Holding the phone tight against her ear, Barbara listened as it rang three times, hoping no one would pick up on the other end. But on the fourth ring, someone did, and she heard a familiar Chicago accent greet her.

"Hey, Mom," she answered. "Sorry I haven't called. I've been really busy. Yeah, I know it's only been a week but I still should've called."

"Things here are good..." Barbara chewed on her lip as she thought carefully about the next words out of her mouth. "Um, dad has a new fiancee."

There was a heavy pause, and for a moment, Barbara thought her mom had hung up. "Hello? Mom?"

"Yeah, I met her." She sighed with relief after hearing her mom's voice. "And no, it's not Sarah. Yes, she's younger. About ten years younger." Well, at least she looked about ten years younger. But she couldn't exactly tell her mom that, could she? Not without raising too many questions.

"I think he met her at a party. Yeah, I don't get why he hid it from us either." She started fidgeting with the cord, twisting its coiled curls around her finger. The truth was she knew exactly why he hadn't told her, and it was the same reason Barbara regretted doing so. Her mom would start on a tirade about James's failings as a husband, father, detective, and whatever else she could list. Just like she was doing now.

"Mom, dad does care. He's just been busy. There have been some high-profile disappearances and he-No, he hasn't been home," she admitted. "But that doesn't mean he's forgotten about me." Maybe she should've told her mom that Pamela was an eighty-year-old woman. It might've spared her the rant she'd grown up hearing for the past nine years.

From out in the hall, a low snarl drowned out her mother's voice, drawing Barbara's attention. Not because it echoed through the paper-thin walls or because there was another voice accompanying it, but because it was not the soft, velvety sound Barbara had come to associate with Pamela. But despite its harsh tone, there was no mistake it belonged to a woman. And what other woman lived in this house?

Ignoring her mother's endless ranting and raving, she pulled away from the phone and listened in on the argument. Although it sounded like the voices were right outside her door, Barbara couldn't make out a word of what they were saying. But what she could make out was that the other voice did not sound like a woman's but like a young male's. Could it be Richard's?

"Hey, Mom. Let me call you back." She quickly hung up the phone, letting it slam back into place with an audible click. Upon rolling into the hallway, she found that the voices hadn't been right outside her door at all, but were coming from the entryway ahead.

Whatever they had been arguing about must have been intense since Pamela and Richard were glaring daggers at each other, not even noticing Barbara staring at them just a few feet away. Without another word, Pamela turned on her heel and left the house, slamming the door behind her.

"What was that about?" Barbara asked as she rolled herself towards where Richard was standing.

"Pamela's just mad that I'm here." Richard shrugged as he twisted the blinds open. Parked in the same spot as before was the black Lincoln from yesterday. Before Barbara could even consider getting its license plate, it took off, leaving a cloud of black smoke behind.

"Not even good ole Harvey Dent is immune to Pamela's 'charms.'" Richard shook his head as he shut the blinds.

"Harvey Dent?" Where had she heard that name before? Was it from one of the articles? No, that couldn't be right. She remembered hearing his name spoken out loud.

"Yeah, the district attorney," he said. "He was elected after the last time you were here, so figures you don't know him."

Barbara's eyes widened as she suddenly recalled where she had heard the name. Bruce had just said it when the funny-looking man burst in, interrupting whatever explanation he was about to give. But Barbara had a pretty good idea where he was going with it. "That's him? He's the D.A.?"

"Yeah." Richard glanced at her. "Why do you seem so surprised?"

Barbara couldn't help but scoff. "Where do I even begin? For starters, that she would be hanging out with someone who I assume is close with my dad is a pretty bold move. Second." She held another finger up for emphasis. "Bruce mentioned Harvey Dent yesterday and how he had something to do with the will. If he's the D.A., that explains why Pamela is around him. He's obviously familiar with the law and how a will, especially a complicated one like this, would work."

"And here I was thinking she was just around him for his looks." Richard grinned.

Barbara shook her head, dismissing the idea. "That's too simple. Pamela seems like someone who does things with intent. The problem is, I don't know what she wants with my dad. Because whatever the hell it is, it isn't out of love."

So then what did Pamela want with her dad? In fact, what did Pamela want in general? Revenge? Money? That all seemed so petty when she had apparently found the secret to everlasting life. There had to be something more.

Barbara rubbed her head as she contemplated what to do next. Go back to Wayne Tower? Nah. Go back to the library? Hm, maybe.

Almost as if he could read her mind, Richard broke the awkward silence and asked, "So what do you plan to do now?"

