Revenge of The Riddler's Daughter

The Final Stop

I approach the library door with a small smirk on my face. The only thing I was a little annoyed about was my phone, vibrating constantly. Anyone who knew me, knew I could not be on it around my dad. He would be disappointed to catch me on such a thing, and he was in such a good mood today I was not going to ruin it. Odds are the phone call is just another stupid telemarketer. Oo! There's an idea, me and my pops should go out killing all the telemarketers. We could hang them by the phone cables! I must remember to tell him my idea.

I open the door to see that the library had been tossed about, which appeared odd to me. Usually my old man would never leave a trace behind, nor a mess. Whenever I did such he'd call my work sloppy. However, knowing how his genius worked he most certainly had a reason for it. He did tell me to turn the place downstairs over, it must be apart of one of his riddles for the bats. "All set downstairs Pops!" I ask giving a small smile, hoping that he was not stressed out. When my father was stressed out, I usually became stressed out. Then things would unravel from there.

My father did not turn to me, instead he kept his back facing me and his head buried in papers. I close the door behind me, knowing from experience a closed door was always best. That way you'd know if someone was trying to enter the room. I smirk, remembering it as another one of my father's lessons. Wait. It occurs to me what felt so odd, and unusual about this moment. Looming over the room was this curtain of silence. My father always had a lesson for me or a constructive comment, but he hadn't acknowledged my presence yet.

The closer I got to my pops, the more tense I felt. My heart pounding, did he expect something else of me? What was I supposed to say? What was I supposed to do? My head fills with questions wondering if he was upset. Had I forgotten something, he did tell me to wreck the place downstairs? I move across the table. "Pops?"

No answer.

His back was still towards me but I could tell he was holding something in his arms. I wonder what it is.

"Pops, is everything okay?" I say showing concern in my voice. This was unlike my father.

No answer.

Oh no! What if he wasn't feeling well. That would ruin our daddy daughter crime spree for sure. He was quiet, way to quiet. Was he in thought? His genius did like to think in silence but that was home, never on a mission. My heart started to pound in my chest with great worry for my father.

"That's what you would like me to believe-" A low, dark voice answered but it did not sound like my father meant those words for me. His tone was like the one he used on his imbecile like victims. "Isn't it? Enigma."

His head tilted up, I could see his eyes shadowed beneath his fedora. His glance sent a chill down my spin. My heart pounded, feeling like this was a dangerous situation. However, my brain reasoned against any rash judgements of that kind, for it was my father after all. Not an enemy. His whole demeanor changed since I last saw him a few moments ago. It made my nerves uneasy. "Pops, what's wrong?" I ask, scanning the room. There was always cameras, even he warned me of such. The odd part of it, there was none. Riddle me this; what kind of setup was Dent running that didn't have cameras?

My heart beats faster as I step forward, trying not to show any confusion nor concern in my body language.

"Sit down Enigma."

I pause looking at the chair beside me. I was not sure it was best to sit down. It would prevent me from being on guard to any attack...yet, only my father was here. What did I have to fear? One part of me riddled with that question. My gut told me to run, told me that my father was not acting like himself. My heart and brain were in agreement. My father loved me, he'd never put me in harms way. I was his flesh and blood, his legacy. I took a deep breath before nodding. "Yes sir."