Chapter 4 - Toy Terror
My brain felt fuzzy, like I was trying to wake myself up after only a few hours of sleep in the middle of the night. I moaned lightly, as I tried to wake myself, wanted to make the thick fog in my head go away.
"Yes," I heard a voice, "that's it. Wake up, little one. Time to play."
I pulled my eyes open and felt a jolt of horror jerk through me as I stared at the white face of the Joker, his twisted lips smiling at me in a grotesque smile.
I tried to pull away, but I found to my terror I was tied down to a flat table, my arms over my head, hands and feet spread and secured to the four corners of the table legs.
"Yes, yes," Joker drew back and clapped his hands, "so wonderfully tied down. Helpless, poor little boy, ready to appreciate every bit of the Joker's toys."
"Let me go," I meant to yell, but my voice came out weak and scared. "Let me go, Joker, or –"
"Or what?" Joker pranced over to a rolling cart where several brightly-colored boxes stood on top. He was wearing what looked like an old magician's suit: striped pants, a fancy coat, and a bowtie.
"You'll be sorry," I sounded so pathetic, and my voice chose right then to crack.
"No, you're wrong," the Joker looked delighted as he approached the cart. "I broke out of Arkham and came to my favorite hiding place where I keep all my lovely toys. Do you have any idea where my hiding place might be?"
Pushing down my panic, I glanced around as much as I could with my body tied to the table. At least he had left my clothes on.
The room was dark with wooden walls and dusty cobs webs in the corner. Dull light shone from the cracks in one wall.
"I don't know," I told him.
"Oh, but you must guess," Joker insisted. "If you do not guess, I will have to break my toy before we began the games."
"Okay," I said hastily. I closed my mind, trying to concentrate. Think, Dick, think. Think of the exercises Bruce make you do. Bruce liked to train me to think – sometimes he would call me to the family room at night and put me through a bunch of tests, possible scenarios I would find myself in and making me figure out how to get out of them. I had trouble slowing down to think. I thought running and fighting back were the best things to do, but Bruce only shook his head and told me that I had to learn to think. I thought the exercises were a wasting of time, but he insisted and I wasn't allowed to play video games until I obeyed.
So I had to think now. Okay, the place was obvious abandoned. All the cobwebs meant it hadn't been used in a while. And the light through the cracks seemed to be pointing up. That was important; even when it was cloudy, light tended to shine from the sun, and its direction depended on the position of the sun.
I could figure this out. What did light look like where it shone through my curtains in the morning? The sun was low in the sky, and sometime the light shone up because my bedroom was high, up on the second floor. Even if the sun were setting outside, the room I was in now would have to be high. If the room were underground, the light would be angling down.
Joker was getting impatient, so I blurted out, "I'm not sure where we are exactly, but I know we're in an abandoned building up off the ground, at least a second floor building, probably higher."
"Smart boy," Joker edged near me. "Bruce Wayne isn't raising a stupid boy."
"How do you know –"
"I've seen you," Joker hissed. "I saw you from my cell, peering out and watching as the millionaire Bruce Wayne came down the hall. You were beside him."
"Yeah," I said slowly, "Bruce took me to Arkham a few months ago."
"Oh, you were a naughty one then," Joker shook his head, his eyes gleaming. "Kept trying to wander off, and Mr. Wayne grabbed your arm and pulled you along, right past my cell."
I had forgotten about that part. I had wanted to look in some of the cells, but Bruce dragged me along to Dr. Strange's office, not letting me see any of the psychos in their cells. Bruce hadn't wanted to let me go to Arkham, but Alfred was gone for the day, and Bruce said I couldn't stay home alone.
"And now you've found the Joker's lair," Joker said gleefully. "I wonder how much Mr. Wayne would pay to have you back, the troublesome little boy who won't listen."
Was he planning to ransom me to Bruce? I prayed so because by the time Joker sent the demand thingy for money, Bruce would find a way to rescue me. I had been out at least an hour, judging by the dimming light shining through the cracks. Bruce had to know I was missing.
"Money is nice," Joker admitted. "Nice crisp pieces of paper, buying lovely things. But you know what is even more exciting? Money and playing with new toys. So I will ransom you to Mr. Wayne in a day or two, but first we need to have some fun."
My mouth went dry, and I felt the corners of my eyes stinging. I pushed back tears to ask, "What kind of fun?"
"Fun in different shapes and sizes," Joker rubbed his hands together. He went to the cart and waved his hand over the boxes as if showing off a great prize. "Please, choose which box you would like to play with."
"What's in them?" I demanded.
"Ah-ah," Joker shook a finger in my direction, "you must chose first. Five boxes – blue, red, yellow, green, and white. Two boxes are filled with one toy only – the other three boxes have several toys inside. Each toy must be played with for twenty whole minutes. Chose the two that you want play with. Once you chose, I will show you the boxes. Chose wisely, dear boy, or you may not live to regret it."
