The Nowhere Girl

27. I Become a Wanted Fugitive

ONE WEEK AGO

"I can feel you stressing," Floyd said without opening his eyes. Apart from Ben, who was driving, I thought I was the only one awake. "What's wrong?"

I pressed my lips into a thin line. "I've never killed anyone. I don't think I have the stomach for it," I confessed. "How do you... do it?"

His eyes snapped open and looked at me for a long time before he said anything. "The less you think about it the better. But you can't do what I've done and come though it unscathed. I've been... unhappy for a very long time."

"Then you should quit," I said.

"It's not that easy."

"Sure it is." I shrugged. That's something I've never understood. Bruce always if he goes down that path he'll never come back. Does that mean he can't live with the burden or won't be able to stop himself from going on a murder rampage? Either way, it's not that complicated. Why does it have to complicated? It's simple to me. "You're good at hitting targets, so why not aim for something better?"

"That's a good play on words there." In the darkness I saw him shake his head and chuckle.

"Thanks," I said. "Dad – shit, uh, Floyd. Do you really want to feel better?"

"I do."

"Then don't kill anyone else."

"It sounds pretty simple."

"It is simple," I said. I looked around the RV, checking if anyone else was awake, wanting to save a little face from what I'm about to do. Thankfully, no one was. "Make a promise with me, right now. No killing after this mission. Pinkie swear."

I hold out my pinkie and Floyd locks his finger around mine. "Pinkie swear."

NOW

A couple days later, October 4th, we roll into Gotham and find a back-alley doctor to get the bombs out of our necks.

If you ever want to have your organs stolen, look no further than Dr. Pacat's surgery, in a dark dead-end alley between two dilapidated theatres. Harley knew exactly where it was, right around the corner from a homeless shelter. Heroin junkies liked to shoot up in that alley, which made it a great place to get beaten, robbed, or killed.

"How do you not have any pain killers?" Floyd grunts as the doctor makes a precise incision on his neck with the scalpel.

"Hold still or it will only hurt more," she tells him, voice muffled by the surgical mask. It matches her blood-stained apron and mad scientist goggles that cover her eyes with green tinted lenses and reflect the LED lights when she moves. Thick dark hair fizzes up like Doc Brown from Back to the Future.

The weirdest thing of all? I was pretty sure I had seen this guy before.

Yeah, I know. You're thinking a mad doctor like that would stand out. How could I not remember exactly where we'd crossed paths? But when you live on the streets, wild-looking people are normal. Only normal people stand out as strange.

"Better than me glitching it out of your neck, hitting something important and doing irreparable damage," I say.

The paint is peeling and being replaced with a slimy residue on the wall. An emaciated puppy sleeps in the corner of the decaying building.

"Always looking on the bright side, Blue," he hisses.

As Dr. Pacat starts digging for the bomb with a pair of tweezers as I click my tongue in shoot finger guns at him. "I'm an optimist."