matter when I turn in." She lowered her eyelids and smiled. "Sooooo..."

Dick grinned appreciatively. "Hey, you need a night off too, once in awhile."

"That I do," she agreed. "Pity it means I'll be making you work, though." She closed the screen on his laughter.

Contrary to Oracle's belief, Raven replied almost instantly.

"I was wondering about that," the hooded figure stated as Barbara filled her in on the details. "It does explain the lack of finesse in the patterns that I've been sensing."

Barbara blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"The passages through the Astral plane," Raven clarified. "As you surmised, I've noticed them. They've been extremely choppy, even crude." She shook her head soberly. "These scientists who created the device you mention have no idea of the forces they seek to emulate. The Astral plane calls to its own. The more the device is used, the greater the chance that the user will become trapped there."

Barbara absorbed that. "Is there something you can do to help?"

"I'm not certain. But I will come to Gotham to find out."

"I'm feeding you coordinates now," Barbara said, her fingers flying across her console. "Do you need a place to stay?" She paused. "We don't know when he's going to use the belt again. It could be a little while."

"Perhaps," Raven considered. Then, slowly, she pushed back her hood. "I don't want to put you to any trouble."

"You won't. We've got the room." Seeing Raven start to shake her head, she added quickly, "We've also got a few safe-houses scattered through the city. Did you want something central or waterfront?" She grinned and barreled on. "Above ground or subterranean? Near a pizza parlor or a Korean takeout?"

Three nights later, there was still no sign of Dodge nor of the Lasky family. Dick resolved to push all thought of that business aside as he and Barbara made the drive to the manor. Tim and Cass knew what they were doing. Raven was as seasoned a veteran as he himself was. Not to mention that, according to Barbara, there were no fewer than eight costumed heroes operating within the Greater Gotham Area tonight. The others would be fine.

"Looking forward to seeing your dad?" he asked.

Barbara smiled. "As much as you are to be seeing Bruce."

Dick smiled back, but he couldn't help noticing a slight strain in her voice. "Is everything alright?"

Barbara sighed. "Kinda yes, kinda no. I..." she let out a long breath. "The night before he moved back to the manor, I told you we talked. I told him he could talk to me about..." She hesitated. "Well, I thought some of what he's facing now is the same sort of stuff I had to deal with after the shooting."

"Uh-huh," Dick nodded. "I remember you mentioned that."

"Problem is," she admitted, "I hope he doesn't. Want to discuss things with me, I mean. I... I told you a long time ago that the only way I was able to move on with my life was by accepting that the past was... gone. I'm not saying I did the best job of it," she continued at a rush. "Some days, I'm still back there, but Bruce..." She drew another breath and let it out. "Moving on isn't one of his strong points, you know?" In a softer voice, she continued, "And patience isn't one of mine."

Dick nodded again, encouraging but saying nothing.

"We both know he isn't much of a talker to start with, but if he does open up," she bit her lip, "I don't want to push him off. And I realize I shouldn't have volunteered for something I wasn't up for, but..."

"You know," Dick deadpanned, "those gyms we have set up in the satellite caves? The ones Bruce made sure were wheelchair accessible? Every single one of them is soundproof. They're also fully equipped with punching bags and dartboards. Let me know if you need any photos to pin up in the center. Plus, if you need a sparring partner... or a sounding board..." He grinned. "Look, if what you've had to deal with from me over the last couple of years didn't test your patience, I don't know what else would. And you came through. I know it wasn't easy, but you managed. As far as Bruce is concerned, try. It's all you can do. And if it's not enough... well, try to stay cool until you get out of there, and then let 'er rip." He took one hand off the wheel long enough to quickly squeeze her arm. "I got your back, Babs."