I drew in a tight breath.
"No stalling," Joker warned. "Every minute you stall, I will add to our play time."
"The white box," I blurted out. It was the smallest, and then I chose the next smallest, "And the blue one."
"Oh, good," Joker's smile widened. "Let's see what's inside."
He opened up the top of the white box and tipped it over. A knife, five inches long, slid out.
I felt cold sweat break out on my forehead.
"And the other one," he took two happy steps and opened the blue box, tipping it over as well.
A box of needles clattered out along with a pair of sharp scissors, a pair of thick pliers with rubber grip handle, and small lighter.
"Oh, no," Joker sighed, "I was hoping for the box with the blow torch. But I can work with this."
He snatched up the lighter and flicked it open, letting a small flame leap to life.
"It's really too bad," he shook his head. "The blow torch would have worked better. Once I carve out your tattoos, it's best to burn them quickly, or I will get blood all over my pretty toys. But . . . I can wash up later."
He put the lighter down. He pulled a pair of leather gloves out of his pocket and pulled them over his hands.
I felt my bottom lip start to tremble. "Please," I croaked out, "please let me go. I promise I won't tell anyone you're here. Please, let me go, please. I'll get the money for you."
"I don't want money – I want to play," Joker snarled. He looked demented, and he picked up the knife from the first box. Admiring the shiny blade, he came towards me.
Fighting against the ropes which held my limbs, I started screaming, "Help! He's going to kill me! Help!"
"Shh, shh," Joker clamped a gloved hand over my mouth. "No screaming until we start playing. That the rule."
I breathed hard through my nose, feeling sick and dizzy.
"That's better," Joker removed his hand. "We're up so high, no one can hear you except the birds. And we all know that birds are simply useless, flapping around in circles."
He pulled the fabric of my shirt and began cutting it in half. He sawed through the cotton knit, humming something that sounded like a carnival tune. When he finished with my shirt, he started on the white undershirt, taking his time.
"There," he pulled back my shirts, baring my torso to the cool air. "Such a nice toy, not scarred at all."
He lightly touched my stomach. It tickled only a little, but I was tensed and the touch was unexpected, and I burst out a shrill noise between a laugh and a scream.
"Yes, yes," Joker cheered, "very sensitive. Oh, he'll feel this. Wouldn't that be nice, to let him die from feeling so much? But no, slowly is what he needs, he wants me to be slow."
The way he talked to himself that calm voice made my already-pounding heart go crazy. I felt like I was losing control of my body, going crazy from my terror.
"Where to start, where to start?" Joker mused.
He began to count down my left ribs, and I shrieked as he found each one.
"So many ribs," Joker shook his head. "You don't need all of them, not at all. Let's get rid of the bottom two. I'm going to start cutting. If you feel the game is too much, clap your hands together, and we'll stop playing."
"My hands are tied apart," I shouted, feeling my stomach churning and bile rising in my throat.
"Those are the rules of the game," Joker placed a hand on my chest. "I have to follow the rules, or I would be cheating. Do you want me to cheat?"
"No, don't!" I screamed as he brought the knife near.
I felt the cold steel of the blade. I closed my eyes, and tears streamed down my cheeks. The knife pressed against my skin, and he started to draw it back and forth, and it hurt, hurt, hurt!
I started to scream, but he was laughing. His high, demonic laughter filled the room, and he kept sawing the knife.
Bang!
Something hit Joker, and he stopped laughing as he stumbled back a few feet.
I raised my head up a few inches to see, and I saw a dark figure enter the room.
"Batman!" Joker howled. "No, no, no – we're playing! Mustn't interrupt a game once it starts."
"Sorry, Joker," I heard Bruce's voice, "the game ends here."
"But you don't understand," Joker said hastily. "This boy here, I'm holding him for ransom. He's that Grayson runt that Mr. Wayne adopted, and I'm going to demand Mr. Wayne pay me two million dollars for him. If you let me play, I'll give you a million."
"No," Batman said flatly, "you're going back to Arkham."
"All right," Joker protested, "you can have the money. Just let me play."
Batman pulled something out of his utility belt and flung it out. Suddenly, a black cord spun around Joker and yanked him back to the wall. The cord had spikes that jutted into the wall, pinning him to the wall.
Batman rushed towards the table, took out a knife, and sliced through the ropes. I could only see his mouth and chin, and his lips were pressed together.
"Was he planning to torture you, Mr. Grayson?" Batman asked in the same stern voice.
"Yeah," I slowly sat up, "with the stuff on the cart."
Batman glanced towards the cart to see the torture instruments. "You are fortunate I found you when I did. Mr. Wayne must be very worried by now."
Joker was struggled with the cord, but he could not get free.
