Post by HoM on May 22, 2009 7:06:12 GMT -5
Rogues Gallery
Issue #16: “Reborn”
Written by Brian Burchette
Cover by Ramon Villalobos
Edited by Jayson Morriseau-Lussier
Water enveloped him. Cold. Dark. Pain in his chest. Water filling his lungs. He was going to die. It was logical that it was going to happen eventually, but this wasn’t the way he saw it going down. Then blackness surrounded him and surprisingly he was okay with it. He was ready. He was gone...
*******
The light washed over him as he coughed up salt water out of his lungs. Then he felt the lips press down on his, breathing fresh air into his body. It was nice. It was relaxing. It had a mustache!
He shot up quickly, coughing even more as he felt a hand slap him on the back. His eyes hurt from the bright rays of the sun that beat down upon him. He looked around to see a man in his early thirties, a look of concern on his face (that and a mustache), as a small group of people were gathered around him. Before he could speak, however, a sharp pain shot through his body, someone screamed and he looked down to see blood running from a deep wound in his chest. How did he get that? And what in the hell was he wearing? It was all he had time to think before he slumped over, unconscious again.
*******
This time he woke slowly; a small little pin light that grew into a hazy brightness of doctors and nurses looking down at him. The mechanical beeping sound grew into his consciousness as well. It was a steady rhythm; somehow he knew that that was probably a good thing.
“Has anyone been able to get an I.D. on this guy yet?” He heard a doctor ask from the end of the bed that he lay in.
“Not yet.” Came the reply. “When the paramedics found him he was wearing only his undergarments. They think he may have been dragged from the river and then mugged.”
“It’s a miracle he’s even alive.” He heard the doctor say. It was nice to hear confirmation that he still lived. His head was swimming with the drugs they were feeding into his IV, but that was alright as well. He was alive, and really, that was all that mattered for the moment.
The doctor continued. “Whatever was used to run him through missed his heart by less than an inch. Not sure how long he was in the water, either. The next forty-eight hours are going to be critical. We need to keep a close eye on him.”
That nurse sighed in what sounded like frustration. He heard the strain in the doctor’s voice as he cut her sound of exasperation off. “I realize that we are all running on little sleep, Carolyn. This Starro crisis has us all running around on pure adrenaline for the last few days, but we owe it to the people, as well as the heroes who saved us, to do all we can for each individual.”
“I... I know. It’s just so overwhelming.”
Starro. That word struck a cord somewhere deep down inside. A memory flashed before him of some kind of weird alien starfish hovering in the sky. Then there was that moment of sharp pain in his chest and the man who stood before him was smiling. Who was that man? He should know him, but the name was escaping him at the moment. Then there was the cold splash of water as he felt his body fall.
He allowed sleep to wash over him once again.
*******
“Good morning.” A gentle, quiet voice spoke to him. He liked the sound of it. It reminded him of lying in a field on a late spring day, a gentle breeze blowing across his body as he lay there looking at the endless blue sky. It sounded like peace.
There was no response from him, however, as he realized there was a tube running down his throat. There was a name for this contraption he was hooked up to, but at the moment he couldn’t remember what it was called. His eyes worked, however, and he was able to see the beauty that sat beside his bed.
Her deep blue eyes were the first thing he noticed. They swam in an ocean of love and innocents. What a beautiful thing this creature called woman. Her attire was a whole different subject, however. Her white habit gave her away automatically as a woman of the cloth. It made sense really; with eyes like that, and a voice so peaceful and melodic, what else could she be.
“Well look at you. I think you’re fully awake for the first time in months.” She looked at him with a smile that shone like a hundred suns. “I’ll get the doctor, he’ll want to know.”
Her touch as she squeezed his arm was almost electrifying. Fate had brought this woman to him. Him. That one word caused a very important question to leap into the front of his mind. Who exactly was he? He couldn’t remember his own name, or where he came from. There was nothing but a blank slate. Yet, he didn’t panic at this knowledge; instead he found himself intrigued. It was a mystery. No, even better than that: It was a riddle!
And though he wasn’t sure how he knew, he did know that he loved solving riddles.
*******
It had been over three months that he had been in the hospital now. Three months of excruciatingly slow and painful rehabilitation. His legs, having not been used for so long, had of course become useless and weak. He was a model patient as the sweet Sister Lori gave him more than enough emotional support. Actually, she had given him much more than that; she had given him his name: Thomas Riddle. Lori had admitted that it wasn’t very original, it being the name from the international best selling series Harry Potter, but it seemed to fit him, she thought. His past was just that, a riddle; couple that with the fact that it was her favorite character, and it seemed to all fit into place.
