While her house was being sealed off for evidence, Max spent another week at the McGinnis residence.
Mary McGinnis happily took her in, sighting how bad the neighborhood was if she wasnearly assaulted twice within the same month.
A phone call from her parents was her biggest surprise: They were flying home within the next twenty-four hours.
The media was all over the news of the antics of the famed Angel Proctor and her hired cheerleaders, Mr. Wayne had the connections to keep her out of the frenzy, they could referred to her as the "victim" and her identity remained a secret only known to the Bats, the detectives, and the judge.
Max hugged the pillow to herself.
She didn't feel like a victim–more like a strange player in a even stranger game of chess or cards.
But she knew for sure as her name was Maxine Gibson, she did NOT want to relive the last month.
March came as a breathe of fresh air when the media finally let the case go.
The rumors at school didn't reveal anything other than "somewhere near Max Gibson's place."
She was delighted to find that connections kept such a tight lid on the story.
Jack Walker and Carter Wilson themselves made sure their own connections kept them as much out of the media's hunger for a story that somehow.
She had gotten a call from Jack one day that week from a secure line at his company. They were apologies for whatever he did in his drugged up state.Then, before hanging up, he told her he only remembered her being good at salsa dancing and that they should do it again if she in a million years considered it.
Besides the single black rose left on her door step one morning, Max didn't hear–and didn't know if she wanted to hear–anything from Carter.
(But a part of her wanted to.)
'What am I getting? Stockholm Syndrome or something?'
The memory of being kissed by the former Joker still jarred her some nights–she felt a profound disgust but (for some twisted reason) wondered if she kissed him back.
She caught her face in the mirror and sighed, brushing a stray pink strand back.
"It's hard to feel pretty when guys virtually ignore you . . . except the ones who try to kill you or were thieves."
Then there was Terry.
They had spoken very little–he had to do another week on the couch–about it.
As a matter of fact, they had spoken little about anything.
He was giving her space to adjust to the real world again but he near her side every chance he got.
Now she was grateful he was just a friend. His silence in the midst of noisy confusion comforted her.
Yet since the night the spent in the icy baby, the faint scent of cologne on his pillow gave her the urge to dream about him being her Knight . . . .
Terry had gotten a phone call while watching tv. The wave of crazy media crashed over the story about the crazed vid-host using mind control drugs to rob the wealth and harass helpless students.
Dana wanted to talk. He met up with her the next day after school for a quick bite and talk.
At Cheesy Dan's, the couple had some chit-chat about their days and the Angel Proctor case until they reached the issue. Dana suddenly took Terry's hand.
"I'm sorry about blowing up at you. I didn't give you a chance to make up with me."
She had in a quiet voice, looking into his eyes beseeching.
"Max told me you went through all that trouble to make sure I had a good time and I shouldn't have blown up at you. I just got so angry that my night was ruined-"
"Dana, we can't do this." He blurted out without another thought.
She only looked at him questioning.
"Do? Do what?"
He looked away then looked back at her.
"Play this game of make-up and break-up."
"What do you mean . . .?"
He took a deep breathe.
"I think we need a break. We need space. Dana, I think . . . I think we . . . we need time apart . . ."
Her face flushed, eyes wide at him, she only sat there frozen in her shock.
"I'm sorry. But that's just how I feel."
'So the truth is out,' he thought, 'I finally did it.'
"So, so you want a break? Where did all of this come from?" Her eyes colored with hurt.
Confusion twisted up into her face, her knuckles were white. The Asian girl asked him accusingly.
"You think we should break up, don't you?"
Terry knew that their relationship was pass saving, being Batman had taken all the life from it and that was sad. He loved Dana-really, he did, but her happiness was better off in the hands of another.
He couldn't say the fatal words but his actions were yelling them out.
He didn't answer her statement with a "yes" or "no," he only gave her kiss on the cheek and walked out the pizza place leaving her alone with her anger and confusion.
Terry unlocked the apartment and let himself in.
No sounds of a vid games or pots clanging made him wander toward the kitchen.
A note was posted on the fridge waiting for him:
Matt and his mom were off to the grocery store while Max was napping in his room, leaving the two teens alone in the apartment. His feet dragged up the stairs. Talking with Dana left him drained.
He knocked on his room. Footsteps got closer and a sleepy Max opened the door slowly.
"Terry?"
He could see she just had woken up, smoothing her hair down. Her books were scattered over the bed along with the blank screen of her laptop.
"Mind if I come in?"
She shrugged, stepping aside to let him in. "It's your room."
He closed the door behind him then took a deep breath.
"Max, I think we need to talk."
"About what? Last week?" She remember Mr. Wayne offering to send her to therapy.
"Yeah . . ." He stood very close in front of her. "Sort of."
"Sure, if you think it'll help. What's on your mind?"
His hands rested on her arms as if to embrace, their eyes met.
Maxine Gibson suddenly knew whatever he was about to say had nothing to do with last week, she was swimming in that impossible sea of blue she both loved and dreaded.
His next words would hold deep changes.
Something that wasn't being done by a drug.