I sat up straight, but Batman said, "Slowly. Let me help you."
He put his strong arms around me and lifted me up. For a second, he held me close to him, and I could feel him tremble under his suit. I did not realize he was scared until then, and I found myself shaking so hard I did not think I could stand.
I looked down at my stomach. There was a red line where the knife had sawed against me, and a few drops of blood oozed out, but I knew Alfred would spread antibiotic cream on it and cover it up with a large band-aid to heal.
I heard the sirens in the background. The howling sound was like music, the sweetest thing I had ever heard.
Batman walked over to Joker and gazed at him. "Don't play with children," Batman finally said in a cold voice. He lashed out with on gloved fist and slammed it into Joker's face. Joker's head banged against the wall, and he slumped over unconscious.
I could hear footsteps, probably coming up stairs outside the room. I looked at Batman, worriedly. He pulled out a small metal bat from his belt and tucked in the cords holding Joker. I could see the sharp edges of the bat's wing – Batman was leaving his mark on the Joker to show the cops that he had caught the psycho.
"Let's go," Batman kicked one of the wall. The wood splintered and when he hit it again, the wall fell out. I saw the city of Gotham spread out below with night coming quickly. I looked down, but Bruce grabbed me and ordered, "Hold on tight."
I put my arms around his neck, interlocking my fingers, just like we had practiced in the Bat Cave so many times. But this was real.
Batman went to the edge and jumped. I fell with him, hugging him tightly as we free-fell through the air. He had one hand wrapped around my back, digging into my bare skin. I've done free-falls in the circus before, but my parents always made me have a net underneath me. Here there was no net, but I trusted Batman. I trust him as Bruce and I trust him in the costume.
Sure enough, as the ground came rushing up, Batman let his wings spread out to catch the air, and we slowed to the pavement below.
Cop cars were parked everywhere, and blue lights were flashing. I saw Commissioner Gordon run up, panting slightly in his gray suit and clutching a two-way radio.
"Batman?"
"Joker's up there," Batman replied stoically.
"And what was Mr. Grayson doing up there?" the commissioner glanced to me.
"Joker was going to ransom him," Batman's voice was hard. "But he was going to torture him first."
Commissioner Gordon paled. "Is he hurt? Has – has anyone notified Bruce Wayne yet?"
"Mr. Grayson is not hurt, but I want to take him to Mr. Wayne myself."
"Of course," Commissioner Gordon nodded. His radio crackled.
"Commissioner?" a voice said from the speaker.
"Yes?" the commissioner demanded.
"We got him."
Commissioner Gordon lowered his radio, looking relieved. "Thank you, Batman. About the reward –"
"Give it to the school," Batman said. He lifted his arm, and a small grappling hook shot out from a long thin line. The hook caught the ledge of a building across the street. Batman grabbed me with hand, and we shot up in the air to swing across the street.
We landed in an alley, and Batman pushed a button on wrist. The Batmobile came out from nowhere, stopping right in front of us.
"Get in," Batman ordered.
Once in the chair, he shut his door and reached over to make sure I had fastened my seatbelt securely.
"Bruce," I began hesitantly, but he shook his head.
"It's Batman. And we're not talking now."
He jammed the car into gear, and it took off with a squeal of tires. Usually, I love riding in the Batmobile. It's so fast, and I keep hoping I can drive it. Once when Bruce was at work and Alfred was busy, I snuck down to the Bat Cave and got into the car and pretended to drive it. Of course, the whole place was wired with cameras, and Bruce yelled at me that night for fooling around with something so dangerous.
Even with the fast car, the drive home seemed to take much longer than I ever remembered. By the time we finally pulled into the Bat Cave, I was shaky from the silence.
Batman swung out of the car. He reached up to take off his cowl, and I felt better when I saw Bruce's face. He rubbed a hand over his dark hair, sweaty from being in the cowl so long.
"Master Bruce?" Alfred rushed into the room. "Oh, Master Dick."
Alfred almost ran towards me, and for a second, I thought he was going to hug me and cry. But he only put his hands on my bare shoulders as he inspected me for damage.
"Just that small cut?" he glanced at Bruce.
"Yeah," Bruce nodded, his lips tight together.
"I heard the Joker was found on the police scanner," Alfred said. "But I feared it might be too late."
"You, bath right now," Bruce said shortly, pointing towards the door. "Alfred, will help you with the cut right after."
I was sitting in the bathtub with damp hair when I started shaking again. I remembered the ropes around my arms and legs, the terror I felt, the way Joker laughed and laughed. I could not stop shaking.
Alfred said nothing, just turned the water warmer. When I got out, he had my pajamas waiting for me, and I put them on without arguing even though it was only a little after six.
