CHAPTER SIX
It’s a Hardknock Life for Me
I sit in Ms. Corvi’s office, trying not to kick her desk. It doesn’t work. My feet won’t sit still. I want to cartwheel around, crashing into the filing cabinets. I want to sing, dance, and shout at the top of my lungs. Do anything to distract from where I am and what I’m doing. Instead, I sit, my feet kicking my chair, then kicking Ms. Corvi’s desk.
She’s on the computer, on the phone, and looking through stacks of papers all at once, doing things I’ll never understand.
Before I left the police office, I had to make my ‘official statement’ on my parent’s death. Detective Yin’s nice, but her almond-shaped eyes bored into me, prying every detail from my mushy brain. Everything from Zucco’s threats to him walking out of the big top to when I noticed the shaking lines, the bolts missing. I don’t say anything about seeing Zucco leaving the circus with the crowd. I don’t want to talk about the way he looked at me. When I’m done, Yin just nods, shutting off her recorder, and guiding me out of the room. Honestly, how can someone question a person about a murder with such indifference? These people need serious help.
After that, I said goodbye to Babs. I hope I see her again. I need to see her again. She’s nothing like Raya. She’s laid back, likes pizza, and doesn’t twitter about lame stuff, like clothes and how much of a doof I am. She likes Batman.
The drive over to Gotham City Home for Boys was nice. I looked out the windows this time, soaking up Gotham in the daytime. During the day it doesn’t look half as creepy, but it does look… sadder. While they're nice, new buildings, there’re a lot of old ones with creaking shutters, peeling paint, and broken, rusting chain link fences. Garbage litters the streets. Graffiti covers the walls, anything from simple encouraging phrases to outright threats and gang signs.
The GCPD stands near the center of Gotham, in a section that Ms. Corvi calls the East End. We headed south, across Finger River—yeah, stupid name, I know—over into Old Gotham. I wondered at the colossal skyscraper that stood over all of Old Gotham, asking what it was, but Ms. Corvi only laughed. That’s when I saw the name on the sides. Wayne Enterprises. Go figure.
My little tour of Gotham was short and sweet. The building Ms. Corvi escorted me into is squat, old, and crammed full of kids. There’s a play area for the smaller kids, a back lot full of cracked concrete, old trees, and an ancient playground, but other than that it might as well be a prison. As the name suggests, all the kids are boys, anywhere from babies to seventeen-year-olds. Makes sense. This place is so full, so miserable, so bright that I’d leave as soon as I turned eighteen too.
I’d said I didn’t want to go to Juvie, but I almost think Juvie would be better than this. All the kids, old or young, dress in the same teal outfits, a large black GCHB fading on the front. The ‘caretakers’ wear suits, too, looking more like prison guards than anything else. Definitely not the kind of people you could come to with a problem or when you need a hug.
When I walk in, I’m sized up and found lacking. They don’t know who I am. All they know is I’m their next meal. I try to smile, to be, I don’t know, likable? But all I get are glares and smirks from the older boys and pitying looks from the younger ones.
If I have to stay here… no. I won’t stay here. I can’t stay here, here in this place that smells like day-old BO and mystery meat. Here in this place filled with screams, shouts, and wailing. Here in this place that shouldn’t be real, but is.
For some reason, “It’s a Hardknock Life” keeps playing in my head. Maybe I am like Annie, shipped off to a home that doesn’t care about me, that will work me like a slave. This is a world of unknowns.
So I kick the table and the chair, humming along to my life’s newest mantra. “No one cares for you a bit—” I hum, “When you’re a foster kid. It’s a hardknock life.”
That’s depressing, but hey, I didn’t write it. At least I’m in the office with Ms. Corvi and not outside with the others.
Ms. Corvi puts down the phone. I haven’t been watching her much, but the look on her face is enough to make me stop kicking the table, to lean forward and pay attention. She looks so baffled that I have to bite my tongue to keep the flood of questions back. Is this good news or bad news? Am I saved or condemned? Am I being overdramatic? No, not really. This is my entire future we’re talking about here.
Keep going. Keep smiling.
But… you could’ve caught her…
“So… we have a taker.” Ms. Corvi makes it seem like I’m up for auction, which I don’t like, but the way she’s rubbing her temples and trying to smile makes me give her a pass. So I wait for her to finish. “But it will be at least a week before the paperwork comes through. Maybe more. We have to keep you here.”
Keep me… here? I bite my lip hard. I don’t want to go out there into the sea of bodies, into the shark tank. “Can’t I go back to the police—?”