"That's not actually my best side," she retorted. A moment later, she added, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

Dick was only mildly surprised to find chicken and mushroom rice on the dinner menu. It was one of the first things that Barbara had taught Bruce to prepare and, perhaps, the only main dish he had managed to make three times without setting off the smoke alarms. Dick smiled. He'd been half-prepared for takeout. Conversation at the table was minimal, but Bruce seemed a good deal more relaxed than he had been over a week ago, when he'd returned to the manor.

"If you ever get to the point where you want your own garden," Jim was saying, "I would think long and hard before I planted chicory."

"Chicory?" Dick repeated. "Isn't that some sort of salad green? Or a coffee substitute?"

"It's both," Jim agreed. "It's also extremely difficult to uproot."

Dick blinked. "You don't have some sort of tool for it?"

"We were trying to avoid carrying too much in with us," the older man explained. "Most of the weeds are high enough and thick enough that if we were to drop a spade or a hoe, there's no guarantee we'd find it again. First order of business is clearing a path--and we've got the machetes for that. Weeding is getting done the old-fashioned way."

"Apart from the chicory," Barbara asked curiously, "is there anything salvageable? I mean from what would have been planted that spring, not weeds. I know you can eat dandelion greens."

"Believe me," Jim said, making a face, "Sarah and I tried during the No Man's Land, before you," he turned his head toward Bruce, "got Ivy to open up the Robinson Park greenhouses. Until then, well, let's just say that a lot of books on edible weeds in the northeastern US mysteriously disappeared from the library shelves." In response to the raised eyebrows greeting his last statement, he snapped, "If you recall, that was just around the time that people discovered that paper was one of the easiest things around if you had to fuel a fire. I salvaged what I could. Anyway, getting back to what I was saying, we tried eating a lot of plants we'd never considered edible before. I don't think you realize how hungry I'll have to be before I try dandelion again." He smiled. "Now, if you want to discuss the state of the mint and the rhubarb..."

After supper, Bruce pushed his chair away and rose abruptly. "Dick," he said in a firm tone, "walk with me. They need time to catch up."

When Jim and Barbara failed to protest, Dick fell into step behind him and they made their way to the patio doors. "Where are we headed?" He asked.

"It doesn't matter," Bruce replied. "I just want to be outside." He waited until he'd slid the glass doors shut behind them before adding, "I don't go out at night much anymore."

"Miss it?"

"More than you can possibly imagine."

"So..."

Bruce sighed. "I have enough memories to confront me at every turn." He stopped and faced the younger man. "Don't misunderstand. I don't wish to dwell on the past. Unfortunately, it isn't by choice."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"You are."

They followed the path around the perimeter of the stables and headed for the orchard. "I imagine this will be the next project after the gardens," Bruce said.

"At least you know what the weeds are here," Dick grinned. "Just about anything not a tree." A faint breeze was blowing, carrying the sound of the crickets to their ears.

Bruce grunted and swatted absently at a mosquito. "How's work?"

"Which work?"

"Do you really need to ask?"

Dick shook his head. "No, I guess not. It was pretty much the usual until last week." He explained quickly about Dodge. "Hopefully, we'll find him before he finds trouble. The fact that the cops knew about him before we did, well, if anything happens to him in Gotham, it's not going to look good for us." He sighed. "I know. Wearing the suit isn't about PR. But keeping the GCPD on-side helps things."

"Agreed."

Dick swatted another mosquito away. "Pesky little vampire," he muttered. He shot Bruce a sidelong glance. "My turn to ask you: how's work?"

"Difficult," Bruce admitted.

"But you're dealing."

"Yes."

"Good. If there's any--"

"--thing you can do," Bruce finished, "I only have to ask. I know." He paused for a moment. The crickets' song seemed to grow louder. "Coordinate with Jim."

"Sorry?"

"This situation is... trying for me. I believe that holds true for him as well, for all that he doesn't complain. Your coming by more often would give us both a break from each other."

Dick nodded. "I can arrange that. When's your next session with Alex?"

"Monday. Four o'clock."

"I'll meet you after."

"I'd appreciate that."

