Announcer: When last we left Gotham, Dear Reader, we had seen Batgirl absorb the insult of developments most disturbing! Even while the citizenry had turned its ire upon our fair heroine, Commissioner Gordon had turned his eyes to his dear daughter’s hidden life! And Batgirl, to be forever as feeble as a mere babe, else to be willing slave to dread Diapergirl’s whim? But many things may yet be changed....
Batgirl was not at all happy with her situation. Two days had passed, but she was still at least as weak as she had been when first captured. She had made some efforts to try to reason with Diapergirl, without success. Diapergirl was not listening; she was having too much fun devising games to play with Batgirl, her new toy. At the moment, Diapergirl’s game had herself and her two favorite babyslaves gathered around the captive, singing a badly off-key rendition of a Ronettes song.
“Be my, be my bay-bee, my one-and-only bay-bee,” they sang, on and on. The lyrics were meant to be humiliating to Batgirl, to remind her of her debilitated state as a Big Baby. In truth, the torment lay in the delivery. Batgirl wanted to cover her ears, but her arms hung limply at her sides, no matter how she might command them to be elsewhere.
The table on which Batgirl lay came to a level slightly above waist high. She lay on her back, unable to move, wearing one of Diapergirl’s diapers, not at all happy about any of it. She was uncomfortable. The air was chilly and the padded surface on which she lay stuck to her legs like leatherette automobile upholstery. And her shoulder itched, maddeningly. More than anything, she wanted to be able to scratch away that itch. ‘This is how they’re going to break me,’ she thought. ‘Irritate me to tears with itching and singing.’
She wondered whether she should hope for someone to rescue her. Batgirl had been rescued often enough, particularly in her early days. But she was proud to have been able to handle most situations by herself as she grew into her masked role. Rescue would be a step backward, a regression. Besides, who would rescue her? No one knew she was here. Perhaps Commissioner Gordon might guess her location, but she really didn’t want him to find her like this. The state in which she lay was humiliating enough without anyone seeing her this way. Particularly her father, particularly when he seemed so dangerously close to knowing her secret. ‘I need to find a way out of this dilemma myself,’ she thought, as they finally stopped mangling their music. ‘And I need to do it without being able to move.’ Batgirl sighed and continued trying to formulate a plan.
“Dear me, dear me,” moaned Commissioner Gordon. He’d found himself saying that frequently, over the past couple of days. Were he a swearing man, he might have scorched the air around him with a few choice oaths. But the Commissioner was not a swearing man. Still, he felt helpless. James Gordon did not like feeling helpless.
Barbara was “missing” again. She had disappeared like this several times, over the years, and he’d worried himself half to death almost every time, then accepted her explanations for her whereabouts once she reappeared. He’d begun to worry less the last few times it had happened, feeling reasonably certain that there was a logical cause for Barbara’s unexcused absence from work, her failure to answer her phone. But it was different, now. Now, he had a terrible feeling that he knew, more or less, where she was. Or at least why she was missing.
Barbara’s outrage, following the regrettable grilling he’d given her two days ago, had caused him to reconsider the notion he'd abruptly developed, that Barbara was Batgirl. Gradually, over long, sleepless hours, he’d talked himself out of it. Barbara as Batgirl? She was right; it was absurd. Batgirl was a fighter, and he couldn’t imagine his daughter having a violent bone in her body. Barbara was soft, protected from the world’s horrors, as innocent as he’d ever hoped a child of his might be in this harsh, troubled world.
Then, during that sleepless night, he’d remembered Barbara as she had been, before her mother was taken from them. Bright, daring, optimistic, driven. He smiled, remembering her passion for the ballet. All those years of lessons, pursuing her dream with a determination that had made him proud. It seemed like only yesterday. Where did the time go?
Cancer had changed all of it. Unstoppable, uncontrolled cell growth had taken James Gordon’s wife from him. He’d been devastated, certainly, but it had been worse for Barbara. Her mother’s death had taken all of the wind from Barbara’s sails. She’d managed to maintain her grades, but ballet, her dream, seemed to fall away from her altogether. She had become withdrawn, living in a world of books. There was eventual improvement thanks, in part, to a capable (if expensive) therapist. Gordon had been relieved to see some of his daughter’s zest for life return, but he had always felt that part of her had never been fully restored. Some piece of Barbara Gordon, the piece that was passionate and driven, perhaps, seemed to have vanished. It saddened him, but he’d learned to accept it.
