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The key wouldn’t turn in the lock of his apartment door. Jason swore under his breath and pulled the key out. Was something jammed in the lock? He leaned down and tried to check, but he didn’t see anything.
Maybe the key was dirty. He’d never had a problem before, but he was running out of ideas. Jason buffed the key with his sleeve till the brass shone, but no luck. The key still wouldn’t turn, and he was starting to get antsy.
His mom was in there, alone, and she…
Jason loved his mom, but he didn’t trust her to be alone anymore. It was a sickness what they’d done to her, a sickness that left her weak, distracted, and completely out of it most of the time these days. She wasn’t going to hear him knocking, and if she did, she wasn’t going to care.
Jason groaned with frustration and kicked the door. To his surprise and dread, it swung open, stopping quickly with a dull thud.
“Mom?” Jason’s heart stopped.
Jason pushed the door, trying to open it beyond the slim crack it had already opened, but the door was caught on something. Had he dropped his backpack on the other side?
Jason put his shoulder into it and shoved the door open, stumbling into their living room.
Immediately, he froze, sick with horror and dread.
Catherine Todd lay face down on the floor, inches from the door. Her fingers, outstretched in an effort to open the door or call for help, were caught under the door. Drying, tacky blood traced an arc on the floor where Jason had forced the door open, dragging her fingers across the splintery hardwood.
Jason dropped to his knees at her side. “Mom? Mom?”
He put his hand on her shoulder to shake her awake. She was so cold. Why was she so cold?
His eyes prickled with tears. “Mama?”
Creak.
Jason’s head snapped up. There shouldn’t be anyone else in the apartment, not with his dad in jail. Who—
A tall, wiry man stepped from the bedroom, his scarred and tattooed face splitting with a wicked grin of rotting teeth. Cole, his mom’s dealer.
“What—” Jason looked down at his mom, the vomit and blood on the floor under her, the needle marks in her arm. “What did you do?”
Cole spread his hands in a mockery of a placating gesture, teasing, “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Fury sparked in Jason’s chest, and his fingers tightened around his mom’s cold, stiff arm. He wasn’t going to hurt Jason? After what he’d done, he had the nerve to tell such a baldfaced lie?
With his free hand, Jason reached into his pocket and retrieved his knife, flicking it open with a quiet snick! Before Cole could react, Jason hurled the knife straight at his chest.
Jason didn’t stick around to see his knife strike or miss, he released his mom and sprinted through the door. He’d send help, for all the good that would do her, but he had to get out unless he wanted to join her.
Jason heard the door slam open behind him, and the sound of his mother’s fingers snapping filled his ears. Tears burned in his eyes, making it hard to see. He wanted to turn around and kill Cole, he wanted to turn around and run back to his apartment. He wanted his mom.
Cole thundered after him, faster than Jason. Jason screamed for help, but no one came, not now, not then, no one ever came.
He threw open the door to the stairwell and risked a glance back—the needle of a syringe gleamed in the sickly glow of the hallway lights. He’s going to inject me with heroin, Jason realized in horror. To kill him? To make another addict? To—
The stairs took him by surprise, and suddenly Jason was airborne. He had just enough time to think snapping my neck would be better before Cole grabbed him by the collar and swung him back onto the landing.
Jason landed with a pained yelp. Before he could gather himself or even process what had happened, Cole was on top of him, wrenching his arm behind his back.
“NO! NO, LET ME GO!”
Jason thrashed and fought, but Cole was unyielding, keeping Jason pinned as he slid the needle through Jason’s skin and into his vein. He was just too small to win.
“Mom!” Jason screamed, tears running down his face into the wood grain. “Mama, help me!”
She wouldn’t because she couldn’t because Cole had killed her, just like he was going to kill Jason.
Jason sobbed as the heroin burned through his veins and the walls closed in and the scenery shifted and…
The grip on his forearm released, and his captor rolled Jason onto his back, hemming him in instead of holding him.
“Are you okay?” Cole asked, his voice strange and gravely.
Jason screamed in fury and kicked Cole in the balls. His foot hit something hard, but he didn’t stop to ask questions, scrambling back till his back hit the wall. He needed to get out of the building, needed police. If he didn’t move quick, no one would ever know who killed his mom.
But…what?
Panting, Jason looked around the stairwell. It was dark and smelled of mildew and rot, and the layout had changed. The distance across the landing to the stairs themselves was shorter than he remembered.
His eyes traced the dark for Cole, but all he saw was a dark shape too big to be his mom’s lanky dealer. Jason felt a belt of fear clench around his ribcage, stilling his breath as the figure rose like ink spilling upwards.
The figure shifted—reaching for something, he realized—but Jason was paralyzed. He dug his nails into the wood and braced for a blow.
None came.
“Are you okay?” the figure asked again, his voice deep and rumbly…and familiar. Jason had definitely heard his voice before, maybe on the news?
Jason hesitantly opened his eyes, blinking at the bright LED light a few inches from his face. The man had turned on some kind of flashlight or lantern. Jason had to look away to let his eyes adjust to the light. Answering the question didn’t even cross his mind; he barely remembered a question had been asked.
“Alright, we’re going to get you to the hospital—”
“No!” Jason bolted to his feet and found himself standing face to face with Batman.
Oh shit.
Batman tilted his head. “I’m worried there might still be some fear gas in your system. You need help.”
Jason could have screamed. “I’m fine! I just—I need to get home.”
It was weird just how skeptical Batman could look just in silhouette. “You need help.”
“I…” Jason withered under that stare. “My mom will worry about me.”
My mom is dead. Jason’s throat tightened, his eyes watering at the distorted memory flashing through his mind.
It wasn’t real, he tried to remind himself, but that wasn’t fully true. He’d found her on the bathroom floor, not the living room floor. Her sweatshirt had been mottled with sweat and stains, the vomit and blood still there. She’d hit her head on the bathroom counter when she fell. The policeman had told his social worker that she might have lived if she’d fallen just an inch to the right.
“Son…” Batman sighed. “Are you hiding from someone?”
The harsh glare of the LED lantern showed Jason for all he was—filthy, skinny, unkempt. He could yell “I live on the streets,” and that wouldn’t scream homeless as much as his appearance did. There was no denying that Jason was a runaway.
Jason started to shake his head, then he realized that Batman of all people might understand his predicament.
“My—my dad owes Two Face money,” Jason stammered. “But he’s in jail, and—and if I get caught, they’re going to make me work for them.”
Or worse. Grownups never ran out of ways to hurt kids.
Batman paused, then inclined his head. “And your mother?”
Jason bit his lip and took a shaky breath, but he couldn’t choke out the words. He gave Batman a pleading look, silently begging him to understand.
To his relief, Batman did seem to understand. The man’s shoulders visibly relaxed, and he nodded. “Who takes care of you?”
Jason shrugged and swiped at his eyes and nose, trying to be subtle about wiping away the tears. “I do.”
“I see.” Batman nodded again thoughtfully. “Can I ask you another question?”
Yeah, right, like Jason had a choice? Glumly, Jason nodded.
“Are you hungry?”