It took them nearly an hour to cut through the orchard, skirt the meadow beyond, and make their way back to the manor. By then, Barbara was ready to call it a night.

As they drove back to the city, Barbara leaned back wearily and closed her eyes. "That actually went pretty well," she said.

Dick smiled, but his thoughts were worried. He realized that, at the back of his mind, he'd always thought that once out of Arkham, Bruce would soon return to his old self. It was only now dawning on him that it might be a significantly longer period of time before that happened. He tried to ignore the persistent small voice in his mind, which added, "If it ever does..."

Arthur Lasky examined the design specs once more. It was hopeless. He knew it was hopeless. There was simply no way to compensate for the inherent failings of the prototype. His protests, however, had fallen on deaf ears. His abductors had been clear: if he did not produce a working model, Colleen and Rory would suffer.

He punched the keyboard angrily, pounding out his frustrations. It would serve them right if he did give them another prototype--and got them all lost on the Astral Plane!

All at once, he froze. And he began to smile. It would indeed...

He had to be careful. For his family's sake, he had to make sure that what he was planning would look like nothing more than a terrible accident. But, it should work. After all, it wasn't as though he hadn't been warning them...

"You seem a bit more in control than you did last session," Alex said with a smile.

Bruce snorted. "I trust that wasn't an attempt at subtlety."

"Just calling it like I see it. You're more relaxed today."

Bruce leaned back on the sofa and let his hands rest on the brown-and-gold jacquard upholstery. "I've spent the last week gardening. It's been satisfying."

"Ah," Alex smiled. "The benefits of physical exercise. Not that I need to sell you on those. Have you been away from the manor at all?"

"I'm here," Bruce pointed out. He rolled his eyes as Alex shifted in his chair. "And I'm meeting Dick for dinner after this session," he said. "Dine-in. During the supper rush. Happy?"

"Should I be?" Alex lifted his eyebrows. "Bruce, your progress doesn't run according to any kind of timetable. If you push yourself too hard before you're ready--"

"I may suffer a setback. If I don't push myself at all..." He grimaced. "I can look back on my first eleven months at Arkham to complete that sentence."

"I gather the memories aren't exactly fond ones."

Bruce frowned. "It's odd that they bother me as much as they do." His tone grew thoughtful. "It's not as though I was unfamiliar with the asylum, or even that my placement there was entirely unexpected." He smiled bitterly. "You see, I'd always expected to be found out, one day. If I hadn't fully understood the consequences of discovery before I embarked on my... mission, my first night on the town should have made them clear." He hadn't even thought about a costume, that first time, he related--at least, not a real one. He described to Alex how he'd simply put on nondescript clothing, applied a phony scar, and gone walking in Crime Alley. Before the night was half-over, he'd been stabbed, shot, handcuffed and shoved--still bleeding--into the back of a squad car. His words grew more hesitant as he described how he'd caused that car to crash in his bid to escape, but still managed to pull the arresting officers clear of the wreckage. How he'd barely made it home before he bled to death. "It was not," he concluded, "an auspicious start."

"No, I think a lot people would have quit on the spot after a night like that," Alex agreed. "Yet you kept at it."

"I think," Bruce said slowly, "that if they had read me my rights... called an ambulance--followed due process... I might have surrendered to what most people would have considered 'the inevitable'. I had no previous criminal record. I had the resources to hire a good lawyer. The DA's office at that time would have been much less-inclined to prosecute once my identity became known." He grimaced. "Instead, I witnessed first-hand how law enforcement 'served and protected'. They were hardly a force for justice. Batman filled that void. By the time Gordon became the police commissioner and things began to change, I'd become more comfortable with the double life. Also," he said seriously, "Gotham had already become home to certain... menaces, against whom conventional police tactics came up lacking."

"Joker."

"Joker," Bruce confirmed. "And Scarecrow, Two-Face, Hatter... there was an extensive list over a decade ago, and it hasn't grown shorter." He sighed. "The law of averages told me that I couldn't keep the life up forever. Inevitably, the road I was traveling could only lead to my arrest... or my death. I understood that years ago. I accepted it, and I moved on."