Yet now he wondered whether it had gone away at all. Perhaps all of Barbara was still there. Perhaps the missing portion was simply being expressed in some way he, her father, could not perceive. What if, thought Gordon, just what if that missing piece of Barbara is Batgirl? What if he had been correct? Did he have the right, even knowing the risks Batgirl took, to criticize her? To demand that she shut away that part of herself forever? The sense of loss evoked by this idea had brought Gordon closer to tears than he’d been in a long time.
By morning he’d talked himself back into his conclusions, but with a completely changed understanding of them. If Barbara is Batgirl, then Batgirl is a Gordon, too, by God. He would embrace the situation, as well as he could.
Except now Barbara was missing again. Gordon was tormented. He was terrified that one of Gotham’s fiends might have taken his daughter from him now, just as he’d finally come to understand her. He wanted his daughter back. Both of her.
“Dear me,” he said, again.
Diapergirl stopped dancing around and tossed her teddy bear aside, having grown bored with it. She turned back to Batgirl, who had been studying her captor as closely as possible, given her limited range of motion. Somewhere in the room, outside of Batgirl’s view, Winny, the blue babyslave, was busy tearing the heads off of various dolls which must have offended her in some way. The red babyslave stood at attention, near the door. The room was not overly large, no larger than Commissioner Gordon’s office, certainly, but its high ceiling made it seem larger to Batgirl, whose position gave her a better view of the ceiling than anything else. The walls were painted with rainbows and unicorns and such, all the gaudy decorations that Barbara had found somehow distasteful when she was a child, but which young girls were supposed to like, for one reason or another. The room was somewhere in a sub-basement, below the main Squeezies office building. Batgirl wondered if other companies could claim executives with such secrets hidden on company property. Probably not. Diapergirl was one-of-a-kind.
Diapergirl bounced over to Batgirl and put her face on level with the captive’s.
“And now you are all clean and fresh in a new diaper; perhaps we can talk?” Diapergirl smiled.
Batgirl didn’t feel like smiling. She was repulsed. “Is that what your little club is all about, Diapergirl? Playing dress-ups and changing diapers?”
Diapergirl didn’t seem to like this response. She got up and paced a bit, began fiddling with her pacifier in an agitated manner.
“Have you never longed for a time, Batgirl, when you were happy and innocent, free of all the conflicts of your life?”
Batgirl didn’t answer. Diapergirl seemed a bit disappointed by this, but continued.
“I think you have; what happens when you put on your mask? The woman you've been all your life disappears, and a simpler one, without a history, without all your life's troubles, takes her place. It is much the same with us, with our "dress-ups", as you say. Our costumes are different, yours and mine, but we are oh-so-much alike.” She smiled at Batgirl again, but Batgirl thought she saw something slip across Diapergirl’s face, momentarily, before that smile jumped into place. It was a practiced stage smile. But what lay behind it?
“Diapergirl, don’t you have a company to run? Why waste your time with me?”
“Dear Linny has all of that well in hand, don’t you, Lin?”
“A few documents require your signature; otherwise, everything is in order.” The response came from the door.
‘The red babyslave is Linny,’ Batgirl concluded. ‘Linny and Winny. Cute.’
“Linny’s a genius for business. I’d be lost without my Number One,” commented Diapergirl.
This elicited a derisive snort from the corner where Winny crouched, still breaking her toys.
“Thank you,” replied Linny. Diapergirl nodded toward the door, then turned back to Batgirl.
“Well, let’s talk, then. We seem to have nothing but time.” Batgirl might have shrugged, if she were able.
“We have as much time as it will take for you to decide to be my friend, Batgirl.”
‘Friend,’ noted Batgirl. She took the cue. “Diapergirl – can I call you Janet?”
“You are making progress at last, Batgirl.” Diapergirl smiled some more. “And what can I call you?”
“Just Batgirl, for now. That’s how you’re interested in me, isn’t it? As Batgirl? You don’t want another name.”
Diapergirl seemed momentarily uncertain. Batgirl felt encouraged. She began to come up with a vague plan. ‘It might work, if I can keep Diapergirl off-balance, not quite in charge of the situation.’
“Janet,” Batgirl said, probing, “perhaps you are right. We are alike in many ways.”
“We will be more alike once you love your diapers, Batgirl, like a proper babyslave.” Diapergirl was more assured when returning to her fixed idea, the diapers.
’She uses the idea of diapers to protect herself from something,’ thought Batgirl. ‘But what? Surely more than mere uncertainty.’
“Perhaps,” said Batgirl, noncommital. “But there’s something compelling about what you said, before. We both wear costumes, don’t we? How could we not be alike?” Batgirl smiled engagingly. Diapergirl liked this line of reasoning. She nodded, happily. “Now, I know what I, Batgirl, get out of wearing a costume. But what about you? What do you get out of it?”
