(Edited with Grammarly on 12/25/25)
Rain pattered down from high above, like the heavens themselves were conspiring to make that day just a bit worse than it already was. Frigid like ice, hammering relentlessly like an out-of-control, fully automatic rifle. Dark, ominous clouds rumbled in warning, a flash of otherworldly light a precursor to the earth-shattering boom that would surely come. Cars honked by, wheels leaping and bumping into lakes disguising themselves as pot holes. That endless stream of exhaust mingled with the cold and wet environment to create something muggy. Smog clings to the skin like mud, thick enough to make breathing through one's nose alone a difficult and unpleasant task.
From the sidewalk, not even the terrible weather was enough to stop the sea of humanity going about their day. Dressed in thick coats with hollowed out, weary expressions. Hard lines from a hard life, for a lot of them, a scowl would be the norm, and a smile something alien. Walking briskly with a wide array of umbrellas, their boots stopped without a care for their neighbor's well-being or even for their own thoroughly soaked pant legs.
Albert flipped the collar up tighter around his neck, hunching in on himself. A biting cold breeze was slamming into his completely unprotected face. Whipping his unruly locks behind him, it probably would've looked majestic, but a glance in the mirror revealed the hard truth of the matter.
He looked pale, paler than usual, with his red-rimmed nose visibly jutting out. If anything, that frozen moment made him look more like a ghoul in mid-flight, but at least this little ghoul didn't look nearly as desiccated as before. There were some minute amounts of fat on his cheeks. Something noticeable if he squinted really hard.
'I should've brought my scarf.' A finger of frigid air running across his neck made him shiver all the harder, his lips visibly cracked and a few degrees redder than normal. It had been a lapse of judgment on his part, hubris made manifest. The weather forecaster had sworn up and down that a storm was on its way, and like those naysayers, he'd thought himself smarter and believed he had enough time to get to his destination before it hit. What a fool past him was.
Eyes catching, he quickly and rudely, the Gotham way, jabbed his way through the mass of bodies to an off-street. Breaking off into a considerably less dense pack before passing a few residential buildings, until he finally arrived. He craned his head back, up and up to take a good look at the four to five-story apartment building. Showing similar signs of wear and tear, neglect from both the city and the landlords in conjunction. Both are more than just content with raking in a passive income from their denizens than actually putting that money to use.
An uneven and chipping layer of yellow-ish paint exposed a darker blue color underneath, rough but still miles better than whoever did the most recent coating. A few windows were visibly missing their seals, some possessing misshapen stoops, while others barely even had anything better than a stack of newspapers to act as blinds to provide them even the smallest bit of protection from the elements.
And even with all that said, it was still a nicer place than his own. Just because he could see visible fog caking up on a few windows, that only spoke of one thing. This building actually had working heaters. A warm space plus hot water directly from the faucet, yeah, a solid five stars in his account.
'Got to get a kettle.' Carrying boiling water up those stairs every time he couldn't stand taking a cold shower was a recipe for disaster. 'Or a tankless water heater.'
Putting that little rant aside, the teen pushed open the twin wooden doors, instantly being hit by the sudden gloom of the place. If the outside looked terrible, the inside looked just as rundown as Harley's and Ivy's apartment before that gruff old man, Darnell, took over. But unlike them, it didn't appear that this building had someone who cared so deeply for it. The carpet was old and shrinking at the edges, and blotches of stains littered its surface. A mix of must, filth, and urine, hopefully from an animal, all came together to form a massive fist and sling right into his nose with not even a lick of hesitation. Some doors had trash bags just sitting out as if they expected someone else to come and take them out for them, a few had canned beers littered, and others at least had the decency not to treat the hallways as a dumpster as they left their path free.
Closing the door behind him, the amount of ambient light dramatically diminished, with only a few flickering lights struggling above. Casting down an inconsistent beam of yellow, most of which barely ever reached halfway down before failing.