"Did you?" Alex asked.

Bruce blinked. "Yes. I certainly didn't dwell on it."

"But did you truly accept it? Or did you push the thought aside, because it was too difficult to deal with?"

He fought the sudden anger that surged within him. "It was not difficult," he gritted through clenched teeth.

"How many scenarios did you envision?"

"Excuse me?"

"How many scenarios," Alex continued, "did you envision? In our previous sessions, you've told me that for every course of action, you ordinarily have five contingencies, and five back-ups for each contingency. One would assume that, following your arrest, your... people would have immediately engaged one of those plans. Yet from what you've told me earlier, that didn't happen."

"I never intended for them to continue on my path!" Then, why hadn't he been the least bit surprised to discover that Dick had, in fact, donned the suit? He shied from the question.

If Alex noticed his hesitancy, he refrained from commenting, asking only, "Did you tell them that?"

Bruce looked daggers at him.

"From what you've told me, you had contingencies in place in the event of plague, famine, fire, earthquake, the JLA going rogue... and yet, although you say that you fully expected to be found out one day..." Alex shook his head. "What was the plan, Bruce?"

For a moment, there was silence. Then, slowly, Bruce nodded. "You've made your point," he said finally. "Planning for a situation is, in part, an attempt to control it."

"There's nothing wrong with that."

"Not as such. However, because I failed to plan adequately for the... scenario which has brought me... here," he let out a long breath. "That's why I haven't been able to recover as easily from this setback. Isn't it?" He felt his lips pull up in a smile. "I haven't been in control. I haven't had more than the barest semblance of control. And I... loathe it."

"It scares you."

"It perturbs me," Bruce corrected pedantically. "Naturally. These are, after all, uncharted waters."

Alex nodded. "Are you ready to start mapping?"

S.T.A.R Labs was never truly empty. Security was there around the clock, and besides that, there were always researchers working late. Even so, in the hours that stretched between midnight and dawn, the long, white corridors were nearly silent. Any experiments that might have been running this evening were taking place behind closed doors. And nobody stepped forward to challenge Dodge as he cautiously made his way to his father's laboratory.

Please, he thought to himself. Please, please, please... The word kept repeating in his mind. He wasn't sure what he was pleading for. That his father had somehow escaped and was hiding out here? That there'd be a clue he could follow that would lead him to the kidnappers? That Batman or one of his people would be here, looking for evidence? Actually, any of the above scenarios would be just fine by him.

The door was locked, but that wasn't a problem. Not with the belt. For a moment Dodge hesitated, worried that he might rematerialize around a solid object. So far, the belt always seemed to know not to do that. At least, he'd 'ported blind without mishap quite a few times before he'd gotten the hang of the directional controls. Still, he didn't know if it was luck or programming that had protected him so far. He took a deep breath, crossed his fingers, and tapped the control.

He materialized within the lab, on the other side of the door. He was about to flick on the lights when he realized that doing so would alert security. Instead, he waited for a few moments, giving his eyes time to adjust. Although there wasn't much illumination, he could make out the furnishings well enough to avoid bumping into things.

Unfortunately, the computers were dark. When he carefully moved one of the mouses, the screen lit up instantly, but it prompted him for a password to unlock the terminal. He had no clue what to type. He didn't even know if the UserID that had logged on last belonged to his father, or to one of the other workers. He groaned. Why hadn't he brought a flashlight? Or a fingerprint kit? Or bought The Complete Idiot's Guide to Crime Scene Investigation? No, all he had was this belt! And it wasn't like he could tell it, "Take me to Dad." He could program the controls to lock onto certain coordinates--like his bedroom, for example. And he seemed to be able to do short hops within visual range. He hadn't yet managed to figure out how to do much more than that.