He bandaged up my cut and then led me to my bedroom where food was waiting for me. I ate, not really hungry, but I knew he would insist if I refused. After I finished, he left, and I sat there, not knowing what to do. I could not go to sleep then – I felt more nervous than ever, my breath coming out in short puffs.
A knock sounded on the door, and Bruce stepped in. He came towards the bed where I sat.
"Dick –"
"I'm sorry, Bruce," I said in a rush. "I'm sorry about getting caught. I'm sorry about Joker, I'm sorry you had to rescue me, I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry."
"Dick," Bruce said solemnly, "I am not upset because you got kidnapped. Yes, that was terrifying, but I am furious that you left the school when I told you not to. I told you over and over to stay at the school, and then I got the call that you had run off. I immediately stopped tracking Joker and went to find you. I got downtown, and people told me Joker had kidnapped a boy matching your description. I was frantic to find you."
My throat ached like I had swallowed ball that got stuck halfway down.
"It took me over four hours to find Joker," Bruce continued. "By the end of the second hour, I was sure you were dead. I knew any moment I would find your mutilated body in some dark alley after Joker finished with you."
"I'm sorry," I rushed out.
"You have no idea –" Bruce stopped, his voice breaking.
I stared at him, horrified. I made Bruce choke up – Bruce who never cried.
He didn't say another word. He just sat down on my bed, grabbed my wrist, and pulled my over his lap. He wrapped one hand around my waist, holding me extra tight, and he brought his other hand down hard on my bottom.
The sound shot through the room, but he said nothing. He spanked me again, and then I lost it. I don't know if it was the running away, or getting kidnapped and nearly tortured, or having Bruce so upset, but after the second swat, I started crying. I could not hold it together any longer – I clutched at his knee and kept crying. And I got louder the longer he spanked.
Over and over, he rained heavy swats on my pajama-covered bottom. I don't understand why he chooses this way to punish me. I don't like laying over his lap with his hard knees pressing into my torso. I don't like being held firmly, and I really don't like getting spanked. I can laugh off most pain or try to look cool when I get hurt, but there is nothing I can do to ignore a spanking. Bruce is really strong, and he lifts his hand up and brings it down with such force – I think Bane would be whimpering if Bruce did this to him.
The fact that I was getting spanked for the second time in two days did not help. I wish I could have formed words to ask Bruce to please not smack so hard, to remember that I was thirteen and too old to be punished like a little kid, and to please, please finish up because my rear was throbbing.
But all I did though was holler. And wail. And cry. And promise him I would be good.
I hope no one ever records me getting punished like this because I would die of embarrassment. I would do anything to get him to stop, but he doesn't so I end up yelling stuff like, "I'll be good, I promise. Bruce! Bruuuce, I promise! I'll be gooood!"
He did not stop, and I could have sworn the swats got harder.
"You do not run off like that," Bruce finally spoke, resting his hand for a moment. "If you ever, ever disobey me again and put yourself in danger, I will lock you in this room and throw away the key. And I will come in every night for a month to pull you over my knee and spank you."
Any other time, I might have pointed that he couldn't come into my room if he had thrown away the key, but now I only nodded hastily, choking back sobs.
"I am going to give you twenty more," Bruce continued. "And then you are getting into bed and staying there for the rest of the night. Tomorrow I am taking you back to school and telling your teachers you are not allowed out of the building until I come and pick you up again. You are grounded until further notice. Am I understood?"
"Yes, Bruce," I nodded hastily, sure he would give me an extra swat if I did not answer at once.
"Good, here we go. Twenty!" he landed an almighty spank on my rear. "Nineteen!" another swat. "Eighteen."
Down he counted, spanking harder and harder. The final spank he landed so hard I could barely breathe. I was a mess as I cried over his lap, but he pulled me up to stand on my shaky feet.
"Don't ever do that again," Bruce warned.
I was so scared he would make me get in bed and march out without a word, but he didn't. He pulled me into a hug, and I clung to him like a baby. He even pulled me to sit on his knee, and it hurt, but I just sat there, leaning against his chest while he held me. He seems really strong when he does this, and I know I can never get hurt while he's protecting me.
Finally, he let go, and I crawled into bed. My bed had never felt so good, and I collapsed face-down on the pillow. But I didn't want to fall asleep, alone in the dark.
"Wait," I called to Bruce who had not move, "don't leave – please."
"I'm not going anywhere." After covering me up, Bruce took a seat in the chair near by bed.
"I'm scared," I whispered as I held onto the pillow.
"It's fine to be scared," Bruce said, his voice low. "I get scared sometimes, but you can't let your fear make you act out. I don't know what happened at school to make you act the way you did, but I do know that you have to get control of yourself. Can you do that for me?"
I nodded. He reached out and put a hand on my still-damp head.
"That's my boy," he murmured.