If only there were a loose light or two, swinging in an aberrant breeze, then maybe it would've been a perfect scene for a thriller. Just having some giant of a creature waiting off in the shadows with a melee weapon in hand, stalking their unsuspecting victim. His fingers drummed casually against the inner part of his side, feeling the cold metal jump in its spot.
Taking one last look down the hall, he turned left and began to ascend the familiarly steep stairs. Each step creaks loudly in the somewhat quiet building. Every squeak, slipping through those incredibly thin walls to allow anyone to know of his presence.
Vice versa, it was easy to subconsciously listen in to the miniature worlds just beyond sight. Telvelsion shows blaring, music rocking, and voices raising. Each passing second, he strolled past halls full of worlds. Every room possesses its story, its own villains, and its own heroes. Honestly, he felt like he could just sit there all day and listen in. Just to see how some of these stories ended, but with a shake of his head, he continued his ascent.
Until eventually, he finally reached his destination. On the third floor, he turned out of the small staircase and found himself facing a total of eight different doors. One on the right, and the other on the left. His eyes roamed over the nearly identical-looking wooden doors until they landed on the last portal on the left.
'Good grief.'
Albert's nose curled involuntarily as he stepped closer, instantly locking onto the twin pair of black trash bags filled to near...well, to actual bursting if the rancid liquid dripping down the sides to pool and sink into the carpet was anything to go by.
Sure, it wasn't the most disgusting door in that building, but it was for sure in the top five. At least this one at the end, with all to actually close their garbage bags. Standing before the entrance way, he raised his hand and knocked all in one motion. Not giving himself even the chance to turn back now.
The sound reverberated through the still hall, sending a small shiver up his spine as he resisted the urge to check the small notebook in his inner pocket, the address written and memorized many times over. This had to be the place.
It barely took a few seconds, five tops, before the door was nearly ripped off its hinges, and almost immediately, he was slammed with the smell of heavy musk, of unwashed flesh, cheap cigarettes, and stale beer. He just barely resisted the urge to gag at the figure standing in the doorway.
There, standing both tall and hunched over, was a man in his early-to-mid thirties with tanned and weathered skin. Uncolored brown eyes looking around wildly, but other than those features, this man looked nothing like what he did yesterday. For one, that slightly unkempt black beard now appeared like a rat's nest. Standing every which way, caked in drool and sticky beer, was a very stomach-churning sight to look at. Combine that with his mop of greasy and wild hair, and it was clear the man had just woken up not too long ago. Not even five minutes, if his pajamas were anything to go by.
"Russel?"
Even though he knew it had to be his client, Albert still felt the need to verify just in case. The man had appeared much more put together the last he saw him...but maybe it was because it was now the weekend and he no longer needed to worry about appearing presentable.
"Albert?" Russel yawned, expelling a plume of foul air into the vicinity. Opening the door wider, he waved the private investigator inside. "Come in...watch your step. Or don't."
The interior was dark, but even through that, the sheer amount of clutter was easy for him to see. And when he got closer to the man, the foul stench was nearly too much. The day prior, maybe he'd subconsciously ignored it or given his client the benefit of the doubt since it was the end of a workday. Maybe some overtime given how late they showed up at his door. But now? There was no excuse he could ever give to the man.
Nonetheless, a professional and neutral expression slid across his face, and with a nod, he entered the apartment. Almost immediately regretting it, the very moment he crossed over the boundary line. It was far, far worse than he suspected. Piles upon piles of empty take-out boxes, with crushed beer cans and discarded cigarette containers. Small garbage bags were piled up in the sky, coming up to his waist in most cases. Clothes were littered everywhere, with crumpled-up pieces of paper thrown haphazardly.
'A hoarder.' He hadn't dealt with one...well, ever. Besides the separation that a screen provided, this was truly the first time he'd ever actually met one in real life. And frankly? Those videos and television shows didn't do the smell justice. It was worse than anything a simple video or picture could convey. So much so that it took every bit of his self-control not to break his neutral mask to gag and dry heave.