Thomas liked the name and decided that once he was released from his hospital stay, he was going to read the set of books that this young woman seemed to love so much. He also wondered why he had never heard of them before... or had he... like everything else in his past, there was nothing but a black void.
On the anniversary of his fourth month he received word that his release was imminent. Thomas was both elated and some what apprehensive. He had nothing to his name. Where would he go? How would he get by?
Again Sister Lori became his own personal angel, assuring him that her church ran a boarding house for people who were lost in life. Thomas had to admit that he was that. Still, he did voice his concern of what would be asked of him in return. Again, though he couldn’t explain how he knew, he was aware that he was not a religious man by any means.
She had given him a soft, warm chuckle at that; patting his arm affectionately. “Don’t worry, Thomas. My order seeks only to help those in need, no strings attached. Though we are servants in his name, we do not believe that we were drawn to him for the purpose of converting others – only to help them.”
That answer seemed to be satisfactory to him. He agreed to help around the house in exchange for room and board. They would also set him up with a new identification card and if possible, Social Security card.
It was at this time that he first realized he rarely wondered who he really was anymore. His old life was now a mystery that didn’t seem that important to solve. He voiced this observation to Sister Lori who only smiled at him.
“I like to think that when the time comes, you will remember everything; until then, we will work together to help you build the life that you deserve.”
The perfect answer, he thought. He had surprised himself at that moment when he realized he was quietly thanking Him for bringing Sister Lori into his life.
*******
Thomas Riddle’s first evening out was an eventful one. He learned more about himself in that first night than he had trying to rack his brain during his convalescence. Although Sister Lori has pleaded for him to stay in, he would hear none of it. He needed to hear the city, feel it beneath him, around him. He knew that he had been a man of the city, that hypothesis felt right; just as he knew it wasn’t this city he was in. New York was not his home, but it felt similar.
He walked west from Columbus Circle and the noise of the evening tourists. His thoughts were his own, and he was so lost in them that he was not aware of where he was until the cries of help from a young man being beaten by a gang of obvious delinquents. He didn’t know what made him do it; the idea of helping another human being didn’t feel as if it were that strong of a desire (except for Sister Lori of course). Still, he reacted with instinct.
There were three of them surrounding this young man on the ground in the alley. As he raced forward he caught a glimpse of a large board sticking out of a trash bin. He grabbed it, noting with satisfaction the two nails that stuck out of the end of it. How fortuitous, he believed.
The first punk didn’t see it coming, the board smashing into the side of his head. The kid staggered back, blood pouring from the open wound. Thomas hit the second one with the other end of the stick, striking him in the gut, causing him to double forward before Thomas struck him again under the chin.
A wild feeling of exhilaration came over him as he went after the third member of the gang, who at this point had decided retreat was the best idea. Thomas couldn’t help but giggle with almost reckless abandonment at the power he suddenly felt. He stopped running after the third guy after a bit, bending over as he tried to catch his breath; his giggling continued for another good minute.
Finally he walked back towards the victim who was now on his knees, spitting blood from his mouth. He, too, was gasping for breath after the beating he had just taken. He looked up at Thomas, a grateful look on his face.
“Thank you,” he began, “I think they had followed me from the corner store. It was my fault.” He was rambling now. “I was so excited about winning ten thousand dollars in a scratch off that I bragging about it; showing the store owner the ticket I had bought from him. I think they were in the store; they must have heard me, followed me.”
Something else happened that night which showed Mr. Riddle who he was, and possibly had been. At the words ten thousand dollars his mind shifted into a higher gear. This kid was wearing a Polo shirt and jeans that cost more than five hundred dollars a pair. What did he need with another ten thousand dollars?
He raised the board over his head just as the young man looked up with shock on his face before slamming it back down. The twice put upon victim slumped to the ground unconscious and Thomas dug through the guy’s pockets until he found the winning ticket. This would help him much more with his new life than it would some rich kid hanging out in Hell’s Kitchen.
Yes, he decided, the concrete jungle was where he belonged – just not this one...
*******
A new billboard in Time Square made his stop suddenly, a week later, as he went to purchase tickets for Sister Lori and himself to The Producers. It wasn’t the merchandise in question that gave him sudden pause; every day there was a new company promoting some sort of IPod or electronic fad of the week.
No, what made him stop was the company’s name, itself: LexCorp. He saw the name flashing and the memories came swirling back. A voice, low, maniacal: “A man laughing his head off.”
The pain in his chest again; sharp, piercing pain. “We reap what we sow, Edward”*
*Justice League Annual #1
That was his real name, he realized. Edward... but Edward what? Edward Riddle? No, not quite, he thought to himself; yet, he was close... so very close.