I wanted to start crying again. But Bruce stayed with me, patting my head and telling me I was safe until my eyes closed and I fell asleep, safe under the watchful eyes of Gotham's Dark Knight.
"Yes," I heard a voice, "that's it. Wake up, little one. Time to play."
I pulled my eyes open and felt a jolt of horror jerk through me as I stared at the white face of the Joker, his twisted lips smiling at me in a grotesque smile.
I tried to pull away, but I found to my terror I was tied down to a flat table, my arms over my head, hands and feet spread and secured to the four corners of the table legs.
"Yes, yes," Joker drew back and clapped his hands, "so wonderfully tied down. Helpless, poor little boy, ready to appreciate every bit of the Joker's toys."
"Let me go," I meant to yell, but my voice came out weak and scared. "Let me go, Joker, or –"
"Or what?" Joker pranced over to a rolling cart where several brightly-colored boxes stood on top. He was wearing what looked like an old magician's suit: striped pants, a fancy coat, and a bowtie.
"You'll be sorry," I sounded so pathetic, and my voice chose right then to crack.
"No, you're wrong," the Joker looked delighted as he approached the cart. "I broke out of Arkham and came to my favorite hiding place where I keep all my lovely toys. Do you have any idea where my hiding place might be?"
Pushing down my panic, I glanced around as much as I could with my body tied to the table. At least he had left my clothes on.
The room was dark with wooden walls and dusty cobs webs in the corner. Dull light shone from the cracks in one wall.
"I don't know," I told him.
"Oh, but you must guess," Joker insisted. "If you do not guess, I will have to break my toy before we began the games."
"Okay," I said hastily. I closed my mind, trying to concentrate. Think, Dick, think. Think of the exercises Bruce make you do. Bruce liked to train me to think – sometimes he would call me to the family room at night and put me through a bunch of tests, possible scenarios I would find myself in and making me figure out how to get out of them. I had trouble slowing down to think. I thought running and fighting back were the best things to do, but Bruce only shook his head and told me that I had to learn to think. I thought the exercises were a wasting of time, but he insisted and I wasn't allowed to play video games until I obeyed.
So I had to think now. Okay, the place was obvious abandoned. All the cobwebs meant it hadn't been used in a while. And the light through the cracks seemed to be pointing up. That was important; even when it was cloudy, light tended to shine from the sun, and its direction depended on the position of the sun.
I could figure this out. What did light look like where it shone through my curtains in the morning? The sun was low in the sky, and sometime the light shone up because my bedroom was high, up on the second floor. Even if the sun were setting outside, the room I was in now would have to be high. If the room were underground, the light would be angling down.
Joker was getting impatient, so I blurted out, "I'm not sure where we are exactly, but I know we're in an abandoned building up off the ground, at least a second floor building, probably higher."
"Smart boy," Joker edged near me. "Bruce Wayne isn't raising a stupid boy."
"How do you know –"
"I've seen you," Joker hissed. "I saw you from my cell, peering out and watching as the millionaire Bruce Wayne came down the hall. You were beside him."
"Yeah," I said slowly, "Bruce took me to Arkham a few months ago."
"Oh, you were a naughty one then," Joker shook his head, his eyes gleaming. "Kept trying to wander off, and Mr. Wayne grabbed your arm and pulled you along, right past my cell."
I had forgotten about that part. I had wanted to look in some of the cells, but Bruce dragged me along to Dr. Strange's office, not letting me see any of the psychos in their cells. Bruce hadn't wanted to let me go to Arkham, but Alfred was gone for the day, and Bruce said I couldn't stay home alone.
"And now you've found the Joker's lair," Joker said gleefully. "I wonder how much Mr. Wayne would pay to have you back, the troublesome little boy who won't listen."
Was he planning to ransom me to Bruce? I prayed so because by the time Joker sent the demand thingy for money, Bruce would find a way to rescue me. I had been out at least an hour, judging by the dimming light shining through the cracks. Bruce had to know I was missing.
"Money is nice," Joker admitted. "Nice crisp pieces of paper, buying lovely things. But you know what is even more exciting? Money and playing with new toys. So I will ransom you to Mr. Wayne in a day or two, but first we need to have some fun."
My mouth went dry, and I felt the corners of my eyes stinging. I pushed back tears to ask, "What kind of fun?"
"Fun in different shapes and sizes," Joker rubbed his hands together. He went to the cart and waved his hand over the boxes as if showing off a great prize. "Please, choose which box you would like to play with."
"What's in them?" I demanded.
"Ah-ah," Joker shook a finger in my direction, "you must chose first. Five boxes – blue, red, yellow, green, and white. Two boxes are filled with one toy only – the other three boxes have several toys inside. Each toy must be played with for twenty whole minutes. Chose the two that you want play with. Once you chose, I will show you the boxes. Chose wisely, dear boy, or you may not live to regret it."