If he were to ignore the stacks of garbage and filth standing tall and proud, the apartment itself could've been called nice. With a small entryway to a kitchen he dared not peek into on one side, with a pretty large living room that possessed a small curtain-covered window. In the middle of said room, a rough and worn green couch that looked to have seen much better days, with stains and the fabric fraying at the seams. Sitting low enough that whoever sat would need to look up to the box television, which played the news at the lowest possible volume.
And if the yellow pillow, not dyed in that way and was probably once white, and the thin blanket was anything to go by, then this must be where the man slept most nights. A half-eaten container of what appeared to be noodles just lying on the small table before it.
"Take a seat." Russel waved off to the couch, already walking right through the trash piles as if it were a common occurrence for him. Plopping down, he reached down and popped open a new can of beer. Before chugging it down like water.
"I'll stand."
Maybe Albert was a bit too much of a prude or too nitpicky about this, but there was no way he was going to take a seat in such a dirty home. Who knew what was crawling in such a prime environment? And he sure as hell didn't want to hitch a passenger back on his way home just because he was too reticent about being a rude guest.
"Have it your way." He burped loudly before going back for more, on and on it went until his head was tilted nearly fully back. Before he suddenly crushed the can in one hand and tossed it into another pile. Disturbing more than just the bags with a soft skittering sound was anything to go by.
'Yeah,' He eyed the bag in question, easing back a step. 'Definitely not sitting anywhere here.'
Just as his client was beginning to rummage around for another beer, he finally took out his small handheld notebook and coughed loudly into his elbow.
"Let's begin. First, thank you for agreeing to allow me into your home, and I will try not to disturb...your way of things. Usually, I like to start things off with your relocation of the events. The more you can remember, the better."
Despite being spoken to directly, the man didn't answer until he had yet another beer in hand. Cracking it open, he just held it there for a frozen moment in time. Yellowed and red-rimmed eyes glazing over as he submerged himself back into that dreaded day that, probably, no amount of alcohol would ever allow him to forget.
"It was a normal day," The father started, but it was clear his presence had been completely forgotten or forced to the background. "I woke up at four-thirty on the dot, like always. Rolled out of bed before making breakfast...I was trying to do something different that day. Instead of cereal and toast, I made some sausage links and chopped them into a bowl of cheesy grits. And a whole glass of milk, to help wash down her medicine."
"What was the medicine for?"
"Jacky has Cystinosis, it's a rare genetic disorder that basically makes her create more cystine than usual. This caused her to form these glass-like shards on her cornea. It's...it's not a pleasant experience at all. It's not curable, but it can be treated. She's supposed to take two a day, and they help deplete the cystine in her body. But that doesn't mean she'll take them straight up. I usually have to give her either juice or milk to get her to take them..."
Albert only gravely nodded. That sounded like absolute hell. Just imagining having to squeeze out shards of glass from his own eyes, even the way people put in contacts, gave him the willies. There was no way he could ever deal with that every single day. And with the girl missing for more than thirty days, he could only imagine how bad it must be right about now.
And her father could clearly imagine it too if that shaking can was anything to go by.
"My apologies, please continue."
It was better to give him a goal in mind, a task to complete, than to allow him to stew on the worst-case scenario.
"Yes..yes." He shook himself free and continued with a sip. "By then, it was five o'clock, so I left it on the stove to keep it warm and went to wake up Jacky. She was still sleeping, and as much as I wanted her to just keep doing so, I was her ride to school, and I didn't want to give that useless school a reason to call me into one of their parent-teacher conference. She was clutching her pink and purple unicorn plushy, and she was not happy to be woken up. She never is. My daughter's not much of a morning person. But despite whining and begging, I still got her up to the table. While she ate and took her medicine, I was finishing up the dishes while trying to figure out what excuse I was going to give the school to excuse her from school. She had a nightmare earlier that week and was finding it difficult to sleep. I regret not just saying fuck it and not letting her go in that day….why didn't I just let her stay in that day?!"