"We need more evidence. Hard evidence," she stressed. "Because what we have now is all circumstantial. My dad would never believe it."

His blue eyes lit up. "So you were right about wanting to protect your dad! I knew Bruce was just being cynical. As usual."

The memory of Bruce's words was like a fresh wound that just had salt rubbed into it, so bitter and stinging she could almost taste it. "Of course," she scoffed. "He had no right to say that. It's not like he knows me." And it was true. Before coming back to Gotham, she had probably spoken no more than two sentences to him, if that.

"I guess I should've warned you, but he likes to think he knows what makes humans tick. You would think he'd be a psychologist with how he analyzes everyone." Richard gave a soft chuckle.

Barbara cracked a smile. "Well, thank God he's not a psychologist then. I'd hate to be the poor sap who's under his care."

"So I'm guessing we're going back to the library then?" Richard started to fish out the sunglasses from his coat pocket. "It's practically our second home now."

"Yeah, but hey." Barbara glanced back as she rolled towards her bedroom. "Unlike this one, at least Pamela isn't there."

**

Rubbing her bloodshot eyes, Barbara glared at the mess in front of her. Rolls of microfilm were scattered on the table, alongside crumbled pieces of paper and a discarded notebook marked in red ink. In the furthest corner laid The Five Founding Families of Gotham, its rigid spine up in the air from being turned over.

From above, the last ray of sunlight was quickly fading. It was hard to imagine she had been here all day. It was even harder to imagine she had wasted it, having turned up nothing new on Pamela. Throwing her pen down, Barbara groaned as she grappled with the realization that she might actually be chasing a ghost.

"Hey, everything okay?" Richard peered from around the corner, carrying a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.

"No." She took the cup he offered her. "Thanks. You don't know how badly I need this."

"No problem." He smiled as he pulled up a chair beside her.

"Are you sure you don't want one? I have enough money-"

"I don't drink coffee. Bruce never allowed it." He shrugged.

"Wow," Barbara muttered, taking a sip of her coffee. "And I thought my dad was strict."

Richard laughed as he rested his cheek against the palm of his hand. "No, I think Bruce takes the cake. He didn't start letting me out until like four years ago." His voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned into her. His face was only a few inches from hers, his mouth even closer. "In fact, when I first met you, that was my first time out of the manor."

Barbara blinked as she gazed into his eyes. Had they always been this blue? Like the color of the sky?

Realizing she must've looked like a creep from staring at him so long, Barbara turned her head away, clearing her throat. "Wow." She took another sip. "That's hard to imagine."

"Anyway, we've hit a dead-end." She hoped Richard didn't notice the sudden change in topics. "I can't find anything else on Pamela. Or on any Pamela. After 1942, she's never mentioned again," Barbara sighed, wiping back tears from her burning eyes.

"Hmm." Richard tapped his chin as he studied the crumpled pieces of paper. "There has to be something we're missing."

"Yeah, the connection between the disappearances and Pamela!" She threw her hands in the air, seeing she had nothing else to throw. But no sooner had the words left her lips did she realize what she had been missing. "That's it."

"What's it?" Richard cocked his head.

"We weren't seeing the forest for the trees!" she exclaimed as she gathered the heap of microfilm off the table and into her arms. "I was too busy looking for any mention of Pamela that I forgot all about the disappearances!"

Richard followed her as she rolled back to the reader nearby. "But I was looking for them, and there weren't any."

Barbara whipped her head around. "Did you just look for any in Seattle?"

He glanced to the side, scratching the back of his neck. "Um, yeah."

"Exactly." She grinned before turning on the reader. "If this is the work of a serial killer, then other cities had to have been hit between here and Seattle. Go look for some articles after 1942 since we know that's when the disappearances in Seattle stopped."

He started to turn on his heel when he abruptly paused and asked, "From which cities though?"

"I don't know. Portland maybe? Try some from the Pacific Northwest since we know that's where she was last."

Richard nodded before taking off in search of more microfilm. While she waited for him to return, Barbara flipped to a fresh page in her notebook and started writing. This would be the last page she wasted. No more useless scribbles and chicken scratch. From now on, each line and blank space would be filled with only the most important details.

"Okay, I found some!" Richard scurried over with several rolls in his arms.

"Great!" She took about half of them from him before placing a random one into the reader. As the screen came to life, Barbara eagerly watched as the headline came into view.

"Disappearances continue in Salem," she read, trying to keep her voice steady. It took every effort not to shout, especially when her eyes scanned the next line. "Men are warned to stay indoors when night falls... dated 1954."

