April 3
Mood: Contemplative
Music: "A Thousand Miles" - Vanessa Carlton
I did mention I'm not good at being linear, right? My apologies to my future readers for tearing out the past two years' worth of entries, but I assure you that I do have my reasons. Some of what was written was boring, some of it was mopey, and some of it was things I can't afford to keep written anywhere, even in a private document. But let's sum up the relevant parts, just so you don't completely lose the plot.
I never did go out with Barbara again. I did enough digging to find out that she was okay, but she continued to ignore my calls and wouldn't answer the door, and after three weeks I decided enough was enough. I'm as good at holding on to hopeless crushes as the next teenage girl, but it's difficult to crush on someone you never even see. I miss her, and I think we could have been great together, but it's behind me now. Or so I keep telling myself.
My internship at the Tribune went terrifically well, outwardly - I won a couple more awards, and got a chance to explore all the dark corners of the city. I made friends, I made enemies, and I learned a lot. What I was doing never stopped bothering me, though. My punched ticket to GCU came and went, and I passed on it. But more on that shortly.
I never have told Kate who I am. I see her every now and then, we exchange pleasantries and share a pot of tea, but as far as she knows I'm just Renee's daughter. I could explain all the things that led me to that decision, but frankly it'd be a lot of boring monologue, and given that I'm sure my museum visitors have better things to do with their days (especially those kids who are just here on school field trips), I'll spare them the agony of reading it all. Long story short, if she knew that part of my identity...
Okay, I was trying to talk around it, but somehow every story I want to tell keeps coming back to the same place, so let's just tackle it head-on.
I'm not the same person I was two years ago. A summer of seeing the underbelly of Gotham and what it does to the city's people, combined with frequent battles over getting stories printed, changed my perspective on what I should be doing with my life. The end of the summer came, and I bid a (sometimes, depending on the person in question) fond farewell to the people I'd worked with, and then I went back to my apartment to make a decision. It took three days - three days in which I never left my apartment, barely slept and didn't eat. I just sat and meditated - which was a little deep for me, but there you have it. And on the third day, I created the sky and the oceans...shit, no, that wasn't me. On the third day, I booked a plane ticket. Retracing Renee's decades-old steps, I found my way to Tibet, and from there up the mountains to Nanda Parbat.
It took me longer to get there than it did her (the first time she went, at least) - I hadn't realized just how difficult the city was to get to, and mountain-climbing was never a specialty of mine. I had to turn back twice, but the last time I found myself outside the city gates, barely conscious. I passed out and woke up in a dark room, dressed in workout gear and half-frozen. I won't name the person who worked with me for almost a year, but suffice it to say they were a master of their craft. I was forced to examine who I really am, and why I was there. As time passed, I finally found a way to explain my actions to myself, which I was glad for - I had made the decision to come, but I couldn't explain why.
I was seizing the destiny that had always been mine, I saw. I am the daughter of two heroes, and so it was inevitable that I would choose their path. My time on the crime beat of the Tribune taught me why I had to do so, taught me that I couldn't just idly report suffering and misery (often in articles that were never printed) without trying to help, and my grueling trek up the mountains of Tibet showed me that I had the will to do what was necessary.
That isn't to say, of course, that it was easy becoming who I am now. I was beaten down, starved, and worked like a farm animal. At one point, the only part of me that wasn't visibly bruised was the small toe of my left foot. I had broken bones roughly set, dislocated joints popped harshly back into place, and virtually no time to heal any of those injuries before I'd acquire the next one. But the first time I put my sparring partner on their ass, it was the best feeling in the world. Two weeks after that, when I could win every third match, I figured that was good enough. I climbed back down the mountain and made my way back to Gotham.
