Park Row Free Clinic, Crime Alley, Shortly After Midnight, August 4th, 1987
It had been an unusually quiet night, and for some reason, that unsettled her.
The clinic generally had two busy seasons each year; mid-winter and mid-summer, when exposure to the elements and activity on the streets tended to be at their worst. The people she usually treated, the poor, the outright homeless, always got the worst of it. During summer it was heat strokes, traffic accidents, injuries from the gang fights that tended to flare up during the hottest parts of the season, and this year hadn't been any exception... up until a few weeks ago at least.
After the whole "Doctor Death" business, things seemed to have peetered off somehow. Oh sure, people still came in with the usual ailments, but there seemed to be less of it. As a healer, normally Leslie Thompkins would have been relieved to see less people suffer, but she couldn't bring herself to. It didn't feel like things were improving out there, it was more like the city was holding it's breath. Waiting for something. The trickle of patients she did get all seemed on edge, even more so than usual, like they were feeling the same thing. When you had to scratch out a living at the bottom of a city like Gotham, you learned to sense these things. Something was happening out there. Something bad.
Leslie sighed, pushing away the thought as she finished checking on the sleeping patient in the bed in front of her. The thin, haggard man had been one of the less injured of the group of survivors Arnold Sutton and that Flagg person had broken out from Doctor Death's lair, and he'd still been in horrible shape when he'd first arrived. He'd regained some weight now, the infected cuts were healing, and the mass of filthy hair and beard had long since been trimmed down. She pressed her stetoscope against his slowly rising chest, making sure that he was breathing properly. Satisfied, she turned towards the door, heading towards her office. The small amount of patients staying in the clinic were all sleeping restfully, and the skeleton crew of staff at work this late were off with their own assignments.
Just some paperwork left to deal with, then she'd turn in for some well-deserved sleep herself....
Leslie Thompkins realised there was something off about her office the second she flicked on the lights. It took her a few seconds to notice why.
Her desk, normally overflowing with papers, patient files, order forms, and paperwork of every conceivable type, had been swept clean, her work stacked in neat piles by the side of her chair. In it's place sat a single item; a card. Right in the middle of the desk top.
Leslie looked around, confused, halfe-expecting her staff to jump out of the shadows and proclaim this was some sort of prank. Or a surprise birthday party. Which would make even less sense, since it wasn't even close to her birthday. But of course, there was no sound, no people laughing at her expression. She was alone out in the dark hallway, the only noise coming from the ancient air conditioner struggling to cool the building.
That same, uneasy feeling she'd been feeling all night came back, even stronger than before. She didn't like this. Surprises in Gotham City were rarely pleasant ones. Hesitantly, she stepped across the treshold to her office, walking slowly towards the desk, staring at the small card. It was a Tarot card, she dimly realised, though she had no idea why she knew that. She reached out, picking it up, and studied it, still trying to make sense of why it was even here in the first place.
The card held a colorful picture of a woman, wearing an ornate robe and a crown filled with stars. She was holding a scepter in one hand, and sitting on a throne in the middle of a field filled with growing grain. A Roman numeral, "III", had been written at the top of the card, while at the bottom sat two words.
THE EMPRESS
That was it. No messages. No explanation why some fortune tellers nonsense was sitting on her desk. Even the whirring of the air conditioner seemed to fade away into nothing as Leslie stood there, staring at the strange card. She would probably have stood there for the rest of the night, torn between trying to figure out the mystery and just throwing it away, if a random idea hadn't struck her. On a hunch, she turned the card over in her hand, and there, on the back, written in gold letters, was a single sentence, written in gold...
"Do Not Let Them In!"
What? That didn't explain anything! If anything, it just raised even more questions! Who were "They", exactly? She assumed the message meant the clinic, but everyone were welcome here, that was the whole point. In her years in Crime Alley, she'd treated everyone from the homeless to gang members to mobsters to certain stubborn vigilantes with no judgement. No one was turned away...
A sound finally brought Leslie Thompkins from her trance. In the far distance, in what now seemed like another world, there was a knock on the front door.
Strange, she thought. The clinics door was only locked if no one was inside at all, which was a rare occurence. There was almost always someone in attendance. But the receptionist had gone home for the day, and the lights were off in the vestibule. Maybe that was why..?
She walked out of her office, slipping the card into the pocket of her lab coat, barely aware of the action at all, before heading down the corridor leading to the front entrance. She must've walked this same stretch a million times over the years, she knew every crack on the floor, every bit of the peeling paint of the walls like the back of her own hand, yet tonight, there was something different about it, almost dreamlike. She felt as if she was walking through a dark, unknown maze, the sound of the knocking her only guidance through the winding halls. The next thing she knew, she found herself in the unlit vestibule, staring at the front door. The knocking stopped, and the haze over her mind seemed to lift ever so slightly. She blinked, trying to make sense of things. She looked over at the window that overlooked the entrance and the parking lot right outside, and even with the blinds closed, she could see shapes outside. Figures moving around.
