I didn't hear about it immediately. One side-effect
of having a giant telepathic gorilla tear up several
city blocks, it tends to drown everything else out on
the news channels.
But murder, apparently, will still out, at least when
it comes to the media. As a result, I didn't even
have the dubious grace of hearing about Hart's arrest
on the nightly news. Instead my first notice that he
was in more trouble than usual came in the form of a
reporter with a shark's smile on my doorstep, wanting
to know if I had any comment on my ex-boyfriend's
arrest.
What I should have done, at that point, was said "No,"
and shut the door. I know that. The Pied Piper
doesn't get the same kind of media spotlight the Flash
does, but a supervillain turned social crusader does
attract some attention. And spending the best part of
a year with him--not to mention some chats with
Linda--has taught me a few things about dealing with
that attention. Most of which boil down to "say as
little as possible." But...
I wanted to know what had happened. What was wrong.
I could chalk it up to simple curiosity, but that
wouldn't be true, any more than the jump in my heart
rate was just surprise. Hartley doesn't get arrested
on a regular basis, and I remember the way he looked
last time too well...dammit, I *left* him. I'm
supposed to be able to not care anymore.
Anyway, I asked the shark what Hart'd been arrested
for. Bad move, as it turns out. Because then he
told me.
The bottom dropped out of my stomach at "confessed,"
but what shut down my brain was "murder of Osgood and
Rachel Rathaway." I know he kept talking after that,
but I didn't really hear it. I was too busy trying to
get the world to make sense again. Hart's parents
were dead? Hart's rich, sweet, only slightly stuffy
parents, who'd made me welcome in their ridiculously
large house and had so clearly adored their son?
Somebody had killed them? And they thought it was
*Hart*?
God only knows what I said at that point; I just hope
it wasn't quotable. Fortunately around then I got
back the presence of mind to shut the door in his
face, before either of us said anything else.
Exposure to Hart and his friends apparently has
side-effects; I'm not nearly as fazed by insane crises
as I used to be. I only stood there staring at the
door for a moment or two before my brain started
working well enough to figure what the best thing to
do now was.
The third button on my speed-dial is the Flash's
number. Hartley insisted; if an old enemy--or a new
one--came looking, he wanted to make sure I had
high-powered help available. I didn't know whether
that was sweet or terrifying. Maybe both. I
programmed over Hartley's number after the breakup; I
thought about wiping Wally's, too, but...well, maybe
that hypothetical threat wouldn't care that we'd
broken up. Doesn't hurt to be safe. And damn you
anyway, Hart, for making me need to think like that...
But tonight it wasn't me I was worried about as I
jabbed at the phone. The Flash is one of Hartley's
best friends, and he has a class-A reporter for a
wife--an entirely different breed from the vampire at
my door. And besides, it's his job to handle crazy
stuff, and if this wasn't crazy, God knows what is.
So surely he had some idea what was happening.
"Yeah?" Wally sounded tired and annoyed, but I barely
even noticed.
"What the hell is going on?!" All right, I know I
said I was getting better at dealing with insanity; I
didn't say I was *good* at it. And besides, this
was...my brain shied away from the image of Hartley in
jail, and waited impatiently for Wally's response.
There was a pause, and then a long sigh. "James." He
didn't sound annoyed anymore, just unhappy. "You
heard about Piper, huh?"
"Courtesy of a reporter on my damn doorstep. Why
didn't you call me?" And why hadn't *he*? muttered my
brain, and I stepped on it firmly. I'd spent the last
month trying to get him *not* to call me; he'd hardly
think now was the time. If he was thinking anything
at all, which he probably wasn't. That wasn't an
image I wanted either...
"Look," Wally's voice broke into my brooding, sounding
half-defensive and half-annoyed again, "it's been a
long, miserable day. I had other things on my mind."
I remembered Grodd's attack for the first time, and
felt guilty for snapping. No wonder he sounded tired.
"Anyway," he went on in echo of my own thoughts, "I
thought you didn't want to hear from him anymore."
"That doesn't mean I don't--" Care? What else had I
spent a month trying to convince myself of? I changed
subjects. "Wally, what's going on? You *know* Hart
didn't kill his parents."
The voice on the phone was grim. "Great. Tell him
that."
"What?"
"He didn't say he did it, but he wouldn't say he
didn't either. Something's really wrong here, and I
don't know what it is."
