Issue 7: "Fading Star"

“I need to know where ‘here’ is.”

Roy Harper’s tone was grave and laced with anxiety. His boots thumped against the oak floorboards of his apartment as he paced the length and breadth of the chamber, his breath quickening as he did so. Dick Grayson was slumped in a chair before him one hand clamped around his chin as he pondered the predicament before him. The archer locked his unyielding gaze upon the azure eyes of his companion.

Dick’s eyes wandered upwards from the letter. “You say your father gave this to you as a kid?”

Roy nodded in confirmation. “He said that I shouldn’t hate my mother. He said that if I knew…” His voice faltered. “…if I knew, I would understand.”

Dick inhaled deeply and reclined. “I can run it through some tests and have some results for you in an hour, if you want.”

“Good,” Roy responded. “You should get onto it right away. Just call me when you’ve - -”

“Roy, are you sure?” Dick interjected.

Roy paused, and, for the first time since the detective had arrived, a deafening silence hung over the room. The archer’s shoulder fell along with his head. He ground his teeth against each other and ran a single hand back through his hair with an exasperated sigh.

“I’ve spent the last few weeks in a coma,” he began, a little irked. “I came closer to death than I’ve ever been before. They say that, before you die, your life flashes before your eyes. Mine did, and I realized just how pitiful it was. I’m not living; I’m just existing. Because I don’t know who my mother is, I don’t know who I am. And you don’t know what that’s like, Dick.”

“I know too well,” Dick retorted. “But do you really want to meet the woman who chose to abandon you? Do you realize just how hard this is going to be?”

“I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything,” Roy informed, his eyes conveying his conflicting emotions like a pair of scrying pools. “I don’t care if it’s going to be hard. I want it so much…”

Dick nodded slowly. “It’ll be done. I just…I just hope you know what you’re doing. Everyone will be behind you, ready to help you out if you need it.”

“I know.”

Silence once again. An awkward silence.

They did not converse again. Not when Dick departed to begin his tests, not when Roy placed a mug of coffee before him briefly beforehand. Not until he received the call…

Roy trudged through the alleyway, the rain hammering down upon him as his eyes roamed the dingy motels for the correct location. Dick had traced the letter back to a bed-and-breakfast in the city, aptly named ‘The Hive’. Roy reached up and adjusted the hood of the anorak he had pulled on before leaving. The street seemed to be never-ending, stretching into the horizon and driving it home just how hopeless this search was.

“What do you want?” a harsh feminine voice barked.

Roy was instantly alert, swiveling on his heel to face the speaker. She was an elderly woman with short-cropped gray hair and battered garments clothing her body, accompanied by a black sheet she had gathered around her like a sheath. Her mouth hung limply open, and she spoke with a slight lisp. Roy sighed inwardly. He didn’t have time to talk.

“I’m looking for the Hive, if it’s any of your business,” he responded, dorking his head to the side. Dank locks of reddish-brown hair drooped lazily down onto his face as the storm intensified, lightning striking throughout the sky. The dismal weather matched the teen’s mood.

“The Hive?” the woman croaked. “That ol’ place was shut down fifteen years ago.”

“Oh.” Roy couldn’t help but sound disappointed. His only current lead was a dead end. If the Hive had been shut down twelve years ago - - fifteen years. That was when the letter had been dated, and he had received it three years later. “Fifteen years, you say?” Feeble hope laced his tone. “Why?”

“Police found a junkie there,” the woman hissed disapprovingly. “They thought it might have been a crack house, so they shut it down.”

“Do you happen to remember the name of the junkie?” Roy enquired. Maybe this ‘junkie’ could give him the information he needed so desperately.

The woman paused to ponder the request. “Tough one…hm…one moment…Yes, that’s it. Something Harper.”

Roy stumbled back, his back impacting on the sodden wall behind him with a soft thump. His mother. His mother had been the ‘junkie’. That was why the desire had run so thickly through his own veins. Everything seemed to fit together now, except…

“Where is she?” he demanded. “Where is this Harper?” He gripped the woman’s shoulder and gazed into her dull brown eyes, ferocity surging through his own.

The woman attempted to push his hands away. “You’re hurting me…”

“Where?!” he bellowed. “I have to know!”

“She got carted away to some rehabilitation center! Now, please, let go of me!” she pleaded, falling to her knees.

Roy released her and turned. Dick may be the detective, but Roy couldn’t turn to him for help now; he couldn’t know what Roy’s mother had been. They couldn’t relive the memories of Roy’s own painful experiences…it was too harsh on the emotions of all involved. The mere thought of heroin caused the boy’s knees to tremble as he opened himself up to the rain, cleansing himself mentally.

He must not think of it now…he couldn’t…it was far too tempting…if only he could just feel it again…

…feel whole again.

“Ollie? You in there?”

Roy was positioned before Oliver Queen’s front door, rapping his knuckles against it at full force. The rain had finally subsided, leaving the remainder of the day as a dismal, but dry, period of time. At one o’clock in the afternoon, it was unusual for visitors to knock on Oliver Queen’s door; but there was an exception to every rule, and this time, that exception happened to be his apprentice and ‘son’.

The door swung open, and a visibly exhausted Ollie appeared in the doorway.

“Roy? What are you doing here?” he murmured wearily.

“You look beat,” Roy stated, and stepped inside. “Catching up on sleep.”

“Yeah…sometimes I wish my rogues would just stick to daytime heists,” he responded with a small chuckle. Closing the door, he motioned for Roy to follow him into the living room and sank back onto the sofa. “What can I do for you, anyway?”

“I want to find my birth mother,” Roy answered bluntly.

Ollie’s jaw lowered a little as the blond-haired archer reeled from the sudden and abrupt declaration.