Diapergirl was not as put-off by this as Batgirl had hoped. She was clearly amused. “But how can you need to ask this, Batgirl? Do you, too, not feel so very liberated by your disguise? Is it not a pure thrill?”
“Sometimes, yes,” Batgirl replied, making her face very serious, as though trying to influence a small child to also feel serious. “But it can also be complex, can’t it? The mask brings its own concerns and conflicts into my life. It can be easy to run to the mask to escape the real me, then run to the real me to escape from the mask. Do you see?”
Diapergirl did seem to see something. She was successfully drawn into the idea of a serious, complex world, but didn’t seem to like it. She rejected it quickly, her stage smile springing back to her face. “From what could I wish to escape, Batgirl? I am always having the most wonderful time!”
“Is it just one long party, Janet?”
“And why not? Am I not always surrounded by my dear friends? And you will be my friend, too, once you have time to decide. I cannot wait!” Diapergirl danced in joyous anticipation of Batgirl’s conversion into a babyslave. Her dancing took her across the room, where she became distracted by the opportunity for another new game. Batgirl groaned.
‘She’s been gone for two days, dear me,’ thought the Commissioner. ‘Barbara, what have you gotten yourself into this time?’
Something needed to be done. If the Commissioner’s conclusions were correct, and he thought they were, Barbara would have a real mess on her hands whenever she finally did reappear. The public outrage over Batgirl and Adult Babies just seemed to go on and on, growing worse with each day. The media loved a scandal and they were doing more than their part to keep this one alive. ‘Are there no responsible journalists anywhere?’ No media outlet seemed interested in trying to look at the other side, in trying to defend Batgirl’s good name. Gordon decided he’d have to do something to help Batgirl’s situation himself.
But where to start? The most obvious problem, in Gordon’s view, was this Phony Batgirl. Perhaps she held his thoughts because he felt the fake had insulted himself and his daughter. He decided the contract with Diapergirl must be a fake, too. If Barbara was Batgirl, and she might well be, then Batgirl could never really have signed any contract with Diapergirl. The idea was ridiculous. No, Gordon was sure the phony Batgirl was tied up with a phony contract. By exposing both fakes, Gordon might at least turn the public’s scorn away from Batgirl. Yes, that was the way to go. Find the fake. He was sure she’d still be running around, promoting Diapergirl’s wares, fueling the public’s dislike of Batgirl.
Gordon rang for O’Hara to come to his office.
It was a few unpleasant hours before Batgirl could get Diapergirl to speak seriously again. Batgirl remembered the TV commentator’s statement about the ABY movement: 'I don’t want to have to know about it.' Batgirl was feeling much the same way about Diapergirl’s games. Somewhere in that span of time, Winny had found her opportunity to test whether or not Batgirl was a crybaby. This had reaffirmed for Batgirl the urgency of her need to escape from this mess. It also made her more leery of Winny.
“I am sorry Winny upset you, Batgirl. She can be mean. But we love her, and it is all just part of the game, you see?”
“Thank you for your concern, Janet,” said Batgirl, carefully. “Will you tell me something?”
“As long as your question is not too naughty, Batgirl!” Diapergirl was still wound up from her recent games.
“Are you at all aware of the mess your phony Batgirl has created for you, Janet? The public now seems to hate your Adult Babies.” Batgirl thought Diapergirl was insulated from the events of the day, quite likely unaware of the disaster she’d created for the very people whose cause she championed.
“I do not understand you, Batgirl. What do you mean, ‘phony Batgirl?’ Linny, what have you done?”
‘She’s even less aware than I thought,’ Batgirl quickly concluded. ‘Linny’s running the show.’
“After your television appearance with Taylor Carlton,” said Linny, “we were pleased to be contacted by Batgirl. She wanted to sign a contract with Diapergirl’s Own, to advertise. Just like you’d hoped.”
“This is true?” Diapergirl looked at the captive with hope.
“No,” said Linny. “The Batgirl we signed was a fake, a set up. She was sent by Gothamites Organized Against Depravity.”
“Those people again! Will they not leave us in peace? Do I seem depraved?” Batgirl stifled the urge to laugh at this question.
Linny continued, calmly. “GOAD used us to start an anti-ABY campaign. I eventually managed to use their fake Batgirl to bring us the real one. Steps are being taken to fix the GOAD problem, now that we have Batgirl. I have it under control.”
“I hope so, Linny. It is a bad business. People must not hate our dear ABY friends!”