Were there a lot of injured? An accident perhaps?
And then she heard a voice. Or something that might have been a human voice once.
"Doctor Thompkins?" something said from the other side of the door. "Doctor Thompkins, my name is Kurt Barlow. I'd like to speak with you. Me and my.... associates would all like to speak with you. Let us in. Hear my words, and let us in..."
Leslie Thompkins wanted to scream, but her voice wouldn't speak. She wanted to run, but her legs wouldn't obey. Something in the deepest, most primal part of her brain was shrieking like a madwoman, knowing that whatever was on the other side of that door was a predator, a monster worse than anything she'd ever thought possible in a world of sanity, but her body wouldn't listen to it. Without even knowing it, her hand began to rise, stretching out towards the doorknob, to open it, to let the thing inside, like it had asked. Her fingers brushed against the cool metal, and some tiny part of herself broke through the haze, her other hand touching the card in her pocket.
"Don't Let Them In!"
But the voice wanted in...
"DON'T LET THEM IN!!" A voice roared in her mind, a voice that wasn't her own, and she yanked her hand away from the doorknob like it had scalded her. She took a step back. Then another.
On the other side of the door, there was another sound, like long, claw-like nails dragging across the wooden surface. "Doctor Thompkins, hear my words. You want to let us in. We're sick, Doctor Thompkins. You've sworn to help us. The unfortunate. The outcasts. Are you going to turn us away too?" The voice had taken on a new nature, like whatever was talking was trying to sound hurt and pitiful when it could barely remember what either thing meant anymore, like stretching an atrophied limb. But whatever power the words had held seemed to have broken, or at least lessened, and Leslie felt her own resolve return.
"G-go away! Leave right now, or I'm calling the police!!"
She jumped back, almost tripping over her own feet as a sudden thud struck the door, and the voice changed again. Gone was the pleading, replaced by an inhuman snarl.
"LET ME IN!! I COMMAND YOU!!"
"I TOLD YOU TO LEAVE!" She shrieked right back at it, trying to ignore the lightning bold of fear shooting up her spine. The voice fell silent, and for a moment, Leslie thought that maybe whatever it was had given up. And then...
"Alright, we'll do it the hard way then. Bring me the girl..."
Dread settled in her stomach as Leslie realized the voice wasn't talking to her anymore, as one of the shadows on the window moved, followed by the sound of someone sobbing. There was a shuffle right outside the door as the thing moved, and the crying came closer. She couldn't see what was happening, but her mind was starting to put an image together.
And the voice spoke again.
"Maybe you won't have pity on us, Doctor Thompkins. But I'm sure you will for this child. Do you need me to describe her? Her blonde hair? Her tear-streaked face? The primal fear in her eyes? Tell her your name, child..."
Another voice spoke, soft and heavy with fear "It-it's Pearl. P-please don't hurt me, I don't-" the girl whimpered out before her voice cut off, muffled. Leslie could all-too easily imagine a clawed hand covering the poor girls face. The thing didn't speak again, it didn't have to, the ultimatum had been made. Leslie had been given a choice. One life for a dozen others. She wasn't stupid enough to think herself and her patients were any safer than the victim outside, and all that stood between them and that same horrible fate was an old wooden door. A door the thing wanted her to open.
Doctors have to make hard decisions, choices they will carry with them for the rest of their lives. Leslie Thompkins knew that all too well. But in the heat of the moment, with death literally at the door, it wasn't always easy to do the logical thing. To make the hard choice. And even the most rational person would start to beg for a miracle.
It didn't happen often. In fact, Leslie could count them on one hands thumb. But sometimes, that miracle did come, against all odds.
And in the darkest hours of August 4th, 1987, Leslie Thompkins miracle came in the form of an emerald light shining through the closed blinds of the clinics front window....
.......
"Get the kid out of here. Now!" Wildcat said as the terrified girl was placed down in front of them, carried away from the snarling, furious horde of bloodsuckers gathered in front of the free clinic by a green, glowing bubble that vanished as soon as she was safely on the ground. A woman in police uniform, one of the GCPD officers who had joined up with their group quickly ushered the girl away into the crowd. Seeing the hostage in relative safety, Wildcat turned his attention back to the vampires, his eyes drawn to the tall, ghoul-like thing that almost towered above the others. Bald head, pointed ears, and those horrible yellow eyes...
"That is one UGLY sunofabitch right there!"
"You think he's the leader Flagg was talking about?" Dinah said, walking up next to him. Wildcat glanced over to her, seeing her in full Black Canary mode. He wasn't thrilled that the girl had decided to jump into the mask and cape game... but he wasn't exactly surprised either. He just wished she hadn't picked this particular week to start.
"That would be my guess, yeah. Can't think of any other reason why he looks like Count Chocula undergoing chemotherapy! Guess they decided to bring out the big guns..." He smirked, looking up at the caped figure floating above them, surrounded by a green aura. "Too bad for them we did too, huh?"
You could always depend on Alan Scott to have your back, after all.
Time for the Green Lantern to ride again.880