“No. It’s a miracle you were able to stay the night there at all.” Ms. Corvi rubs her temples, trying her best to look upbeat. It’s a good effort, well, okay, not really, but I can’t blame her for trying. “I’m sorry, Dick. I’ll get you your uniform and… find a place for you.”
So, on the floor then? I want to say something, anything. But I can only nod. Nod as we walk out of the office, and duck my head as we weave our way through the halls. The boys leave Ms. Corvi alone. She’s their only hope for escape, after all.
But me? I get jostled, elbowed, and tripped so much that I have to suck on my bleeding lip by the time we get to the bathroom.
One of the caretakers wordlessly hands me an old, faded, way too big uniform. I don’t want to wear this. Please don’t make me. I want to plead. More than that, I want to scream for my parents. But they’re gone. No one’s coming, at least not for a while. But why not? Can’t they take me now? I walk into the bathroom and change. I don’t want to look at my reflection in the mirror, but I do anyway.
I’m a mess. Scrawny, gaunt, tired, with blood still dripping from my lip. I’m practically swimming in my clothes. I frown at myself, then try for a smile. I don’t pull it off.
Keep smiling… keep going. Just a little longer.
I walk out of the bathroom, expecting to be greeted by Ms. Corvi, but she’s gone.
So I’m alone. Or at least left wishing I’m alone. “So, newb. What happened to your folks?” I look to see one of the older boys, his leering smile reminding me so much of Zucco that my arms tremble as I hold back a punch.
“None of your business.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m sure you've heard millions of stories. Nothing I say would be the newest gossip for the day.”
“Wait!” Another boy leans forward, squinting at me. “Aren’t you that Grayson kid? From the circus accident on the news?”
My face blazes as I step back towards the bathroom, my legs fighting to bolt the other way. Forward, away from them. They can’t. They can’t mock their deaths. They can’t—
“Ha!” The big boy leans forward. His hand swipes for my face, and I smack it away. I want to leap over the crowd, do a flip, anything to get away. But I don’t. “So… you’re a circus freak? What? Did your parents worry about you so much that your wittle cries distracted them?”
“The FALLING GRAYSONS!” A kid bellows from the back, tall and lanky, with such a steely gaze my eyes burn. They see it and pounce. “Yeah, yeah! Falling Graysons!”
The cheer picks up and ripples across the crowd, mainly by the older boys: my face flames, and my fists clench. My eyes sting, but I bite my lip hard. Where’s Ms. Corvi? Where’re the caretakers? What kind of place is this?
“So, Circus Freak.” The first boy leans forward. “You gonna cry for Mommy? Well, she ain’t coming. And, well, none of us have mommys.” He says something dirty about Mom—something she’d never want me to say about anyone.
So I punch him. My fist slams into his gut, powered by all the time spent working out my upper arms, fueled with that burning fire pumping through my veins. “Don’t you DARE say that about MY mother!” I hiss, my eyes narrowing. “Don’t you dare talk about anyone that way! So what if we’re all stuck here? That doesn’t mean you have to be jerks to everyone!”
The crowd of boys lets out ‘oohs’ and other catcalls calling for my demise. But most of the younger boys look at me in awe. Well, at least I have that.
A hand grabs my neck and slams me against the concrete wall. I wince, squinting up at the big bully. I think I’ll call him King Kong…
“Yeah, okay, Circus Freak.” King Kong sneers at me. “Here’s something you’ll need to learn real quick. Think of it as a little… initiation.” I choke against the fingers squeezing my neck, but I stare right into King Kong’s beady little eyes. “Here in Gotham? It’s every boy for himself. Maybe when you’re older, you’ll be cool enough to join a gang. Or maybe—” King Kong smiles, his teeth rotting and nasty, “You’ll get taken in by a family who’ll dump you out to live on the streets or work you so hard you’d BEG to come back here.” He pulls back his fist, and the crowd cheers him on. “Because, Circus Freak, no one cares about us.”
I tighten my abs, not dropping my eyes for a second. If those smaller kids looked at me like that… I have to show them I believe what I say. I have to show them that this big bully is wrong. More than that, I have to show myself.
BAM! The punch lands, but it’s not me who grunts; it’s King Kong. He drops me, holding his hand, glaring daggers at me. “You’re wrong.” I stand up, rolling back my shoulders, standing my ground. “People do care. We’re worth something. Your problem is you’re too scared to hope.” I want to believe that with all my heart. I know that there are people out there who love me. Who care. But someone has already claimed me.
Do they care?