"Check this out." Richard nudged her. "The Night Creeper continues to haunt Portland." He pointed to the screen with a toothy grin.

"Dated 1970," Barbara whispered. "Has-Has this been going on for over five decades?"

"Seems like." Richard leaned back and stretched. "I'll keep looking though."

As the evening waned on, Barbara and Richard searched through articles that ranged from 1942 all the way to 1981. Starting with the most populous cities, they worked their way down to the capitals of each state as they tracked the disappearances through the region. It didn't take long before a disturbing pattern started to emerge, one Richard was the first to point out.

"They happen every ten years." He lifted the notebook up and gestured to the blood-red numbers.

She frowned, pushing her glasses back up. "Okay, so it all begins in Seattle, and the disappearances last from 1932 to 1942. Next is Olympia and the disappearances go on from 1942 until 1952. Then, they start happening in Salem from 1952 to 1962. After that, it's Portland and they continue from 1962 until 1972. Last is Tacoma, which starts in 1972 but suddenly stops in 1981."

"And start in Gotham in 1982," Richard said, writing this information down into the notebook.

"So there's an exception with the last period." Barbara narrowed her eyes as she considered this oddity. "But what would make the killer break away from their pattern?"

"Maybe they were going to get caught. Had to move away and start somewhere new," he suggested. "And what makes you think they're a killer?"

Barbara rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, Richard. You know as well as I do that those men are dead." As soon as the word left her mouth, she felt a sudden tightness in her throat threatening to choke her. Jason was among those missing men. But she had never considered he was dead. No, not even for a second. She always imagined he was being held prisoner somewhere, in some dark and dingy basement. It would take some time, but her dad would find him, albeit weak and thin from captivity but still alive. Always alive.

She should've known better than to think that.

"Even if their bodies were never found, there's no way they're off living their best life down south. They're dead. They have to be," she murmured.

"Okay, assuming this... killer is the same person and there isn't some copycat, there's still one big question remaining-"

"How does it connect to Pamela?" Barbara finished for him with a deep groan. "I honestly don't know."

"I can try looking some more." He started to rise from the chair, but before he could leave, Barbara stopped him.

"No, we're missing something again." She let go of his wrist before rubbing her aching forehead. "But what? What are we overlooking?"

Snatching the notebook up, she studied the list of facts about Pamela. Yes, she lived in Seattle around the time of the first disappearances. Yes, she changed her name after her second marriage. Yes, she was widowed, and probably twice.

Widowed. Barbara fell back against her chair at the thought. "Richard, do you remember how Mr. Irving died?"

"Uh, I think he died in his sleep." He turned to her, drawing closer after seeing the unblinking stare on her face. "Why? What are you thinking?"

"If Pamela is a serial killer who's not to say she hasn't murdered her previous husbands?" Her voice cracked at the last word. Oh, God, no. She could handle the notion of Pamela being a serial killer just fine. But a black widow? Just the thought of it made her nauseous.

"Well, we know one mysteriously disappeared." Richard rubbed his jaw. "Certainly fits the perp's MO."

"Only one way to find out." With shaking hands, Barbara inserted a film from the end of 1981. As she zoomed in towards the obituaries, she hoped for once in her life she was wrong. Because if she was right... Oh, dear God, if she was right, then they were in hotter water than she thought.

But as they read the cause of death of a prominent man known as Dr. Isaac Irwin, the chances of her being wrong grew slimmer and slimmer. By the time she got to the part where it mentioned he left behind a wife by the name of Paula Irving-Irwin, they were practically nonexistent.

What was it her dad used to tell her? Once was chance, twice was a coincidence. But three times? That was a pattern. "Check the obituaries from December 1972. I'll look at the rest," she ordered, already inserting the next roll of film.

He gave her a thumbs up. "On it!"

Sure enough, as they raked through the obituaries, they found that in the last month of the final year that marked the disappearances did some poor old man meet his end in the exact same way. Dead in their wives' beds.

"Penelope Ivey-Jones? Lillian Rose-Gray?" Richard lifted his gaze from the notebook in his hand. "You think these are all the same woman?"

"It has to be. These five men all lived in cities marked by disappearances caused by, 'The Night Creeper,' as the newspaper likes to call it. These five men all died in their sleep and left behind widows with similar or variants of the same name," she explained. "Finally, these men were all doctors or politicians or lawyers or something involving money and..." Her voice suddenly faltered. "And-And-"

"Barbara? Barbara?" Richard grabbed her by the shoulders as she sank into her chair, catching her before she could fall out.

A look of absolute terror crossed Barbara's face as she looked up and said, "We have to go home... Now!"