"Come on, get her up. Come on!"
I was being lifted. I cried out as my back stung.
"Stop! Put me down, put me down!"
"Watch her wound!"
I pulled myself awake, blinking rapidly, as they stood me up.
"Sorry Harley," Riddler cringed, not knowing how to help me. My senses came back to me and I assessed the situation. We were all stood in the darkened hallway, surrounded by the unseen paintings.
"What's happening?"
"Gordon is here. Search warrant. We need to hide."
"Right."
Wordlessly I followed them up some flights of stairs into a very fancy room. It smelled like Falcone, whatever aftershave he wore.
Falcone himself was standing by the wall.
"Hurry up!"
He pressed something and the wall panel slid open.
A panic room.
We dove inside and the panel sealed after us. Then there was silence.
The room was mostly metal. And very cold. There were some comfortable chairs, a TV, a telephone, a large table and a kitchen like area.
"Well, could be worse," Riddler laughed faintly. But none of us shared his optimism. Everyone was tense.
"Harley, come here," the Joker instructed, gesturing to the sofa. I followed him over and we sat there.
We sat there for 3 hours.
And 3 hours later, the panel slid open once more to reveal a composed Carmine Falcone.
"It's all been taken care of," he announced.
"Why was he here? Why would he think to come here?" Crane worried.
"Some witness came forward and said they saw you getting into my car. But the cops searched the place, and they won't come here again."
Relief filled the room.
"Gordon knows you're alive though, Harley. He was dead sure on it. He was more interested in you than them."
I pulled myself off the sofa.
"Is he alright?"
Everyone looked at me as though I was suddenly a traitor.
"Well he went to the hospital, didn't he? With all the other cops. How come he's out?"
"He seemed fine. Must've got that antidote," Falcone shrugged.
"Let's just get out of here," Crane pleaded.
We vacated the cool room and headed back down to our own rooms.
Everyone still felt on edge. The cops were on our trail. They might have missed us, just by an inch, but if we weren't careful they'd catch us out.
So we hid.
********************
A month later, things had quietened down. Gordon never came back.
It was a Tuesday.
I sat on the window seat of my room, gazing at the garden. The sun was beaming down, making the sky seem bluer and the grass seem greener.
My stab wound had healed into an ugly scar once they'd taken the stitches out. It still twinged every once in a while, like a silent reminder of what it took to get to this point.