‘Diapergirl is really only the smiling spokesmodel,’ thought Batgirl. ‘Everything else is run by others.' She had seen Diapergirl influenced to almost equal degrees by Linny and Winny in the past couple of days. Diapergirl’s only other influence seemed to be boredom, or a dread of boredom. Any quiet, uneventful moment that might force Diapergirl to face herself was swept aside by some new game. Diapergirl was running from something inside herself. Batgirl remembered what she’d read in the police files. She had a pretty good idea what Janet was repressing.
She decided to probe into Janet’s past. If Diapergirl could be forced to think about the memories she was blocking out, Batgirl’s plan might have a chance.
“Then tell me this, Janet: have you always been Diapergirl? Surely there was a time, long ago, when you were different.” It was a clumsy start, but Batgirl had to begin somewhere.
“Have you always been Batgirl?” Diapergirl turned the question back on the questioner.
“No, I haven’t always had my mask. But sometimes, looking back, it seems inevitable. But what about you?"
Janet responded assuredly. “As long as I have had diapers, I have been Diapergirl. I have always had diapers.”
‘This is going nowhere,’ Batgirl thought in frustration. ‘Her obsession with diapers absorbs and protects her from everything.’ Batgirl knew she needed to make Janet think without giving her a chance to invoke the obsession. But how?
“I don’t follow you, Commissioner. Can you say it again?” O’Hara’s brow was furrowed so deeply, it seemed that the two sides of his face were trying to trade places.
“One more time, then. You remember two days ago, when Barbara was here.”
“Indeed, I do. Looked rather unhappy as she left, she did. Was there a quarrel?”
“Somewhat, O’Hara, but that’s hardly the point. On that day, Batgirl visited.”
“Yes, she did. She arrived at 18:05 and left again at 18:08. Seemed to be a bit tense. I suspect it was the protestors. What I can’t understand is, how did she get past ‘em without any trouble?”
“That’s an interesting question but, again, irrelevant. What I want you to understand is this: that was not really Batgirl. She was a fake. You need to follow me, O’Hara.”
“I’m really tryin’, Commissioner. But how could you tell? She looked all right to me, she did.”
‘Yes,’ thought the Commissioner, humorlessly, “I’ve seen you looking.’ The idea bothered Gordon, now, for reasons he never would have anticipated, in the past.
“Well, take my word for it, O’Hara. She was a fake. But we need to find her. Your men need to be on the lookout for this fake Batgirl. Do you follow me?”
“I follow you. Only, considerin’ you’re the only one who can see that she’s a fake, how are we supposed to tell? What if we find Batgirl and she’s not a fake?”
“Then you’ll be looking for the real Batgirl, as well.” Gordon now realized he should have ordered O’Hara to search for Batgirl, period. It would have saved him five minutes of exasperation. ‘Make it easy for him,’ thought Gordon, sadly.
“Those are your orders, O’Hara. Any sign of Batgirl, any Batgirl at all, and I want to know. Got it?”
O’Hara finally left, and Gordon sat, trying to concentrate on some of the administrative paperwork that had been piling up for the past few days. He made little progress. The paperwork would keep piling up until this Batgirl crisis ended.
There was no end to it. Diapergirl’s diaper obsession had no limits, engulfed everything. Batgirl was making no progress and was getting tired of running in circles. She began to wonder if she needed a completely new plan. But her options were limited. She couldn’t move.
The heroine wondered if she should stop trying to get into Janet’s head. ‘Janet’s head is full of superabsorbent padding,’ Batgirl though in frustration. Diapergirl’s mind was supersaturated with the obsessions she used to block out the world. But what other tactic could Batgirl try? Would it be better to pretend to agree to become a babyslave? Why not? Would it be as bad as all that? ‘It can’t be worse than this,’ thought Batgirl.
There was a moment of weakness. Batgirl really wanted this situation to end. She looked at her surroundings, however, and found herself revolted at the idea of even pretending to embrace Diapergirl’s world. Batgirl wanted to re-enter the world of adults, not delve further into the world of Big Babydom. Unable to think of anything else, she returned to her earlier plan.
Janet was running from herself, running as fast as she could. Batgirl was sure that Janet would collapse altogether if she were forced to look at herself, forced to acknowledge her problems. She would have to be tricked. How to trick her into thinking about herself?
‘She’s obsessed with two things,’ the heroine noted, ‘diapers and Batgirl. Let’s try to get her to think about Batgirl.’
Gordon was ready to get to the bottom of things. O’Hara had brought him a Batgirl. Clearly, she was the fake. Or a fake. Gordon wasn’t prepared to swear it was the same woman he’d seen before.