I smile, winking at King Kong and lifting my shirt just enough for them to see my toned stomach. “And, about your hand,” I drop my shirt and cross my arms over my chest, my grin contagious, “I’m from the circus, King Kong.” My voice is light, twittering. “If you can’t hold yourself up on a trapeze for, oh, I don’t know, three hours? Then you can’t hurt me.”
“Oh yeah?” Sneers King Kong. He doesn’t notice, but a lot of the boys are snickering, whispering the nickname ‘king kong’ behind his back. I think it’ll catch on. But I can’t worry about that. Ol’ Kong is cracking his knuckles. “We’ll see.”
I slip through the crowd so fast that not even the caretakers coming to break up the fight, too late, might I add, notice me. I want to make a break for Ms. Corvi’s office, but I know she’s not there. She’s off… finding a place for me. So I duck into a dark corner and slide down to the floor, hugging my knees against my chest.
They don’t have to know I’m scared. They don’t have to know I can’t stand it here, that I do want to cry… That it does hurt, but not in the way they think.
I try to ignore everyone the rest of the day, but they won’t leave me alone. When it’s not punching, it's words. Always words. Whoever came up with the phrase, ‘sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me,’ is a liar. Every word, every insult, is a stone. It hits, I flinch, but I smile, laughing in their faces, cracking jokes that make the younger boys grin. I want to give them hope, something to rally around. Someone needs to be the light in a place as dull as this. Gosh… I really am getting sentimental in my old age. I should write a book.
I eat with them, and for once, I actually know how old people suffer. What kind of horrible person takes a bunch of food, tosses it into a blender, and slops it onto a plate, calling it good? Well, our GCHB cook, apparently.
I long for Mom's pancakes as I gag down lunch and dinner.
Keep going… Keep smiling… You could’ve saved her… instead of treated, we get tricked…
The caretakers let us outside after meals, leaving us to run around the fenced-off area, climbing trees, killing each other in basketball. I avoid King Kong and the older boys and instead use the larger limbs of the trees to show off to the younger boys, flipping around, swinging from limb to limb, then dropping down in a hero’s dismount. They laugh and cheer, and I grin.
Why couldn’t I save them?
After we’re called in for the night, we’re brought to the dorms. Ms. Corvi isn’t there waiting to show me where she’s put my things. Instead, one of the caretakers, who might’s well be a huge, bumbling bear named Tom, pushes me towards a spot on the floor with a holey blanket, a ratty pillow, and a tiny bag of toiletries.
I want to ask where my belongings are, but I bite my tongue. I take my toothbrush and toothpaste to the bathroom and back as quickly as possible. I slide into the blanket, my back pressed against the freezing, tiled floor. I want to be grateful for this place, the pillow and blanket, but I can’t help but long for my own bed. Even the blankets and pillows on the carpeted floor of the police department sound nice.
I close my eyes and pretend to sleep as the other boys get into their beds or their spots on the floor next to me. I ignore the commotion of the older boys, belching and laughing loudly as they come back from the bathroom.
The light clicks off, but my eyes snap open. No one speaks; in fact, some boys are already snoring, but I’m wide awake. I fell asleep quickly last night, probably because I was so tired. But tonight? I can’t. I don’t want to. If I close my eyes the dreams will come. I bite my lip. It’s not fair. Why can’t I dream about my family happy together? Why can’t I see their smiling, laughing faces? Why can’t the corpses be buried in the ground?
The wind moans through the room, and the first drop clinks onto the fire escape right outside. Then, from a few drops to a thousand, the sky cries on us. I like to think that it’s crying for us, with us, but that’s stupid. That’s sissy…
While the wind groans and the rain beats against the windows, someone starts humming. It echoes off the walls, filling the air. I shiver under my blanket, burying my head into the pillow that smells like cats.
Then the voice starts to sing, and all the snores hush. All the boys hold their breath. “Beware The Court of Owls, that watches all the time,” The voice croons, “Ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch, behind granite and lime.” I pull my blanket over my head, shutting my eyes tight. If this is Gotham’s version of a lullaby, no wonder they're so messed up. The voice doesn’t stop. It keeps going. “They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed,” I bite back a whimper. I want Mom… I want Mom! This horrible lullaby reminds me of the one she used to sing to me when I was little, the tune set to an old music box. “Speak not a whispered word of them, or they'll send the Talon for your head.”
I can hear her voice, crooning along with the ancient out-of-tune ting of the box. ‘Who, Who, Who?’ Mom’s voice sings. ‘Who will talk to me, Who will answer me, Who knows why I sing, who?’
I press my hands on my ears over the blanket, but it does nothing. The song isn’t out there anymore. It’s in my head. It hurts. ‘Who knows the reason why I sing this lullaby, Who, who, who?