He was spiraling, grief circling in to nip at his exposed wound. The entrails of his own regret and paranoia spilling out.
"But I didn't. Education is important, and I won't let her turn out like me. So after she was done eating, I made her get ready for the day. Shower, teeth brushed, and clean clothes. Around six o'clock, we were both ready for the day. Getting in the car, she was chatty that morning, and you know it goes with kids, you just kinda tune them out after a while."
"What was she wearing that day?"
That felt like a very important detail highlight; it would at least give him a starting point when it came to this massive city.
"Jean overalls...says she wants to look exactly like me. A purple short-sleeve shirt with a white flower on the back and a pair of white gym shoes. The real worn kind." He nodded into empty air, taking another sip. This one is much longer than before. "When I dropped Jacky off at school, I told her I would pick her up after her club activity at six in the evening. She plays soccer and loves it."
'Before the summer, then.' The investigator noted that down, only further painting a more dire image than before. He'd suspected a month or two tops, but to know that this child has been missing for at least four months, maybe even half a year.
"But after she said goodbye, I didn't think much of it for the rest of the day. I got to work, worked my ass off for ten hours moving furniture and boxes everywhere, before swinging by on my way home to pick her up. I was five minutes late, but I still saw plenty of kids being picked up by their parents. But no matter where I looked or waited, Jacky was nowhere in sight." Here, the man took a hearty gulp. Voice growing shaky as he continued. "Ten minutes passed before I went into the building to get her myself. I was tired from the day's work and just wanted to go home, so I came in with an attitude. Going up to the office, I demanded that they call my daughter through the intercom. When that secretary finally got off her fat ass to do it, she called my daughter's name a total of three times."
"Three times, before telling me to take a seat. Five minutes went by, before ten, and I couldn't help going up again to ask her to try some more. But even after another ten minutes had gone by, she was nowhere to be seen. When I asked her where the hell my daughter was, do you know that cow had the nerve to act nonchalant? Like it wasn't her problem that my daughter, a student, couldn't be found anywhere?! So I barged into the nearly completely empty school and went directly to the gym myself to make sure. And somehow, the coach on duty told me he had no idea where she was. At that point, I was making a scene and forced myself into the teacher's lounge to get an answer out of her. Who also said that she had no idea where Jacky was or anything!"
He nearly crushed the can in his massive grip, veins popping and crawling up his neck. Teeth bared into a snarl.
"I was this close to slugging the bastards right there for being so fucking useless, but then that ass-hat of a principal tried to de-escalate things by saying that maybe she just...WANDERED off school grounds. An eight-year-old WANDERED off school grounds in the middle of GOTHAM, of all places! So yeah, I punched him. Knocked those stupid glasses clear off his face, too. Of course, they called the cops on me, and instead of trying to run or anything, I stood right outside the building and waited for them. And when they did finally get there, the whole staff tried to spin a tale that I was some random guy who shouldn't even be there. But at that point, I was done. I told them exactly what they told me, and even those corrupt as fuck cops couldn't look the other way, especially with a missing child, especially not with the other parents staying being to watch. They questioned every staff member there, and all of them had the same fucking story; none of them had any idea what happened to Jacky. NO ONE, I mean NO ONE, saw a GODDAMNED THING!"
"The police were useless then, told me to file a missing person report tomorrow if she didn't come home by herself, and then they're off, probably shove their holes full of donuts and dirty money. But not before they told me that the school asked them to escort me off their premises. The fucking nerve of them! Seeing that neither the school nor the cops were of any help, I spent hours roaming these streets. Popping my head into every store and building, asking if they saw her or anyone wearing her clothes. Only when the sun had set and rose again did I go to the police to file a missing person report. They've been so fucking helpful too, the lazy fuckers. You know, I once believed that after Gordon took over, maybe things would change, but I haven't even gotten a fucking phone call to tell me that they're even investigating!"
