This is my first fanfic and I am still a little unsure of the ratings. The first chapter may be one of the more gruesome or the rating may go up. Also, this wouldn't be strictly canon and will pull from other representations of Batman. That said, enjoy!
Chapter 1 Welcome HomeWinter was coming in Gotham. Helena Troy kept one arm close around her midsection holding the strap of her bag and used the other to clutch at the opening of her hoodie. It helped little since her real problem was the cold air blowing in the gaps on the side of her sweatpants and her exposed feet. Damn leotard was not helping to keep the cold out either, just bunching in a manner that she couldn't fix until propriety allowed. She listened to her flip-flops against the cement sidewalk, cursing the cold September brings and herself for not packing clothes to compensate for the weather.
It wasn't her fault. She was used to the five-minute walk to her apartment near campus after practice rather than the subway ride and twenty minute walk to her parents house. Both of Helena's parents were committed to coming every gymnastic event she'd ever competed in since her start at age four. She was starting her senior year at Gotham U and for the first time neither of her parents could get off work to see her. She assured them that it was fine, but they insisted on a home-cooked meal to compensate. She couldn't say no to a free meal or her kind parents' wishes.
Helena looked at the setting sun between the buildings. She sighed, looking down again to avoid the bite of the wind. On top of it all she'd have to ask for a ride home. Gotham had never really been safe past dark, but since the Batman's disappearance five years ago crime had skyrocketed again. Granted, any rogue worth mentioning was gone by the time he'd stopped, but new players had replaced the villains. Nightwing occasionally came over from Bludhaven and Batwoman still presided over Gotham's rooftops, but it just wasn't enough to keep the new rogues away.
Not that Helena cared about the costumed element of Gotham; her thoughts were consumed by the reason she was walking in the first place.
The mechanic assured her that her bike would be ready by the end of the week. He told so her twice. It was now over two weeks and she was still walking. Next time she would just buy a book on motorcycle repair and figure it out herself. There was no way a greasy, bald, fat man in overalls was smarter than her.
It's not like it was her fault the bike got crashed in the first place. Okay, it was, but if the cops hadn't insisted on being so persistent she wouldn't have gotten so cocky. She had been doing a little joy riding, breaking at least twenty traffic laws in the process but it wouldn't have been such a joy otherwise, when she saw the cherries in her mirror. She had to dodge through heavy traffic at high speeds and force some pedestrians off sidewalks but she had managed to outrun Gotham's finest. The only problem was when she looked over her shoulder to smirk at her accomplishment; she had missed the dump truck backing out in front of her. She managed to jump off just in time. Her mother said she was lucky to be alive, let alone completely unharmed. Helena just wished her baby had faired as well as she did.
Helena braved the chilling wind and saw her parent's green front door only a block away. "Finally," she thought.
She jogged the final distance to the house. She put down her bag and kicked off her flip-flops onto the mat in the entryway. "Mom! Dad! Hey, I'm home!" Her empty stomach growled and she sniffed the air but couldn't pick up any whiff of cooking. Despite the lack of answer Helena turned the corner expecting to be greeted by her excited parents and a full table in the family dinning room.
When she looked up she got an entirely different kind of greeting.
Blood covered the beige carpet. Helena recognized it came from the two corpses. One was the back of a middle-aged man with gray temples, one who looked like he tripped and fell onto a pool stain of blood, one that resembled her father from the back. The other corpse was her mother. Her now empty gray eyes stared back at Helena and the mouth hung open in a silent scream. Helena shuddered at the way the throat had been opened spilling onto her mother's dress and apron.
Helena, unable to look at the bodies anymore, looked up. Instead of being greeted by a landscape print, there was a message in red:
I know who you are.