I drew in a tight breath.
"No stalling," Joker warned. "Every minute you stall, I will add to our play time."
"The white box," I blurted out. It was the smallest, and then I chose the next smallest, "And the blue one."
"Oh, good," Joker's smile widened. "Let's see what's inside."
He opened up the top of the white box and tipped it over. A knife, five inches long, slid out.
I felt cold sweat break out on my forehead.
"And the other one," he took two happy steps and opened the blue box, tipping it over as well.
A box of needles clattered out along with a pair of sharp scissors, a pair of thick pliers with rubber grip handle, and small lighter.
"Oh, no," Joker sighed, "I was hoping for the box with the blow torch. But I can work with this."
He snatched up the lighter and flicked it open, letting a small flame leap to life.
"It's really too bad," he shook his head. "The blow torch would have worked better. Once I carve out your tattoos, it's best to burn them quickly, or I will get blood all over my pretty toys. But . . . I can wash up later."
He put the lighter down. He pulled a pair of leather gloves out of his pocket and pulled them over his hands.
I felt my bottom lip start to tremble. "Please," I croaked out, "please let me go. I promise I won't tell anyone you're here. Please, let me go, please. I'll get the money for you."
"I don't want money – I want to play," Joker snarled. He looked demented, and he picked up the knife from the first box. Admiring the shiny blade, he came towards me.
Fighting against the ropes which held my limbs, I started screaming, "Help! He's going to kill me! Help!"
"Shh, shh," Joker clamped a gloved hand over my mouth. "No screaming until we start playing. That the rule."
I breathed hard through my nose, feeling sick and dizzy.
"That's better," Joker removed his hand. "We're up so high, no one can hear you except the birds. And we all know that birds are simply useless, flapping around in circles."
He pulled the fabric of my shirt and began cutting it in half. He sawed through the cotton knit, humming something that sounded like a carnival tune. When he finished with my shirt, he started on the white undershirt, taking his time.
"There," he pulled back my shirts, baring my torso to the cool air. "Such a nice toy, not scarred at all."
He lightly touched my stomach. It tickled only a little, but I was tensed and the touch was unexpected, and I burst out a shrill noise between a laugh and a scream.
"Yes, yes," Joker cheered, "very sensitive. Oh, he'll feel this. Wouldn't that be nice, to let him die from feeling so much? But no, slowly is what he needs, he wants me to be slow."
The way he talked to himself that calm voice made my already-pounding heart go crazy. I felt like I was losing control of my body, going crazy from my terror.
"Where to start, where to start?" Joker mused.
He began to count down my left ribs, and I shrieked as he found each one.
"So many ribs," Joker shook his head. "You don't need all of them, not at all. Let's get rid of the bottom two. I'm going to start cutting. If you feel the game is too much, clap your hands together, and we'll stop playing."
"My hands are tied apart," I shouted, feeling my stomach churning and bile rising in my throat.
"Those are the rules of the game," Joker placed a hand on my chest. "I have to follow the rules, or I would be cheating. Do you want me to cheat?"
"No, don't!" I screamed as he brought the knife near.
I felt the cold steel of the blade. I closed my eyes, and tears streamed down my cheeks. The knife pressed against my skin, and he started to draw it back and forth, and it hurt, hurt, hurt!
I started to scream, but he was laughing. His high, demonic laughter filled the room, and he kept sawing the knife.
Bang!
Something hit Joker, and he stopped laughing as he stumbled back a few feet.
I raised my head up a few inches to see, and I saw a dark figure enter the room.
"Batman!" Joker howled. "No, no, no – we're playing! Mustn't interrupt a game once it starts."
"Sorry, Joker," I heard Bruce's voice, "the game ends here."
"But you don't understand," Joker said hastily. "This boy here, I'm holding him for ransom. He's that Grayson runt that Mr. Wayne adopted, and I'm going to demand Mr. Wayne pay me two million dollars for him. If you let me play, I'll give you a million."
"No," Batman said flatly, "you're going back to Arkham."
"All right," Joker protested, "you can have the money. Just let me play."
Batman pulled something out of his utility belt and flung it out. Suddenly, a black cord spun around Joker and yanked him back to the wall. The cord had spikes that jutted into the wall, pinning him to the wall.
Batman rushed towards the table, took out a knife, and sliced through the ropes. I could only see his mouth and chin, and his lips were pressed together.
"Was he planning to torture you, Mr. Grayson?" Batman asked in the same stern voice.
"Yeah," I slowly sat up, "with the stuff on the cart."
Batman glanced towards the cart to see the torture instruments. "You are fortunate I found you when I did. Mr. Wayne must be very worried by now."
Joker was struggled with the cord, but he could not get free.
I sat up straight, but Batman said, "Slowly. Let me help you."