Slowly, he moved toward his father's private office. His hand was on the knob when he heard the lab door open again behind him. Acting on pure reflex, Dodge hit the belt control and teleported--not into the smaller confines of the office--but instead, into the shadows at the far end of the room. He crouched low and darted under one of the counters as the lights flickered on.

He relaxed as he saw who walked in. He knew Vera Klarner. She was interning at S.T.A.R Labs as part of a university co-op program. His father had her doing data entry. Once his parents had found out that she was from some town in the Midwest and didn't know a soul in Gotham, they'd made a point of inviting her to supper every few weeks. She'd been shy, at first, but she'd quickly warmed up. Started joking about the karate classes she'd taken before coming to Gotham. She'd even shown Dodge a few moves. He was about to stand up when he realized that she was yanking on drawer handles frantically, one by one, as though hoping that one would open. Didn't she have a key? Unless... Unless she did have a key for her own drawer. But why was she here, late at night, trying the others?

Vera rattled the office door and uttered a stream of profanity. Her hair was spilling loose from its bun, as it so often did, and as Dodge watched, she absently tucked back a stray lock of dark hair and secured it with a pin.

He felt his heart thundering in his chest as he remembered the bobby pin and black hairs that Robin had found earlier. Vera hadn't been invited to the house for nearly a month. And while she couldn't be the only person in the world with long dark hair, her behavior tonight convinced him that she'd come by uninvited extremely recently.

He waited until she left the lab, then followed her, keeping to the shadows. Once, she retraced her steps toward his position. He teleported to another position, close by. When she found nobody behind her she frowned, shrugged, and continued on.

Dodge didn't use the belt again until Vera was unlocking her car door. This time, he materialized just next to the rear passenger door. He bent down quickly. As she got in, he teleported onto the floor in the back seat. She never noticed.

As she turned the key in the ignition, he lay as flat as he could across the uneven floor. Nervously, he crossed his fingers, thought a quick prayer, and tried to get as comfortable as possible.

His departure did not go unobserved.

"He was at S.T.A.R Labs," Raven reported without preamble. "Unfortunately, he has since moved on. I saw him teleport into a car, immediately before it pulled away, and judged it unwise to reveal my presence at that time."

"Good call." Oracle sighed. "Well, we're closing in. I don't suppose you have some way of tracking the car?"

"I thought that you might," Raven deadpanned, "once I provide you with a description of the vehicle and its license plate number." She permitted herself the smallest of smiles at the startled laugh on the other side of her comm-link. "I trust that will be helpful?" she added.

"And how! Hit me."

Raven took a breath. "Brown Chevrolet Impala, some scratches on rear bumper, dent in front passenger door, New Jersey plates. License B2E..."

"Here," Arthur said resignedly, as he pushed the belt across the table. "It's the best I can do."

His captor nodded. Under the balaclava mask, the man's eyebrows lifted as his eyes lit up. "Excellent. How does one control it?"

Arthur lifted the buckle and showed him the directional buttons. "Of course, you can also lock in a homing beacon, so that you can always return to base. But I have to warn you," he added, "that this is only a prototype. I've tried to iron out the bugs--"

"That's good," the masked man rumbled. He gestured over his shoulder to the guards standing at the door. "Bring her." There was a smile in his voice as he addressed Arthur, once more. "I think we need a live test-subject, to make sure the model works before we have you make a few more."

"Wh-what?" Arthur stammered as an awful suspicion began to grow. "I told you, I didn't know if it was safe!"

"That's why we need to test it, Doctor Lasky," his captor said soothingly as two other masked men entered the room dragging a frightened Colleen between them. He tipped an imaginary hat in her direction. "Ma'am."

Colleen glanced around the room in confusion. "What's going on? Arthur..."

Arthur gulped. "Colleen, I--"

"Hate to break this up, Doc, but I promise I'll give the two of you time to talk later." There was a warning note in his voice as he continued, "After we have your wife try taking this belt for a spin."

Chapter 6: Chasing Demons