I can't say that I've got a name, or a fancy costume, but I like to think I do my part. I work at a little coffee place during the day and I get paid in cash, under the table, using a fake name. It's not much, but it's enough to buy food. Kate still pays for my apartment, so I don't need to worry about rent or my signature on a lease, and I don't have a lot of other expenses. I don't keep anything technological anymore - my experience with Barbara (as innocent as her actions were) taught me how dangerous that can be. This journal stays locked in a safe under the floorboards in my closet - I think the only reason I still keep it at all is for the sake of my own sanity.
I think the only regret I have is that Renee and I don't speak anymore. She was livid when I told her I was passing on the GCU scholarship to fly to Europe, and then I was out of touch for a year. I called her when I got home, but she didn't want to talk - I guess I upset her more than I'd meant to. I think the only reason Kate, to whom I explained only that I'd felt like I needed a spiritual journey to Tibet, still has tea with me occasionally is to feel like she's one-upping Renee...or maybe because she understands the need to disappear. I don't know which.
And so, that's a quick summary of the last two years. If I think of any terribly relevant details I've missed, I'll catch you up later.
Jessie M, over and out.
April 4
Mood: Exhilarated
Music: Somebody's car stereo playing...something with a baseline.
I love nights like that. Took a stroll through the narrows and got cornered by four guys looking for an easy purse-snatching. Played the helpless victim, let them get close - and then BAM! Took all four of them down. I didn't gift-wrap them for the cops or anything - I don't do stuff like that. I'd rather not draw attention to myself, just quietly do my part. The only thing that concerns me is that these guys were faster and stronger than they should have been for their size. It reminds me of...yes! Thank you, journal - it reminds me of the guy who attacked me the first night I was in the city. I wonder if they're getting something from the same source. I need to find Catwoman - she had an in to whatever was going on back then.
Of course, finding someone who generally tries to not be found might be a struggle. If I could get in touch with Barbara, maybe she could help...but I'm not tearing up old wounds. I'll find her myself. I-
...
Sorry, there was a Bird at my window. Huntress, to be precise - apparently she took an interest in my handiwork and tracked me back to the apartment to warn me off trying to be a hero. Nice of her, even if it was just a waste of her time. What concerns me more is that she's one of Barbara's Birds. Dammit, I need to be more careful than that. Not that I have a "secret identity" per se, and I certainly didn't give her my name, but she has my address. If she were to go back to the Clock Tower and talk about this crazy civilian she just told off...yeah, this might be a problem.
Oh, well. I guess there's not much I can do about it now. Things'll play out however they play out. For the moment, I need to focus on Catwoman. And get your mind out of the gutter - I didn't mean it like that. I need to figure out some way of contacting her. She's got a specific bit of Gotham that's known as her area, but I don't think wandering around there is likely to get me much other than jumped by gang members. Can't ask Barbara, can't ask Batman or any of that gang - they wouldn't tell me anything anyway, and it would just raise questions that I'd really rather not answer. Wait...wait just a minute, I'm having a thought! Can you see the lightbulb or smell the burning wiring? I've got to go scribble something down before I forget it. Until tomorrow, then - goodnight, sweet prince...er, diary!
April 5
Mood: Impatient
Music: "Eve of Destruction" - Barry McGuire. It's odd how little has changed since he wrote this, isn't it?
Okay, the plan's in motion. While I was on break this morning I called the Tribune and placed an ad. ‘Wanted,' it reads, ‘interested parties for discussion re radioactive spinach.' Then it's got my phone number. Let me tell you, it was an experience trying to convince the girl who took my call that she had it just right...It might be too obscure a reference, given that the conversation happened two years ago, but I guess we'll see. Either I will get hold of her, or I'll get some lunatic organic farmers calling my house. Either way's fine, really - I get a kick out of hanging up on people.
In the meantime, I'm getting itchy feet. I think I shall wander off to dish out some nocturnal lectures on proper behaviour...now, let's see what Mr. Police Scanner has to say...