Her voice is so close, but it’s gone, gone, gone. No one will talk to me. No one will answer me. ‘The owls are flying, I hear them all crying, Through the trees and the curtains as they hurry on home.’
I want to go home… I want to go home… My eyes squeeze so tightly that it hurts. Her voice keeps singing, so sad, so distant. ‘With my feet on the limb and my eyes sad and lonely, I sing who, who, who?’
I plunge into a nightmare. I’m standing on the landing, watching my parents swing in front of me, flying like birds. But across the way, on the other landing, stands Tony Zucco. He holds a knife to the cables. He’s a snake, his eyes glittering. He cuts the line.
My parents plummet. Mom reaches out for me, screaming my name. I catch her, grunting, trying to pull her up, but she’s too heavy. She yanks me down, and I’m falling, falling, falling. “You should have died with us.” Her whispers fill my ears. My eyes burn.
CRACK!
I gasp, jerking away, pain singing in my side—bright lights beam in my face. I squint through the black spots to see Kong and his cronies leering at me. “Did the wittle Circus Freak have a nightmare?” His voice crawls along my arms, sending shivers rolling. “Hey kid, let me tell you somethin’,” He bends down and ruffles my hair, his eyes glittering like Zucco’s, “They won’t ever go away. But you better shut up and keep quiet in here. Unless—”
Crack! He kicks me again, leaving me on the floor, clutching my ribs, biting back a groan. Some of the boys who woke up to my screams snicker, but most stay silent, concealed in shadow. I curl up on myself, gritting my teeth. I won’t moan. I won’t show them it hurts.
But… I can’t stay here… I can’t…
I know what I said about hope. That people do care about us. But I can also understand why King Kong and the others act the way they do. They’ve been stuck here all their lives. Most of them probably never even knew their parents or got dumped here by their parents.
But I do have people waiting for me, wanting me back.
I wait until everyone’s snoring before I creep over and slip Kong’s flashlight off his nightstand. I crawl over to the window, bare feet sticking to the tiled floor. The rain’s still pounding outside. If I open the window, they’ll know. I bite my lip, looking around the room for any way to get out. Caretakers patrol the halls, and security cameras are everywhere, making sure we don’t beat each other up too badly. But there, over in the corner, a draft whistles from a cracking brick fireplace.
My heart pounds as I creep toward it, carefully stepping in between the boys splayed on the floor. When I reach the fireplace, I crawl inside, peering up. All I see is darkness, but wind and rain come through, brushing my hair back from my face, and dripping into my eyes. The cover’s ajar.
Taking a deep breath and holding the flashlight between my teeth, I press my back against one wall and prop my feet against the other.
This’d better work—
I inch up the chimney, wishing I could hold my nose. The smell of soot tickles me, threatening a sneeze that’d blow my cover. But I keep climbing until I reach the metal cap keeping me from freedom. I straighten, my fingers seeing in the dark, pushing, pressing. My teeth dig into the flashlight. Metal on metal grinds and groans but the cover slides to the side. Rain pounds into my face. I splutter, but I manage to hang on. Off goes the cover, and I’m out, a drowned rat in the downpour. I yank the lid back in place, then spit out the flashlight, clicking it on. The roof of the Home stretches out around me, leaving endless options. Well, endless options for a ninja or a monkey. I make a break for the fire escape, my feet sliding as I clamber down the rungs, shivering.
Maybe I should’ve brought shoes with me—
I drop down onto the pavement with a grimace. The rough ground cuts into my feet, red running with the rainwater. I ignore it. All I know is I need to get back to Haly’s Circus. Yes, that’s where I need to go.
I break into a sprint. I don’t know where I’m going, but I dash forward. I’ve got to get as far away from here as possible tonight. Then I can find my way back to Amusement Mile in the morning.
My feet stumble, sloshing in the puddles. My teeth chatter, and my hair clings to my face as rain pours down my nose, sliding off the tip in a steady stream. It bites through my uniform, sending shivers so big down my spine I jerk around like the clowns after a party.
My mind numbs with the rain too. All I know is I have to get away. I have to get home. So I keep my head down and keep running.
Thunder booms overhead rattling my ribs, and lightning flashes, raking across the sky. I shouldn’t be here. I should be in my family’s trailer, safe and sound, waiting for the morning to bring the third day of the circus. But I’m here, and the trailer’s far away.
I don’t see the man until I crash into him. My feet trip, sending me falling back, my butt cracking hard onto the rough pavement. My flashlight rolls to the side. I wince, shaking my head, my hair whipping around like a dog’s fur. The guy curses, though he’s still standing. But he’s not cursing anymore when he finally peers down at me, the light of my flashlight illuminating my face.