He jumped straight to his point. “Just who are you, young lady, and who’s put you up to this?”
“I don’t understand,” said the masked woman. “Who’s put me up to what?”
“Don’t play dumb with me. You’re not Batgirl!”
She laughed. “It’s news to me.”
“You’ve chosen the wrong man with whom to play this game, young lady. You’re obviously not Batgirl, but you are involved in this contract nonsense which has caused such an uproar. You’re going to tell the public the truth.”
“Commissioner Gordon, you are wrong. I say I am Batgirl, and I have signed a contract with Diapergirl. Why not? Let the people complain. They’re happier that way. And if I’m not Batgirl, prove it.”
Gordon saw that there wasn’t much he could do. Anyone could wear a mask. There was no law against it. Worse, he began to have doubts. Perhaps Barbara wasn’t Batgirl. Perhaps the heroine wasn’t just one woman, but a group of women in rotation. Maybe this really was Batgirl? How could he tell, really? Even unmasking this woman before him would prove nothing.
The Commissioner scowled as he dismissed her. “Well, then, go on. Go back to whatever it is that you do.”
“Thank you for your permission, Commissioner,” said this Batgirl of uncertain authenticity. She was smirking as she left.
As soon as she’d closed the door, he turned to O’Hara. “Have her followed.”
O’Hara gaped at him. “Follow Batgirl, Commissioner? Are you sure we should? I mean, why?”
Gordon wanted to throttle his companion. He realized that he needed to calm down. He tried to make his voice calm.
“That was not Batgirl, O’Hara. You did well; I sent you after a fake and you brought me one. Now, have her followed. We need to know where she’s going.”
“It doesn’t seem right, Commissioner,” complained O’Hara, as he stepped out to give the proper orders.
Commissioner Gordon collapsed into his chair, weighted down by epistemological questions. What did he really know? How did he know he knew it? How could anyone be sure of anything, when the masks could be so easily be juggled around and mixed up? He knew one thing, at this point: Barbara was missing, and he needed to find her. Everything else seemed to have collapsed into a muddle. He failed to fight back a reflexive, “dear me.”
Batgirl chose her words carefully. ‘Speak to her like she’s a a child,’ she thought, ‘because she thinks like a child.’ “Janet, when you were a girl, didn’t you ever dream of being anything?”
Diapergirl seemed to struggle with the idea. “I do not know, Batgirl. Did you?”
“Yes. I wanted to be a ballerina. I worked and worked at it for years. But a terrible change happened, and I found that I could never dance again. Has anything like that ever happened to you?”
“No. N-nothing terrible has ever happened to me. But what are girlish dreams? We are adults, yes?”
“But we’re playing at being Big Babies, aren’t we?”
“Tell me what happened to you, this terrible thing.”
‘Got her,’ thought Batgirl. “Perhaps I shouldn’t. You don’t like terrible things, do you, Janet?”
“Please tell me. I must know.” Diapergirl’s face was grave; her need truly was imperative.
“Someone very special to me died, Janet. She got sick. Sometimes we lose people we love, no matter how hard we try to hold on to them.”
“Who-Who died, Batgirl?”
“A parent.” ‘Keep it ambiguous. Make her think.’
“Your father?”
‘Good job, Janet. A little further, now.’ “No, my father is still alive. We aren’t getting along right now, though.”
“Do you like your father, Batgirl?” Janet was thinking, now.
“I both like him and love him, but right now we don’t get along. He has never done anything to deliberately hurt me.”
“I do not like my father.” Janet whispered, in an odd singsong tone.
The heroine was taken aback. ‘Her father is dead,’ she thought. “Why not, Janet?” she asked.
“He has hurt me. Yes, I think he has hurt me deliberately. I do not like him. He is not Diapergirl’s father. Is your father Batgirl’s father?”
The question had never occurred to Batgirl, but somehow it seemed completely reasonable. “I think I’d like him to be, but he doesn’t accept Batgirl. That’s why we’re not getting along.”
“Does he know all about you?” Diapergirl’s face had become pleading.
“Not everything, but I think he knows about Batgirl.”
“When I was very young, perhaps I liked my father. I did not know better. He has hurt me, yes.”
“When you were very young, you were his child model, weren’t you? You must have been special to him.”
Janet considered this for a moment. Batgirl was sure they were coming too close to the things Janet was trying to repress. The heroine expected Diapergirl to suddenly switch topics, to begin dancing in circles, to chase her babyslaves around the room with an armload of water balloons; anything to change the subject. But she didn’t. Instead, Janet began to speak, very quickly. Her words often ran together, or were made unintelligible by her French accent, as she ranted.