He had been in a green suit. A bowler hat of purple; garish really, what would make him wear something like that? Then there was the faces of two individuals in front of him as crimson blood began to pour from the wound in his chest. Their faces were blurred. He should know who they were.
It was the first time that the sudden memories gave him a cold chill, an uncomfortable feeling. He needed to talk to somebody. Not somebody, he realized, but Sister Lori. She was the one he needed.
Tickets to The Producers were forgotten as he stumbled into the people walking past him. He was backing away quickly, his eyes glancing back one more time at the name: LexCorp.
*******
Thomas/Edward had found her at the shelter, and for a moment it had almost seemed as though she had been waiting for him; expecting him to walk through the door at that very second. He dismissed it as part of the paranoia that had gripped him since the sudden influx of lost memories.
“Thomas, are you alright?” She had asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost?”
“I must speak with you – privately. Something has triggered memories of my previous life.” He was trying to maintain the calm veneer that he carried himself with, but it was obvious to her that there were cracks forming. She only nodded in understanding, motioning for him to follow her.
When they had shut themselves in his small room, she finally spoke, the sound of her voice soothing his nerves. “Whatever it is Thomas, we’ll work through it together. He is with us, here in this place of sanctuary. Nothing can disturb us.”
“I don’t believe my name is Thomas.” He began, sitting hard on the end of the small bed. “I do believe its Edward.”
“Edward? Edward what?”
He tossed his arms up in frustration. “I don’t know. All I’m getting are moments, pieces, and none of it makes much sense. The only thing I’m almost certain about is that somebody tried to murder me. A knife, I think... no, wait... a sword. It had to be a sword because for a moment the blade was sticking all the way through.” His eyes were distant, squinted nearly shut as he tried to recall more detail.
“Why would someone want to kill you?” Sister Lori asked incredulously.
“Not sure. I did something wrong, perhaps? I... I don’t know yet. There’s so much I still can’t recall.”
She sat down on the bed next to him, placing her hand over his. Her voice was lower now, but even more melodic than before. It was hypnotizing in a way; nearly sing song in pattern. “My poor Thomas... I mean Edward; you are such a lost soul. Don’t worry, though. I’m here for you. I have a secret of my own.” His cautionary look made her smile even warmer. “Do not laugh at me, Edward, but I knew you were coming. My Lord came to me before you arrived, told me that our paths would cross soon. It’s all part of a much larger plan, Edward. You shouldn’t be worried, or afraid. All things will be made clear when they are supposed to.”
“I’m sorry, Sister, but there are certain truths that I have never seemed to have lost, and my lack of faith in Christianity is one of them. I don’t believe in God or his son, Jesus of Nazareth. I apologize if this sounds like I am calling you a liar, for that is not my intention.”
For the second time in an hour, Edward was taken aback as Sister Lori leaned in, placing her lips on his oh so gently. “My beautiful Edward, you are going under a false assumption. I do not worship the false idols of Christianity. I am a follower of the only real God that there is, and he walks among us himself to show us the way.”
“I... I’m afraid I don’t understand. You have me at a disadvantage.”
“Shhh...” She whispered in his ear as she nibbled on it. “Like you and your life at this moment, I am a mystery wrapped in an enigma. What you need is comfort, pleasure, and he has told me that I am the one for you.”
Her lips touched his again and this time he did not resist. He reached out, embraced her, and the two fell gently back onto the bed, and into each others arms.
*******
“We reap what we sow, Edward.”
Lex Luthor was standing in front of him as he began to panic. It had been he, Edward Nigma, who had informed Batman of the nefarious plans of The Injustice Society. It was a riddle that had taken no time at all for Luthor to figure out. He wanted to run, yell for help, but he couldn’t. There was nobody there to save him, either. Every hero was at that moment either under control of Starro or battling a friend who was.
Then there was the sharp pain that pierced his back and through to his chest. He could see the sword sticking through, felt it rip apart his internal organs. The pain intensified as it was withdrawn out of his body. As he stumbled back he saw the second figure, he saw the face; Lady Shiva! He stumbled back, three steps. How odd that he remembered counting them at that moment. He then lost his balance and had fallen into the bay. Presumed dead.**
**Also Justice League Annual #1
He shot out of the bed with an unintended cry of horror. Sister Lori was standing by the dirty plate glass window, her uniform back on. She did not seem startled in the least by his violent awakening.
“I remember.” He stated coldly. “I know exactly who I was... who I am. I’m Edward Nigma, The Riddler, and they thought they had murdered me.” His green eyes flashed in anger. “Oh aren’t they going to be surprised when they discover how wrong they were.”
“Welcome back, Edward.” Sister Lori said with a tinge of sadness in her voice.