Okay, that stings a bit. Note to self; if having a discussion with two gentlemen, both of whom are carrying sharp knives, don't get suckered into an in-depth talk with one of them while allowing the other to get behind you. I do take comfort, though, in knowing that that hand will never be able to hold a knife again. The only thing bugging me is the nagging feeling that I was being followed out there. I could feel it from the moment I left the apartment, and it's still like a weight on my shoulder - like if I turned around, right this second, there'd be someone standing there. But there isn't - and yes, before anyone asks, I did check...
April 6
Mood: Drained
Music: Pretty much anything loud I can think of
So, of all the gin joints in all the world...Patricia walks into the cafe this afternoon. Of course, the greeter steers her right to a table in my section. I briefly ponder ducking into the back and feigning illness, but that seems too clichéd. Instead I dutifully march over in my horrible rayon uniform and take her order. She's halfway through rattling off her drink specifications before she looks up at me and her jaw drops.
"Jessie?" she squeals. "Oh my god!" she jumps to her feet and hugs me. "This is amazing - I was just thinking of you the other day! Where've you been? After you finished your internship I figured we'd be seeing your name all over the student paper at GCU, but then you vanished off the face of the earth! They moved me into your spot, you know, on the crime beat?"
I hadn't picked up a paper since my return. "Good for you!" I manage half-heartedly. "You deserve it. Is Danny working with you?"
"Oh...you didn't hear?" The sad note in her voice makes my stomach churn. "He...Danny was shot about six months after you finished your internship. He was covering a story on gang warfare in Gotham, and..." she trails off.
"Did they find out who was responsible?" The control I keep over my voice astounds me.
"No. The police think they know the gang that was responsible, but they never identified the shooter."
It's not fair, and it's not right. "Could you," my voice is shaking a little now, my control slipping, "write down everything you know? I'd like...I just need to know."
"Of course. But what about you? Where've you been since your time at the Tribune?"
"I just needed to find myself. I'd love to tell you all about it sometime, but I need to get back to work. Here's my number, okay? Call me, and we'll meet up sometime." I take her order, and the sheet of paper she's scribbled on, and get back to my day job.
Come nightfall, I dress up all in black. I have some gang members to talk to, and I'd like to stay invisible for now. That irritating sense of being watched is back now, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up as I stalk Gotham's streets. I'm closing in on the gang's territory when something grabs my wrist and pulls me several stories up before I can even scream, dropping me on the roof of the Gotham Library. I have to blink to clear my vision - it's Batman himself.
"I've been watching you," he rasps.
"Like what you see?" I fire back - two can play at this game.
"I know what you think you're doing - and so far, you've been taking out small-timers. Maybe not the smartest way to spend your time, but it never looked like anything you couldn't handle. This, though...this isn't smart. You're a loose cannon, and you're going to get yourself killed. You can't just walk into this and beat one person for information - the other two hundred will cut you down."
"I'm sorry...are you my father? I don't think so. This is my fight, and I'll fight it any damn way I choose. I'm not Stephanie Brown - I didn't ask for your training or your acceptance, and I don't need you to look out for me." I throw the name at him because I know it'll hurt him, and I silently thank Renee for telling me the story. He winces, and I know I've struck a nerve.
"Fine," he hisses. "If you won't listen to me, then maybe you'll listen to your mother." With that he steps off the roof and he's gone. There's a crunch of boot on gravel behind me, and I whirl around in surprise - only to find Kate, resplendent in her Batwoman costume, staring gravely at me. "Jessie," she starts, and her raspy voice sounds eerily similar to Batman's. "I think it's time we had a talk." Her tone is so close to the one Renee used to use when I was in it up to my eyeballs that I shiver a bit. She misinterprets it. "But not here. Let's get you someplace warm."
I want to get the conversation and what followed just right, journal o' mine, so the rest of this'll have to wait until tomorrow when I'm thinking a bit more clearly. Sorry for the cliffhanger, museum-goers, but if you'll please walk on to the next part of the exhibit, the story will continue...
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