“Scratch that - I’ve found her,” Roy continued. “I just wanted to know that you were okay with that.”

Ollie bowed his head, holding it into his hands and restraining a yawn. “Roy…I just want to know…why?”

“The whole thing with you and Dinah and that girl, as well as the time I spent in a coma,” Roy explained softly, “they made me realize that I really don’t know who I am. I know my name, and I know Speedy, but I don’t know Roy Harper. I just want to find him.” He massaged his temples, attempting to quell the headache blazing and thumping inside. “She won’t replace you or Dinah, Ollie. No one ever could.”

Ollie turned away momentarily, prodding the bridge of his nose. “I…you know I wouldn’t hold you back, son. But I just hope you know what you’re getting yourself into. Your mother…she may not be what you expect. She could be the perfect role model, the nicest gal you could ever meet, but she could be…something else entirely.”

Roy gulped. That she is…oh God, what would he say if he knew? “I know, Ollie. I’m not stupid.”

Ollie nodded confidently. “No, Roy, that’s one thing you’re not. Well, maybe you are a little dumb sometimes…” A lopsided grin appeared on his face, and he lightly gripped the boy’s arm. “You want me to come with you?”

Roy shook his head. “Nah. I’d rather do this alone.”

“Good luck, my boy,” Ollie bade, drawing the teen into an embrace. “I hope you find your dreams.”

“I’ll be back soon,” Roy promised, and turned away.

Oliver Queen plopped back onto the sofa as the only person he’d ever called his son left to find his real parent…and couldn’t help but hold back a tear that represented so many things: pride, grief, joy…and a niggling thought that Roy had seemed different when he had entered but moments ago. Like he was being drawn to something…

It didn’t take long for one of the counselors, one Alan Green, to arrive and usher Roy into his office. There, he ‘prepared’ Roy for what he might experience. Throughout the advisory session, which lasted twenty minutes, the Titan closed his ears to the man and revised the image of his mother for the final time. Soon, that image would be replaced with the real one.

And that scared Roy more than anything.

“I think we’re ready to go in now,” Alan concluded. “Now, as I said, don’t be surprised if she doesn’t know who you are or is unable to speak coherently. She may even be a little violent, but it’s not really her - it’s the damage that the drugs did. Just remember that, son. Are you ready?”

“More than I’ve ever been,” Roy breathed.

He was lying.

As Alan Green led him through the twisting and winding hallways of the center, past the various chambers of the former addicts, his breath quickened and his heart hammered impossibly hard inside his chest. His knees turned to jelly and his vision became a blur. It’s actually happening…I’m actually about to meet my mother…and I don’t want to.

Roy startled himself with the thought that struck him. Perhaps, if his quest weren’t so near to its end, if he weren’t already positioned outside his mother’s doorway, he would have turned away. Perhaps this dark chapter of his life would never be uncovered. Perhaps…he would never be as unfortunate to experience what he was about to.

“Who are you?”

Her voice was haggard, matching her appearance. Ferocious white streaked her black hair and gray bags swelled beneath her dull, colorless eyes. Her nose was sore and missing its septum, causing a strange whiny noise as she spoke. Her wiry body was sprawled on the corner of a bed; she was cradling her legs and rocking back and forth.

Roy gasped, frozen on the spot. Oh, God…I didn’t believe she’d be like this, I didn’t even - -

“Roy?” Alan prodded. “Do you want to leave?”

“I’m your son,” the archer blurted out against his own will.

“Son?” Sarah Alice Harper hissed. “I don’t have no son.”

“Yes, you do,” Roy insisted, his voice faltering. He took a seat beside her on the bed, reluctantly reaching out to slip his hand gently into hers. “I’m Roy Harper. My father was Thomas Harper. Do you remember?”

Sarah eyed his hand suspiciously. “You lie!” she shrieked, tearing free of his grip and spitting the words savagely into his face. “I don’t have no son!”

Roy stumbled back, almost falling. Alan put a supportive hand behind his back.

“I’ll understand if you want to leave at any time now, son,” he whispered.

“I’m your son!” Roy persisted, growing more forceful. Desperation filled his eyes as he knelt before her, pleading with her to accept him. “Please…I’m your son…”

And then she slapped him. His cheek stung and he twisted with the surprisingly brutal blow, bolstering himself with an elbow. Alan dropped down beside him, positioning himself between the woman and her son. Sarah sank back a little, evidently pleased with herself.

“Sarah!” Alan reprimanded. “You shouldn’t have done that!”

Roy ground his front teeth into his lip. Scarlet liquid seeped into his mouth, leaving a coppery taste. “She slapped me…”

Alan turned to face him. “Are you sure you don’t want to leave?”

“Miss, I am your son.” Roy ignored the counselor’s question and placed his hands over hers, softly but firmly holding her hands in place.

“You shouldn’t lie!” Sarah barked. “You’re bad!” Her foot snapped outwards, catching the teenager in the jaw and sending him back into Alan’s arms.

“We’re going to go and let your mother calm down,” Alan informed calmly, pulling the boy to his feet. “I’m not taking no for an answer!”

“Bad!” Sarah lunged for her son, but tumbled to the floor. “Bad boy! Bad!” she screamed, her voice growing hoarse as her throat protested.

Roy repressed the tears welling in his eyes. “What’s wrong with her…?”

“The drugs hit her hard,” Alan explained tentatively. “They damaged her brain; she hasn’t left in all the fifteen years she’s been here because she’s too temperamental. I’m sorry, son.”

Both males turned as a thump and the mellifluous ring of shattering glass resounded through the corridor. Roy darted back into the chamber…to find his mother motionless on the carpeted floor, the remaining shards of the small television screen on the wall embedded in her head.

“Oh, God, no,” Roy hissed. “NO!”