“Say now,” His voice is almost drowned out in the rain, “Aren’t you a little young to be wandering the streets at night, boy?”
“Aren’t you a little old?” I shoot back, scrambling to my feet and hugging my stomach, blowing water away from my lips.
“Heh! You got spunk. I’ll give you that.” He leans forward, and when the light touches him, I shrink back, my heart missing a few beats. He’s dressed in a green rain jacket studded with black question marks, his ratty T-shirt a dull, dirty purple. At first, I think he’s the Riddler, another one of Gotham’s loonies, but he looks nothing like the pictures. And he’s not wearing a mask.
He grins, showing his yellow gunky teeth, shaking his head at me. The rain runs off the brim of his bowler hat, which went out of fashion a long time ago. “Naw, I’m not the Riddler.” What, can he read minds? Or is that a reaction he gets a lot? His hands grab me so fast that I don’t have time to think. I’m being lifted, yanked forward. “I work for him, though. And Boss has been wanting some civilians to play with.”
I scream. Mom always said to shout to get people’s attention if someone ever grabbed me. I didn’t with Zucco, but I do now. I scream, gargling on the rain, thrash, and kick, landing a solid one right between the man’s legs. I’m dropped as he moans but run away as he roars, leaving my flashlight behind.
Thunder growls overhead as I dash through Gotham, hands grabbing for me. A voice behind me yelling something about ‘the Riddler’s territory.’
I turn down a street, hoping to find an open store I can hide in, a nice safe place to sneak into, only to realize I’m not on a street. I’m in an alley—a dead end.
I scramble towards the dumpster, diving behind the black bags of trash. The street lamps cast a long shadow that creeps toward me. I hear a click, and I know what it is.
A gun.
“Now, now, boy.” The man steps closer, each footfall echoing through the rain. “Come on out. I’m not gonna hurt you—”
I squeeze my eyes shut, pulling my legs up to my chest, burying my face in my knees. My shoulders shake, and my lips tremble. I want to go home! I want to go home! I want Mom! I want Mom!
BANG! The gun fires, but not at me. The sounds of punching, kicking, and finally, the crack and groan of someone hitting the ground ring through the alleyway. I don’t hear the footsteps, but suddenly, something’s looming above me. Something vast and dark.
I don’t move. Maybe, if I stay here, stay still, they won’t notice— a hand touches my shoulder, and I’m on my feet, my legs slamming into a hard, armored chest. The sharp edges of the plates cut into my feet, but the person stumbles back, a small grunt escaping their lips. I land, or rather, crash into the trash bags, scrambling to get back up to my feet.
“Don’t run.” The voice’s deep, growling. Chilling. I stop. “You won’t make it far on a night like this.”
I look up, and I can’t believe my eyes. Standing before me, framed in the rain and the flickering lights of streetlamps is the Batman. He’s so huge, so dark, so imposing, but I step forward, not back. I’m hugging myself, trying to find words. We stand like this for a while, neither of us speaking.
Finally, I splutter. “I’m not going back there.” I lower my head. I can’t meet those white masked eyes. Those eyes that narrow, harden. “I won’t go back. I can’t live in a place like that. I can’t….” This is not how I want to be when I meet a hero. I should jump up and down, asking so many questions. Instead, my head hangs, my eyes interested in his black, plated kevlar boots.
I know he sees the faded letters on my teal outfit because he doesn’t ask. “You have to go back.” That’s not what I want to hear. I want him to agree with me, to take me home. Isn’t he supposed to be a hero? “You need to sit tight until—”
“Until what?” I look up at him, my eyes searching, searching for something, anything. “Until some people come and take me away? Until they dump me out into an alley like this?”
“No.” Batman’s voice shouldn’t be comforting. It should be scary, unsettling. But it chases away the shivers. “You need to stay there until something happens. Something you’re not expecting.”
His hand grabs my shoulder, but I don’t flinch. Instead, I stare. When did he get so good with kids? When was he ever… gentle? Not from what I’ve seen or heard on the news. “When?” The word is quiet, lost in the rain, but he hears it.
His hand squeezes my shoulder. “Soon.” He points to the alley’s entrance. “I’ll take you back.”
I nod and follow the Batman. I follow him back down the streets, back through Gotham, and, in the morning, I stumble into the Home, shivering and sneezing, much to Kong’s delight and Ms. Corvi’s worry.
Like Batman says, I wait. I wait for a week and a half until it happens.
To be Continued...
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