Albert wrote most of that down, especially jotting down the school as a primary point of interest. There should be some security cameras on campus, even if they were the crappy, grainy kind; it should still be enough to at least capture something. And even ignoring the more technical angle, he also found it very, very unlikely that an elementary school wouldn't have teachers looking out like hawks for any sort of strange behavior from the outside world.
Someone must've seen something, but if they refused to cooperate with the police...well, it wouldn't do to make any guesses now.
In that heartbeat of silence, the man had taken that time to quickly chug the remains of his drink in a few gulps before burping loudly and tossing the thoroughly crushed can into yet another pile.
The investigator didn't try to stop him; he was angry, grieving, and felt helpless. Sure, he'd gotten a hit off, but that hadn't been enough to make this principal cough up the goods.
"Thank you for sharing." His writing paused as he looked at a thoroughly buzzed man, who had begun slouching. "For what it's worth, I am sorry, but I will look into this the best way I can. I can't promise miracles, but I will keep you informed on what I find….I know this is a bit of a strange question, but do you know if she has a diary? Something I can flip through to find some common names?"
There was no question of where he was going next; everyone in that school was far too suspicious not to look into it. But having more information on the sort of battlefield he was stepping into was a much better idea than just wandering in all blind.
Russel looked up sharply at him, bleary eyes instantly turning as steely as a razor before whatever surge of energy quickly died down under the buzz. Waving sloppily, he cracked open another cold-er-lukewarm one and belched.
"I'd rather you not." That steel appeared once more, only to once more be swept up in grief. "But...I didn't say anything to find her, didn't I? Wait here. I don't want you in her room."
Propping himself unsteadily to his feet, the large man wobbled before leaning heavily on the wall to stay upright. And after walking a few steps, he turned right and pushed open a door. It was only for a second, but Albert got a pretty good look at the interior. It was...very purple if he was being nice.
Purple rugs, purple bed sheets and a purple curtain. All differing shades but it was clear as to what the girl's favorite color was. But that wasn't all he noticed. The room was distinctly cleaner than this hoarder mess. Sure, it was clean from the point of view of an eight-year-old, with a few plushies littering the ground, the bed left unmade, and looking to be in desperate need of a vacuum or broom. It was almost like there was an invisibly barrier separating her room of the clutter.
Many triggers could cause someone to live like this, in such an unhealthy environment, to neglect themselves in such a way that they were literally wasting away. Rotting in their own filth. And grief this strong was definitely enough to do so.
He couldn't even imagine how he would react if one of his imaginary kids went missing, and honestly, he never, ever wanted to know.
The man rummaged carefully through a desk not too far from the entrance way before coming out with a small purple notebook. Treating it as if it were made of glass, he held it carefully in his leather-like hands. His eyes drooping as he reluctantly handed it over.
Maybe the only reason he did was because of the bright, white gloves the investigator wore.
"Thank you." With some care, Albert opened the diary and began to skim through the pages. Trying not to invade too much of the child's privacy while also being fast enough to gather as much information as possible. "It shouldn't take long."
Jacky's diary was an inconsistent thing. Sometimes she wrote almost every day, other times there were multiple blank pages where she wrote nothing more than her own name and the date. And while a lot of it was the rambling of a child, names began to speak out to him. Their mentions are frequent.
'Mrs. McBride, her homeroom teacher, Mr. Dover, the school's janitor, and Candice Bricker, the school's problem child.'
Those three names bounced around in frequency, but they were probably the most heavily mentioned names in her writing. As he got to the end, there was no groundbreaking discovery. No mention of her uncovering some grand conspiracy or a clear finger to point at. On that day, even from a week prior, nothing of note was written.
But what did he expect?
Russel had months to hover over everything there under a fine-tooth comb; the chances of something new being discovered were slim to none.
Handing it back to the man, who clutched it tightly to his chest, Albert smiled stiffly at the drunk.
"I'll see what I can find."