I walk down to the park beneath the bridge, pulling my jacket tighter around me. I look around, seeing small clusters of people every now and then, hiding in the shadows of the trees. It's still light out, but it's always darker down here. I find a nice, tall tree and jump, grabbing the lowest branch and pulling myself up onto it. I look around and smirk as my eyes land on a man asleep on a bench. His jacket is falling open, and I can see something in his pocket.
I jump down off the branch and walk silently toward him. I reach out my hand, slowly inching it toward his pocket. I slip my hand in and close my fist around a leather wallet. I smirk and pull it out carefully. As I pull it out fully, looking around, cold metal clamps onto my wrist. I look back, startled, and see the man smirking at me as he closes handcuffs around my wrist.
"Nice to meet you, sweetheart," he says. "Sorry to ruin your moment, but I think it's time you found out what you've been missing." He looks behind him. "Hey, Gordon! I got her!" What the hell? Then I see him. The same man I've carefully avoided for the last two days. I close my eyes and lean my head back. I gotta say I'm disappointed in myself.
"Damn it!" I exclaim. The man--Gordon, I guess--smirks.
"Well, hello again," he says. "This time, I will say it. Nice to see you again...Cassidy." I groan and look at the ground. I look back up at him as the other man closes the other cuff around my other wrist.
"Well," I say. "You know my name. Don't I get to know yours?" He narrows his eyes but shrugs.
"You'll probably find out eventually anyway," he says. "Jim Gordon. I'd shake your hand, but I think they're otherwise occupied." I scowl at him as the man drags me toward a car and pushes me into the backseat. As we drive to the station, I'm inwardly beating myself up. I've been caught so many times over the past three years, but I've always been able to get away. I guess this is just one time I gambled a little too much.
The door opened, and the man I don't know pulls me out of the car and up the stairs. He walks me to the back where he pulls me into a room and sits me in the chair at the table, uncuffs one arm, and cuffs the other arm to the table.
"I don't trust you not to escape," he says before walking out. I reach into my pocket and pull out my pocket knife. I flick the blade out and start picking the lock on the handcuffs. It clicks open, and I pull my wrist out of the metal circle. I jump up and run to the door, turning the handle. It's locked of course. I put the knife back in my pocket and pull out my tumblers. I kneel down to pick the lock, but before I hear that satisfying click, the door swings open, and I look up at Jim Gordon. He sighs as I stand up and holds out his hand. I scowl and drop my stuff into his hand. He glances at my pocket, then back up at me, and I groan. I pull out my knife and hand it to him. He nods toward the chair, and I sit down.
"So," he starts, "you fell for it...hook, line, and sinker." I scowl at him, not saying anything. He scoffs. "You do this every time I see you. Just talk. I know you want to." I roll my eyes and lean back, crossing my legs and my arms.
"What's there to say?" I ask. "You caught me fair and square. Nice job, by the way, luring me in like that. How you knew I'd be there, though, I have no idea." He shrugs and throws down a file. My file.
"We have almost nothing on you," he says. "You've done a good job at staying hidden these past few years." I bow slightly, then return to my previous position. "So what is your real name, Cassidy Alexandra? You've been Cassidy White, Cassidy Neal, Cassidy Jamison, and Cassidy Viola, but what is your last name?" I glare at him, then shrug.
"I don't know," I say. "I never knew." He nods.
"So you never knew your real parents?" I shake my head.
"Been in and out of foster homes since day one." I see something behind his eyes, but then it's gone.
"You are just more and more intriguing every time I see you," he says. "What about the things we don't know? All we have on you is your name, how long you've been here, and the homes you've been in. What else is there?" I shrug.
"What else do you wanna know?" He pauses.
"Where are you from?"
"Well, my first home was in Metropolis, then I lived in the middle of nowhere in my next two homes, then my last home was here, and I just--" I smile. "--love it here." He nods.
"How long were you in each of your homes?"
"My first home I was in until I was five, my second from five to eight, my third from eight to ten, and my fourth from ten to twelve. That's when I decided I didn't wanna move anymore. Like I said, I love it here."
"Why do you hate the foster system so much?" I frown, angry.
"I was stuck in there my whole life, and it took me twelve years to figure out what it actually was." He says nothing. Just listens. "It's a cage. Nothing good comes out of it, and once you get stuck in there, the only way out is to escape or serve your sentence. You never get a good family, and if you do you're eventually forced to leave. You can't get let out for good behavior." If possible, my frown deepens. "And you never get adopted."
He sits there for a second, nods, stands up, and leaves, once again locking the door, but this time I don't have any tools to help me escape. Just the key to Fish's club and the phone, and neither of those are any help. I don't know how long I sit there, but I think I fall asleep with my head on the table before he eventually comes back and throws some papers down onto the table. I look down at them and frown.
What the hell?
I do not own Gotham or its characters. I do however own Cassidy Alexandra, Ice, Gracelyn Ventura, etc. and their plot, so don't steal. It's not nice.
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