Chapter 29 (Revised Edition)

Megan was left in this two-story house, and Bob took great care of her. Aside from the fact that the bedroom had been somewhat stark since they had just arrived, Megan, feeling drowsy, simply washed up and collapsed onto the bed, falling asleep without noticing a thing.

Early the next morning, while Megan was still fast asleep, Bob used the funds allocated by Nelson to purchase a large number of supplies.

Breakfast consisted of macaroni, fried eggs, and grilled sausages. Bob also baked some oatmeal raisin cookies, with chocolate milk to drink. As she ate slowly, Bob busied himself organizing and tidying up in the adjacent living room.

Young children sometimes exhibit a touch of obsessive-compulsive behavior; when faced with food, they always eat from the closest item to the farthest. However, a child's appetite is limited, which often meant she would be full while some of the food remained untouched.

Honestly, it was a bad habit. Bob, busy with his work in the living room, would glance at her from time to time. While he wasn't very good at guessing Megan's intentions, he had his own way of understanding things. He chose to respect her little quirks, yet he stepped over to manually rearrange the order of her food, and the problem was solved instantly.

In the end, she ate a little of everything. After hopping off the chair—her feet unable to touch the floor—she held a cookie in her hand. Megan, uninterested in what Bob was doing, walked over to the window in the living room. It was a long, vertical sash window, and the bottom pane could be slid upward.

Megan stood by the window, straining her neck to look up at the sky. The wind blew in through the opening; she was now able to "find" the wind, which was a significant improvement.

She glanced toward the door every now and then, finishing her cookie in a few bites. She clapped her hands to shake off the crumbs, looked left and right, and finally climbed upstairs.

There was a railing along the second-floor hallway. Megan had realized the night before that she could see downstairs through the gaps. After climbing up, she sat on the floor, extending her hands and feet through the railings and resting her head against them, watching the living room and Bob from above.

She was curious about her surroundings. The perspective from upstairs was entirely different from downstairs; things like tables and chairs looked completely changed. She could now see the tops of tall cabinets that she hadn't been able to see before.

And Bob—he had transformed from a tall, imposing figure into someone who looked quite small, his hands and feet busy with his tasks.

Megan sat in her high perch. Bob had not noticed her yet; he remained unaware of her gaze. She tilted her head, looking from one side to the other, still with nothing to do. There were no lessons or homework here. Even though she watched the door and eventually went downstairs to stand by it, Bob would not open it for her.

And no one else came either.

Bob was stuffing cotton into doll skins. Previously, he had been assembling a small counter to move into Megan’s bedroom. He finished the first doll—a round, adorable puppy—and patted it to ensure the stuffing was even before taking it to Megan.

"This is a doll," he said, crouching down to be at eye level with her, mimicking Nelson's attitude toward her.

Buying dolls and toys for Megan was his own initiative. Since neither Nelson nor their boss—the Joker, who hadn't provided any contact information—had given specific instructions, he had to plan based on his own judgment. Surely, buying these things for a child wouldn't be wrong.

He had bought her small dolls before, placing them by her bedside or near her when she was tied to a treadmill and forced to walk. As for why they were *small* dolls... the point was the "small" part. Bob wasn't sure how the Joker felt about the child, but he was committed to his task. If the worst came to the worst, he could hide the toys the moment Mr. Joker arrived; small dolls were easy to tuck away unnoticed.

Seeing Megan so well cared for now, he felt free to buy dolls and toys openly without having to hide them, approaching his job with enthusiasm.

Megan looked into his eyes, then down at the doll, but she didn't move. Bob held his position, offering the doll. Megan’s reaction was slow; it took several minutes before she finally took it. She didn't seem to care much for it, though. After Bob walked away, she let go of the doll, watching it drop to the floor. It made no sound, didn't bounce, and just rolled in a circle.

...It wasn't a ball.

How strange.

It was so strange that Megan stared at it for quite a while. Her little mind couldn't grasp the concept, so she finally gave up, picked it up, and placed it on the sofa. She had no further actions to take; she didn't know what to do next.

She had no instructions, only the wait.

Just then, Bob walked over again, crouching down. He handed her another small doll: a yellow, square character with big round eyes, a wide curved mouth, and four thin limbs extending from the block.

Megan didn't recognize it, but Bob said, "This is yours too, Megan. Your doll."

Strangely, she remembered a red-haired woman standing among plants, tapping a flowerpot and saying, "Yours," with a wild, confident, and gentle smile on her face.

However, that plant stayed in Poison Ivy’s greenhouse. Megan would sometimes go to water it, poking wooden sticks into the soil just as Ivy did, and picking off old leaves. Ivy had said, "Plants breathe. They express themselves; for example, if they are thirsty, malnourished, or suffering from pests, they show it directly. They are the most honest children."