And underneath the weariness and the anger and the
frustration, I heard something in his voice that made
me go cold. I don't know Wally as well as Hart does--I
actually know Linda better, if only because it's
easier to get her to stand still to have a
conversation with--but I know him well enough to
understand that "scared" isn't a place he goes much.
But he was scared now. For Hart.
I took a long, shaky breath, and with only a moment's
hesitation, stepped back into a place I'd promised
myself I wouldn't go again. "Tell me. Tell me
*everything*."
Another pause. "Have you had dinner?"
"Huh?"
"Because if you haven't," he went on, "you can come
over here and my charming wife will feed you--ow!
Jeez, Linda." Almost against my will, I felt myself
grin. "Okay, okay, we'll share our takeout dinner
with you, and we can talk about...all this."
Which is how I found myself over at the Flash's house,
picking at Chinese and listening with growing horror
to the events of the day. Piper had not only
confessed to the murders, for reasons even he hadn't
seemed clear on, he'd been drugged by some passing
supervillains and had tried to kill first Wally and
then one of the criminals.
"And then they took him to jail?!"
Linda sighed unhappily. "He did confess to a murder,
James. They can't just ignore that."
"He's *sick*. Or drugged, or--brainwashed, something,
one of those things that happens with this costume
stuff." None of this made sense; the only thing I was
sure of was that something had to be seriously wrong
with Hart.
Wally spread his hands helplessly. "I agree with you.
Even before the drug got into his system, he wasn't
making sense. And after that--" He winced.
"And you still let them take him?" I couldn't keep
the accusation out of my voice.
"I *tried*! I practically begged him to tell me he
was innocent, and he wouldn't even look at me." He
flung out his arms. "Dammit, what was I supposed to
do? Say 'You can't arrest him, he's my friend'? I
know something's wrong, but I don't have any *proof*.
And I've got to have *something* before I take on the
entire police force."
"Wally." Linda put one hand on his shoulder. "It's
okay. You did what you had to do."
He slumped. "I dunno. Maybe I should just have
grabbed him and run, let J'onn sort it all out. The
Martian Manhunter," he added at my puzzled look.
"He's a telepath." Oh. Of course...
"Telepathic evidence isn't admissible in court," Linda
pointed out.
"No," Wally growled, "but it'd give me some idea where
to look for evidence that *is*."
"But then the police wouldn't listen to you about it,"
I sighed in reluctant surrender. "I know you can't
just break the law; I'm sorry. It's just really hard
to take all this in."
"You're not alone there," Wally said grimly, and Linda
nodded silent assent.
At that moment something jangled, and Wally swore.
"JLA. Have to go--"
"Your ankle--" Linda said sharply. I understood the
concern; Wally had been limping all night, courtesy of
a wound he'd received earlier in the day.
But he waved her off. "It's fine. Sorry,
hon--James--be back when I can." And he vanished in a
flash of lightning and a blur of red.
Linda looked after him, mouth tight. "He's going to
regret that tomorrow. And I'm the one who'll have to
keep him sitting down and listen to him moan--" But I
could hear the worry underneath the griping.
"Linda--" I had to ask. "How do you live with it?"
"One day at a time," she sighed, then looked at me and
smiled, a little ruefully. "That wasn't very helpful,
was it? It's just--" she shrugged--"the price you
pay. Wally wouldn't be Wally if he didn't do what he
does. And I'll be damned if I'll let anyone or
anything push me away from him."
"You really love him," I said quietly.
"Oh yeah. Sun, moon, and stars, the whole deal." The
soft look in her dark eyes belied the flippant words,
and something inside me hurt. "That's just as scary,
sometimes," she added, "but I wouldn't change it,
either."
"I would. At least, I tried." I looked at her
helplessly. "I just--I loved him, Linda. But it was
just too much. And I thought it was over. And now
there's all this and I--I just want to take him out of
there and hold him. God, Linda, his *parents*, do you
know how much he loved them? How much he's got to be
hurting right now?" I hugged myself, tight, and told
myself that I wasn't going to cry.
"James." Linda's eyes were compassionate. "It's going
to be okay. *He's* going to be okay. Wally doesn't
abandon his friends, and neither do I." She smiled a
little. "And neither do you."
Laughing hurt. "But I did, didn't I?"
She shook her head. "You've got a right to your life,
James. All that matters is that you're here now."
And yeah, I guess I am. Even if it's stupid, even if
it hurts--I'm here. And I'll be here, for as long as
he needs me.