He eyed her suspiciously. “You knew all along, yet you didn’t tell me. Why?”
“It was not mine to reveal. She told me that you would have to remember on your own, in time.”
“Who is she?” He demanded, beginning to get dressed. His mind was now whole and it began to work a mile a minute.
“Mother Superior, of course; the Prophecies of The Templers speak of your coming to aid us, but only after you regain that which was lost in betrayal.”
The man called Riddler stood as confused as he was the first day he regained consciousness. “I have no idea what you are prattling on about. I don’t have time for your riddles.” He stopped suddenly and burst out laughing. “Oh that is rich, isn’t it? I discover the most important riddle of my life, only to find myself in a much larger one. Well, I’m sorry my dear, whatever cult I seem to have fallen into will just have to proceed with their lunacy without me. I have revenge to reek on Lex Luthor and Batman.”
“You should know then that The Batman is dead. He was killed at the hands of his nemesis, Ra’s Ah Ghul. Lex Luthor is no longer in charge of his own company. After the crisis with the Star Conqueror, he was discovered to have been behind the entire matter. He has gone deep into hiding since then.”
Edward stopped short. “Batman is dead?!”
“Yes, I’m sorry.”
The Riddler let out a howl of joy before jumping on the bed and uncharacteristically started doing a jig. “Oh happy day...” He began to sing.
The Sister beamed. “I’m glad you are not too upset over this.”
“Of course not, who cares who did it, as long as that insufferable egomaniac is gone; Gotham City is mine for the taking.”
“I’m afraid not. It seems that someone else has picked up the mantel. There is a new Batman in Gotham, along with a new Robin.”
Nigma once again stopped short, this time cursing as he leapt off the bed. “Of course there is. I swear that town needs an enema.” He kicked the table next to the bed in frustration. “Is there no justice in this world?!”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, Edward. There is justice, and a place for you in his Kingdom here on Earth. You have an important part to play, and the great book has foretold that when it is over and our master sits upon the thrown of humanity, you will be a great and powerful man.”
“Oh dear, not this again; Sister Lori, I am grateful for...”
“Actually, my name is Sister Lorelei.” She interrupted. “Before you say anything else, I have something for you. It is a gift from our Lord and Savior.” She turned, opening the small closet door.
He watched in both amusement and curiosity as she reached into the back of his closet. She was a beautiful young woman, he wouldn’t deny that, but she was also, obviously, battier than an old belfry. Just his luck that the first woman he had had in ages had turned out to be a religious freak. When she turned back around his jaw fell open. She was holding his gold staff that he had had especially made into the shape of a question mark.
“Where did you get that?” He demanded, his amusement instantly turning into anger as he reached out and snatched it from her hand. How dare she take his property.
“It is a gift from our Master.” She said, hurt by the anger in his voice.
As soon as his hands wrapped around it he felt an unusual sensation; as if he was now holding a live wire, but without the feeling of being electrocuted. “What did you do to this?” He asked.
“I did nothing, but he made it better. He gave it the power of a god, and he wants to do the same for you. Oh Edward, it’s what was meant to be! You are destined to be so much more than you are. All you have to do is accept him – embrace him. He will bathe you in his blood, cleansing you, giving you the power to destroy the enemy that you both will face.”
Edward could feel the power that was coursing through the staff. It was so strong that it almost felt alive. Between the power at his finger tips and the beautiful and compelling voice of Sister Lorelei, he began to wonder if what she said were true. He always believed he was destined for something much greater than the reputation he had as a B-list villain in an insane city such as Gotham. Was this really it? Had everything in his life actually lead him to this moment? The power in the staff was overwhelming. Lorelei’s voice was so insistent. He wanted to believe... wanted the power.
“I... I think I believe you. I know I want to believe you.” He said finally.
She clapped her hands in relief and embraced him. “Once you are initiated you’ll understand, Edward. The Prophecies of The Templers are real; you are one of the chosen six. You are the one who will sit at our Lord’s right hand.”
“What do I have to do?” He asked with his voice now strong and determined.
Before she could reply the door to the room opened and another woman stepped in. She was also wearing the uniform of a nun, but hers seemed a bit more ornate. She was smiling sweetly at both of them.
Sister Lorelei instantly bowed, but the smile never left her face. “Oh Mother, I have done what was asked of me. I have awaited the return of one of the chosen.”
“I know, my dear. We are very proud of you. Rise, child and rejoice this day.”
“Who are you?” Riddler asked.
“I am Mother Mayhem, Edward Nigma. I am so pleased that you have accepted your destiny and have chosen to embrace it. Welcome, child, to the Church of Blood.”