“He would not let me grow up! Always, I had to be the model! Soon, one day, I am too old for the diapers. I must wear them anyway, he says. I am the model! The model must wear the diapers! But I am too old for it. The other children, I am a monster to them. Too old, but wearing the diapers. I have no friends; I am the monster! Father hates me because I am too old! He, he hits me! He-he has hurt me! And mother, she is taking me away, I will never see the wicked father again. But he is still here! He tells me: Janet, you must wear your diapers, and he has hurt me! S-still he tells me, always... always....”
Batgirl knew her plan had to do this to Diapergirl, but she couldn’t help feeling pity for her captor. Janet was sobbing.
“He is still here,” she choked. Batgirl watched as she ran wildly across the room, kicking stuffed toys aside, to collapse in the corner.
“MAKE HIM STOP!!!” Diapergirl screamed, then withdrew into inarticulate sobs.
Perhaps it was the scream that launched Winny into action. The scream spoke of violence and pain; Winny’s predictable response to violence and pain was to lash out, creating yet more violence and pain. The blue babyslave launched herself at Batgirl with a shout hardly more coherent than Diapergirl’s sobs. Batgirl could not even raise her arms to block Winny’s blows. Batgirl closed her eyes, the only thing she could do to block out the attack. The pummeling blows went on and on, until they suddenly stopped.
Batgirl opened her eyes, wondering what had happened. Winny’s face was only inches from her own, glaring, with hatred, into Batgirl’s eyes. She looked like the Joker. There was murder in her face.
“Crybaby,” whispered Winny. She closed her hands around Batgirl’s throat. Batgirl tried to struggle. She couldn’t move. She was a Big Baby.
“We’ve been followin’ Batgirl, like you said, Commissioner.” Static crackled as the Chief’s voice came from Gordon’s speaker phone.
“What in the world are you doing out there, O’Hara? I wanted you to send your men, not go yourself.”
“Well, seein’ as I was so uncomfortable with having Batgirl followed, sir, I couldn’t ask me men to do somethin’ I wasn’t prepared to do meself.”
“You’re a bit old to be chasing mysterious women across Gotham, O’Hara.”
“Who’s ever too old for that? But we’re waitin’ for her to come out. She’s ducked into one of those Adult Baby clubs, Commissioner.”
“Well, what are you waiting for, O’Hara? Go in after her!”
“The men are a little uncomfortable goin’ into such a den of inequality, sir.”
“Iniquity, O’Hara. I don’t care what your radio blowhard calls such places. Go in after her.”
“Well, maybe we have, sort of. Jankowski ran in.”
“Jankowski?! What is she doing there?”
“She’s a good kid, Commissioner.”
“Yes, but she’s also a bit, oh, overenthusiastic, wouldn’t you say?”
“Whaddaya mean, sir?”
“Never mind, O’Hara. Get in there. Follow both of them in, before something disastrous can happen.”
Batgirl wasn’t sure how long a person could survive while being strangled. One might hold two or three minutes worth of oxygen in one’s lungs, but strangling might also block the bloodflow to the brain, like a garrote. Nor was she sure how long Winny’s clammy hands had been squeezing her throat. It seemed like forever. There was nothing she could do. She waited for it to end.
‘I’ll never be able to tell Daddy the truth,’ she found herself thinking. The lost possibilities! Tears flowed; Batgirl was a crybaby, as though that mattered. She wasn’t done with life yet, didn’t want it to stop. Not yet.
Then, just as Winny’s beating had suddenly ceased, the strangling also stopped. Batgirl found that she was afraid to open her eyes, afraid Winny was toying with her, waiting to subject her to the next attack. She waited until she’d stopped choking down air and was breathing steadily, if not calmly, before she dared to look around her.
Janet was still sobbing in her corner, unaware of everything. Winny was nowhere to be seen. Linny, however, stood beside Batgirl. She looked very sad.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to help you, Batgirl. I-I had to decide to change my whole life. It took me a moment to find the courage.”
“That’s a pretty big step, Linny,” said Batgirl. “Thank you for making it.” She tried very hard to smile.
The blonde woman slid into the booth across from the man in the gray flannel suit. They received a few odd glances from the other patrons of the club, who were dressed in the latest ABY fashions. These two were obviously outsiders. Most of the ABY’s turned away with a shrug; they were tolerant people.
“About time you got here,” growled the man. “Making me wait in a place like this....”
“Shut up, willya?” The woman was in no mood to be criticized. “I had to lose a tail. Police trouble. I lost them.”