Yet, many times when Megan placed her hand next to the greenery, she couldn't feel its "breath." But Ivy had said, "Their breathing is a minute occurrence, something humans cannot perceive, Megan."

They were breathing; it was just that humans couldn't directly feel it—but one could not say their breathing didn't happen.

Everything was beyond Megan’s understanding, yet no one forced her to grow, trying to make her understand everything at once. They all tacitly agreed not to put any pressure on Megan; it didn't matter whether she understood or not.

Megan simply thought of that word "yours," which now overlapped with what Bob had just said. She took the little yellow square from his hand and shook it, feeling the four limbs flail about.

Bob said, "It's SpongeBob SquarePants." They shared the same name!

Now, here was the problem: did the child, who was so well cared for in his eyes, ever watch cartoons? That was a good question. But looking at Megan’s puzzled, tilted head, Bob knew there was definitely an issue.

Raising a child, keeping her healthy, but not letting her watch cartoons... was this kind of care good or bad?

So, Bob said he had something to do and went to the second floor, where the child couldn't hear him. He originally wanted to call Nelson to ask if he could let her watch TV and cartoons, but he didn't dare. He could only tap away at the keypad, sending a text message instead.

Bob hoped Nelson would take the child's education seriously and reply, though he also worried about getting a reply too quickly—what if it interfered with gang business, or what if the boss thought he was making a fuss over nothing? Just as he was spiraling into anxiety, his phone vibrated. He opened the message: it was just a single word: "Sure."

He felt relieved. He went to the first-floor living room and turned on the television to the children's channel, which happened to be playing the cartoon. He pointed at the yellow square jumping around on the screen and said, "That is SpongeBob SquarePants."

The one in her hand was SpongeBob SquarePants, and the one on TV was too. Megan couldn't help but look back and forth between them.

As for the television, she had seen one at Arkham Asylum, but she didn't like watching lights and shadows that moved and made noise. When the criminals gathered to talk loudly about news, sports, and gossip on TV, she didn't like the noise and the crowd, so she would hide from them.

Now, looking at the doll in her hand and its obvious resemblance to the one on screen, her eyes widened.

Bob thought the child would be interested in cartoons, but when the TV volume went up, the yellow Bob talked incessantly, joined by a pink starfish. Megan couldn't understand the plot, and her attention and recognition skills couldn't keep up with what they were saying or doing; she only saw them jumping and shouting.

Megan couldn't make sense of it. She shook her head; finding no interest, she retreated upstairs. However, she kept the SpongeBob doll clutched in her hand. She felt a bit familiar with the color, but she couldn't remember why.

...

Megan didn't watch cartoons, nor did she watch early childhood educational channels. On the third day of her return, when Nelson came, he brought her textbooks and workbooks. Only then did Megan seem to receive an instruction; she would study her lessons and do her homework every day.

Only then did she watch the children's educational programs on TV with any seriousness. But such programs were rare, and to accommodate children and capture their attention, the hosts were usually overly dramatic and spoke a lot of nonsense, causing Megan to lose focus and drift into a daze.

After Bob taught her how to use the remote control to change channels, the second show she liked was *Animal World*.

It was much like when Poison Ivy introduced her to plants. Because the videos were edited, she could see landscapes she had never seen before: the ocean, the desert, the jungle... She suddenly "recognized" many things.

Finally, on the fourth day, Bob's phone rang. As he answered, Megan silently approached him, looking up at the phone.

After Bob went through a series of "Uh-huhs, ohs, and all rights," he handed the phone to her.

Megan had seen the Joker make and receive calls in his cell, so now, as Bob half-crouched holding the phone, she leaned in close, shaking her hair. She heard some faint sounds, and then—

"Hi—my Megan, how have you been these past few days?"

"Did you find yourself sad and lonely, restricted to a little house and unable to see Daddy?"

His tone was drawn out, carrying a chilling undertone. In the background, someone could be heard screaming in terror, "Snake! There's a snake!" The Joker was laughing uncontrollably. Since escaping Arkham, he had found new fun, and it was a "big shot" who usually only appeared on television—a major figure in the news lately!

Megan, of course, did not respond. Suddenly, another familiar voice came over the phone—the Scarecrow. He and the Joker had once had their differences, but they had reconciled and were now sharing the same amusement.

The Scarecrow was fully equipped; his fear toxin had controlled that big shot, easily trapping him in the illusions of his deepest fears, thereby forcing him to act exactly as they demanded. Now, he set that person aside and took the phone from the Joker, his tone somewhat peculiar: "Who is our Mr. Joker talking to? Let me see."

"Oh, what a pity we can't meet face-to-face across this phone line, but I know you, child. By the way, what was it you wanted to say to her? Let me relay it for you now."

He knew the effects of his proprietary fear toxin all too well, which had made things less fun, but after partnering with the Joker, their previous minor conflicts had vanished into thin air. It was nothing, really. So, he took the phone as if the three of them were all old friends.