He put his strong arms around me and lifted me up. For a second, he held me close to him, and I could feel him tremble under his suit. I did not realize he was scared until then, and I found myself shaking so hard I did not think I could stand.
I looked down at my stomach. There was a red line where the knife had sawed against me, and a few drops of blood oozed out, but I knew Alfred would spread antibiotic cream on it and cover it up with a large band-aid to heal.
I heard the sirens in the background. The howling sound was like music, the sweetest thing I had ever heard.
Batman walked over to Joker and gazed at him. "Don't play with children," Batman finally said in a cold voice. He lashed out with on gloved fist and slammed it into Joker's face. Joker's head banged against the wall, and he slumped over unconscious.
I could hear footsteps, probably coming up stairs outside the room. I looked at Batman, worriedly. He pulled out a small metal bat from his belt and tucked in the cords holding Joker. I could see the sharp edges of the bat's wing – Batman was leaving his mark on the Joker to show the cops that he had caught the psycho.
"Let's go," Batman kicked one of the wall. The wood splintered and when he hit it again, the wall fell out. I saw the city of Gotham spread out below with night coming quickly. I looked down, but Bruce grabbed me and ordered, "Hold on tight."
I put my arms around his neck, interlocking my fingers, just like we had practiced in the Bat Cave so many times. But this was real.
Batman went to the edge and jumped. I fell with him, hugging him tightly as we free-fell through the air. He had one hand wrapped around my back, digging into my bare skin. I've done free-falls in the circus before, but my parents always made me have a net underneath me. Here there was no net, but I trusted Batman. I trust him as Bruce and I trust him in the costume.
Sure enough, as the ground came rushing up, Batman let his wings spread out to catch the air, and we slowed to the pavement below.
Cop cars were parked everywhere, and blue lights were flashing. I saw Commissioner Gordon run up, panting slightly in his gray suit and clutching a two-way radio.
"Batman?"
"Joker's up there," Batman replied stoically.
"And what was Mr. Grayson doing up there?" the commissioner glanced to me.
"Joker was going to ransom him," Batman's voice was hard. "But he was going to torture him first."
Commissioner Gordon paled. "Is he hurt? Has – has anyone notified Bruce Wayne yet?"
"Mr. Grayson is not hurt, but I want to take him to Mr. Wayne myself."
"Of course," Commissioner Gordon nodded. His radio crackled.
"Commissioner?" a voice said from the speaker.
"Yes?" the commissioner demanded.
"We got him."
Commissioner Gordon lowered his radio, looking relieved. "Thank you, Batman. About the reward –"
"Give it to the school," Batman said. He lifted his arm, and a small grappling hook shot out from a long thin line. The hook caught the ledge of a building across the street. Batman grabbed me with hand, and we shot up in the air to swing across the street.
We landed in an alley, and Batman pushed a button on wrist. The Batmobile came out from nowhere, stopping right in front of us.
"Get in," Batman ordered.
Once in the chair, he shut his door and reached over to make sure I had fastened my seatbelt securely.
"Bruce," I began hesitantly, but he shook his head.
"It's Batman. And we're not talking now."
He jammed the car into gear, and it took off with a squeal of tires. Usually, I love riding in the Batmobile. It's so fast, and I keep hoping I can drive it. Once when Bruce was at work and Alfred was busy, I snuck down to the Bat Cave and got into the car and pretended to drive it. Of course, the whole place was wired with cameras, and Bruce yelled at me that night for fooling around with something so dangerous.
Even with the fast car, the drive home seemed to take much longer than I ever remembered. By the time we finally pulled into the Bat Cave, I was shaky from the silence.
Batman swung out of the car. He reached up to take off his cowl, and I felt better when I saw Bruce's face. He rubbed a hand over his dark hair, sweaty from being in the cowl so long.
"Master Bruce?" Alfred rushed into the room. "Oh, Master Dick."
Alfred almost ran towards me, and for a second, I thought he was going to hug me and cry. But he only put his hands on my bare shoulders as he inspected me for damage.
"Just that small cut?" he glanced at Bruce.
"Yeah," Bruce nodded, his lips tight together.
"I heard the Joker was found on the police scanner," Alfred said. "But I feared it might be too late."
"You, bath right now," Bruce said shortly, pointing towards the door. "Alfred, will help you with the cut right after."
I was sitting in the bathtub with damp hair when I started shaking again. I remembered the ropes around my arms and legs, the terror I felt, the way Joker laughed and laughed. I could not stop shaking.
Alfred said nothing, just turned the water warmer. When I got out, he had my pajamas waiting for me, and I put them on without arguing even though it was only a little after six.
He bandaged up my cut and then led me to my bedroom where food was waiting for me. I ate, not really hungry, but I knew he would insist if I refused. After I finished, he left, and I sat there, not knowing what to do. I could not go to sleep then – I felt more nervous than ever, my breath coming out in short puffs.