The man looked around, suddenly panicky. “Jeez, don’t bring the cops here....”
“Relax. I have them all mixed up. Now, I’ve done what you wanted. Where’s my pay?”
The man grumbled. He produced a large envelope. Money poked out of the top of it. “Count it.”
“I can see that it’s enough already. Put it in my bag.” The woman opened her purse, on the table, so the envelope could be deposited within. A Batgirl mask was momentarily visible in the bag.
All at once, a camera’s flash bulb lit the room. The man cursed and the woman squeaked in alarm. The man in the gray suit leaped over a booth, roughly accosting the photographer.
“Blast you, shutterbug! Do you know who I am?! Give me that camera!”
A scuffle developed, more than a scuffle. The gray suit man was beating the photographer viciously, but failing to get the camera. The blonde woman turned to flee. She ran straight into Officer Jankowski. A purse was dropped. Money and a Batgirl mask spilled across the floor.
Jankowski got to say something she’d been waiting all her life to say: “Police! Everybody freeze!”
The blonde woman sobbed. The gray suit man cursed. A crowd of Adult Babies had gathered around. In that crowd, the cameraman somehow managed to escape altogether.
Diapergirl had agreed to get help. Linny had sent her off with a group of babyslaves Batgirl hadn’t seen before, to be taken to Mount Ararat Hospital, perhaps, or some other institution that could help her put her troubled life in order. Winny had gone with her, but less willingly. Winny needed to be locked away for a long time, Batgirl felt. Winny was Commissioner Gordon’s would-be Joker, not Janet. The vicious blue babyslave had gone willingly, too, but only to remain close to Diapergirl.
Janet had said only one thing as she was being helped away. “You take care of everything, Lin.” Linny, the red babyslave, had nodded, in sad agreement. She was already taking care of everything.
Once they were gone, Linny had given Batgirl an antidote to the debilitating Baby Powder, apologizing when it made Batgirl sneeze again.
“Couldn’t you just give me a pill, or an injection?” laughed Batgirl.
“Diapergirl wants these things in powder form. She calls it Grown-Up Powder, the opposite of Baby Powder. Soon you’ll be a grown-up again, Batgirl, able to move. But take it easy for awhile.”
“She always gets what she wants, doesn’t she, Linny?”
“Now, she does. She has the money; anyone who tells her what she doesn’t want to hear is simply out of her life. Except for you. You got through to her.” Linny sighed, a sad clown.
“You don’t seem to fit here, Lin. Why do you do it?”
“Do you mean I’m not depraved enough?” Linny laughed. “You’re wrong. But I’ve known Janet for a long time. Perhaps I’m her oldest friend. She collects friends, now, but she found them scarce, once upon a time. Why am I here?”
Batgirl nodded, waiting for Linny to tell her.
“Someone needs to help her, Batgirl. I try to steer her away from disaster.”
Batgirl couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice when she responded. “Couldn’t you have steered her away from Batgirl?”
“I’ve tried,” protested Linny. “You’re an ideal to her, Batgirl, a dream to which she clings. She’s had some rather crazy plans, in the past, to try to draw you into her life. I hope I found a way to bring you in that was less unpleasant than some of the other possibilities might have been. Diapergirl wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” Linny turned a pleading smile to Batgirl. “And you’ve helped her.”
Batgirl considered the situation. She thought about Janet’s life, Janet’s troubles, and then her own. ‘Is your father Batgirl’s father?’ She turned to Linny and smiled.
“And I guess she’s helped me, too,” said the heroine. Batgirl’s belief that Barbara needed to grow up was wrong, she decided. Batgirl and Barbara both needed to grow up. To stop playing silly games with those they both loved.
Then she thought of Linny. Linny had sent the fake Batgirl to Gordon’s office that day, causing her father to finally glimpse the truth. As the Grown-Up Powder finally made her strong enough to sit up, Batgirl looked at Linny warmly. “And you, Linny-dear, may have helped me most of all.”
“Diapergirl will want to see you again when she gets out,” laughed Linny. “She likes to reward her friends. Perhaps she’ll even bestow upon you that consumer’s dream, the Lifetime Supply.”
“A lifetime’s supply of diapers? No, thank you. Right now, I’d be happy if I never saw one again.”
“Yes, I do understand, sir, completely. We’ll release him. Yes, goodbye.” Gordon was not happy. The man in the gray flannel suit, standing before Gordon’s desk, however, was quite pleased.
“I told you, Gordon. This is too big for you.” The gray suit man was smug. Gordon hated the man, and all those like him.
“Well, go on about your business, then.”
“This never happened.”
“So say you and the political muscle you have at your disposal. I would request, now, that you leave my office.”
“Not yet. Your men need to track down that photographer, Gordon.”
“What photographer? Nothing has happened; you’re quite right. How can there be a photographer? Good day to you, sir.”
The gray suit man left, fuming. Now Gordon was a bit smug. The man who’d just left was a highly placed member of Gothamites Organized Against Depravity, the organization which had built Batgirl’s would-be scandal into a public hate campaign. He’d been caught meeting with a fake Batgirl, in an Adult Baby club, with money changing hands. He’d also been arrested for assaulting another man in that club. If the public could know all of this, Batgirl’s scandal would almost certainly be ended. But Gordon had been threatened into dropping the whole matter. More political pressure, more wretched corruption. Gordon could do nothing. But perhaps the mysterious cameraman could do something.
James Gordon felt more hopeful than he had in days.
Barbara Gordon was home again. Her full strength had not yet returned after her exposure to Diapergirl’s Baby Powder and her body ached from the abuse she’d taken. She wasn’t prepared to face her father until she was strong again. It would be difficult, facing him. She didn’t want to think about it, not yet.
As tired as she was after her ordeal, she couldn’t sleep. She decided to retire to the couch and let the pseudo-sleep of television hypnosis grant her whatever restfulness it could. The station was still set as it had been several days before. The Comment Hour, with Chuck Torrance, appeared on the screen. Barbara groaned. But once she had listened to their commentary, she was glad to have caught the broadcast.
Chuck never smiled. He was at his best when expressing outrage. His current topic didn’t seem to justify outrage, but he still made his delivery with fervent intensity.
“Well, as a follow-up to our Batgirl slash Adult Baby coverage: The Gotham World, in its late afternoon edition, published a shocking photo which clearly shows a representative of a Gotham concerned citizen’s group – the very group which organized the recent public protests - paying off a fake Batgirl in an Adult Baby club. Since then, that Batgirl impersonator has come forward to confirm that the real Batgirl never had anything to do with any of this. It seems Batgirl never had any link to the so-called ABY movement. The public anger of a few days ago has now collapsed into chagrin. So. It seems this scandal has taken an odd turn, hasn’t it? Tom?”
“Chuck, GOAD is a respectable organization. This current mess is the work of one man, and he’s taking the beating he deserves over it. The public was deceived and manipulated, but by one rotten egg. His kind should be kept off the streets.”
“Frank?”
“At the end of this, we see that the Adult Baby movement is really quite harmless. These are fine, if, perhaps, eccentric citizens. They don’t deserve to be targets of a hate campaign. And Batgirl deserves an apology from all of Gotham. Not only did she do nothing to deserve the treatment she received, she would not have deserved that treatment even if she had done that of which she was accused. The whole thing should have been a non-issue. But, Chuck, I’m glad it seems to have had a happy ending.”
“And we’ll leave it there. Goodnight, Gotham. Keep Commenting.”
Barbara laughed, weakly. Linny had said she had the situation under control. It looked like she was right. Meditating upon happy endings, Barbara shut off the TV and tried to decide what to do about her father.
Another day had passed. The deep shadows of evening had already fallen across Gotham’s gargoyle-encrusted skyscrapers. James Gordon was about to give up and go home early. It seemed to him that he’d never hear from his daughter again. Barbara had not shown up for their usual Tuesday dinner, was still as absent as she had been for days. Had he driven her away forever with their last meeting? Or was she trapped, somewhere, innocent victim in the masked game played by her other self? Trapped, or worse?
He’d already turned out the lights when she chose to reveal herself. It made him jump. He hadn’t expected it. She was in the far corner of the office. The setting sun managed to cast a few scattered orange rays into the room, but it was dark, otherwise. It took him a moment to realize what he was seeing. He understood.
“I’m sorry I was so harsh with you, Barbara.”
“It’s okay, Daddy,” said Batgirl, still in the shadows. “You were right. About everything.”
“You won’t give it up if I ask you to, will you?”
“I can’t. Maybe, maybe someday.” She repeated the word, thoughtfully. “Someday.”
He nodded. “I understand,” he said. “And I accept it. I accept you.”
“You’re taking this surprisingly well,” said his daughter.
“So are you, my dear. You’re not... upset to have your long game finally end like this?”
“Daddy, Daddy,” she said. She strode across the darkened room and met him in the middle. Father and daughter met in an embrace which swept away all their years of separation and denial.
“Right now,” she said, “right now I’m just happy to be grown up. At last.”