A knock sounded on the door, and Bruce stepped in. He came towards the bed where I sat.
"Dick –"
"I'm sorry, Bruce," I said in a rush. "I'm sorry about getting caught. I'm sorry about Joker, I'm sorry you had to rescue me, I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry."
"Dick," Bruce said solemnly, "I am not upset because you got kidnapped. Yes, that was terrifying, but I am furious that you left the school when I told you not to. I told you over and over to stay at the school, and then I got the call that you had run off. I immediately stopped tracking Joker and went to find you. I got downtown, and people told me Joker had kidnapped a boy matching your description. I was frantic to find you."
My throat ached like I had swallowed ball that got stuck halfway down.
"It took me over four hours to find Joker," Bruce continued. "By the end of the second hour, I was sure you were dead. I knew any moment I would find your mutilated body in some dark alley after Joker finished with you."
"I'm sorry," I rushed out.
"You have no idea –" Bruce stopped, his voice breaking.
I stared at him, horrified. I made Bruce choke up – Bruce who never cried.
He didn't say another word. He just sat down on my bed, grabbed my wrist, and pulled my over his lap. He wrapped one hand around my waist, holding me extra tight, and he brought his other hand down hard on my bottom.
The sound shot through the room, but he said nothing. He spanked me again, and then I lost it. I don't know if it was the running away, or getting kidnapped and nearly tortured, or having Bruce so upset, but after the second swat, I started crying. I could not hold it together any longer – I clutched at his knee and kept crying. And I got louder the longer he spanked.
Over and over, he rained heavy swats on my pajama-covered bottom. I don't understand why he chooses this way to punish me. I don't like laying over his lap with his hard knees pressing into my torso. I don't like being held firmly, and I really don't like getting spanked. I can laugh off most pain or try to look cool when I get hurt, but there is nothing I can do to ignore a spanking. Bruce is really strong, and he lifts his hand up and brings it down with such force – I think Bane would be whimpering if Bruce did this to him.
The fact that I was getting spanked for the second time in two days did not help. I wish I could have formed words to ask Bruce to please not smack so hard, to remember that I was thirteen and too old to be punished like a little kid, and to please, please finish up because my rear was throbbing.
But all I did though was holler. And wail. And cry. And promise him I would be good.
I hope no one ever records me getting punished like this because I would die of embarrassment. I would do anything to get him to stop, but he doesn't so I end up yelling stuff like, "I'll be good, I promise. Bruce! Bruuuce, I promise! I'll be gooood!"
He did not stop, and I could have sworn the swats got harder.
"You do not run off like that," Bruce finally spoke, resting his hand for a moment. "If you ever, ever disobey me again and put yourself in danger, I will lock you in this room and throw away the key. And I will come in every night for a month to pull you over my knee and spank you."
Any other time, I might have pointed that he couldn't come into my room if he had thrown away the key, but now I only nodded hastily, choking back sobs.
"I am going to give you twenty more," Bruce continued. "And then you are getting into bed and staying there for the rest of the night. Tomorrow I am taking you back to school and telling your teachers you are not allowed out of the building until I come and pick you up again. You are grounded until further notice. Am I understood?"
"Yes, Bruce," I nodded hastily, sure he would give me an extra swat if I did not answer at once.
"Good, here we go. Twenty!" he landed an almighty spank on my rear. "Nineteen!" another swat. "Eighteen."
Down he counted, spanking harder and harder. The final spank he landed so hard I could barely breathe. I was a mess as I cried over his lap, but he pulled me up to stand on my shaky feet.
"Don't ever do that again," Bruce warned.
I was so scared he would make me get in bed and march out without a word, but he didn't. He pulled me into a hug, and I clung to him like a baby. He even pulled me to sit on his knee, and it hurt, but I just sat there, leaning against his chest while he held me. He seems really strong when he does this, and I know I can never get hurt while he's protecting me.
Finally, he let go, and I crawled into bed. My bed had never felt so good, and I collapsed face-down on the pillow. But I didn't want to fall asleep, alone in the dark.
"Wait," I called to Bruce who had not move, "don't leave – please."
"I'm not going anywhere." After covering me up, Bruce took a seat in the chair near by bed.
"I'm scared," I whispered as I held onto the pillow.
"It's fine to be scared," Bruce said, his voice low. "I get scared sometimes, but you can't let your fear make you act out. I don't know what happened at school to make you act the way you did, but I do know that you have to get control of yourself. Can you do that for me?"
I nodded. He reached out and put a hand on my still-damp head.
"That's my boy," he murmured.
I wanted to start crying again. But Bruce stayed with me, patting my head and telling me I was safe until my eyes closed and I fell asleep, safe under the watchful eyes of Gotham's Dark Knight.