I'd been sitting in my usual spot waiting for Carnival, for Arthur, to show up after he was done entertaining the children. It wasn't until the doctor arrived that I realized something must be wrong. He'd never shown up later than my doctor. Never.

"Where's Carnival at?" I asked, my voice worried.

"Who?" He asked, looking down at the chart in his hands.

"Carnival. The clown who comes to entertain the children. I haven't seen him today and he always stops by before he leaves for the day," I mumbled, my fingers twisting around each other as I worried about what could be keeping him for so long.

"Oh. Him. I heard he brought a gun with him, so he won't be returning here anymore," he said, his voice calm as if he hadn't just said something that brought a part of my world crashing down around me. "Now, I need to speak to you about the test results from your last visit."

Ignoring him, I hurried to my feet and ran down the hallways until I finally made my way outside, searching for any sign of Carnival. Of Arthur. Sadly, there was no sign of his green wig and oversized clothing amidst the dreary, muted colors that seemed to embody the average person. No bright orange vest under that too large jacket, no white face with a bright red smile or green wig with hair seeming to fly in every direction. There was no laughter to be found and part of me was afraid that if I couldn't find him... if I couldn't find Arthur, then I would never hear the laughter again.

I would never hear his laughter again.

--------

It had taken nearly an hour before I could convince the nurse to give me the information of where Arthur worked, far too late to head over there with how dangerous things had gotten. Tension in the city had peaked and things were not safe for a lone female with dwindling ability to hear things around her. The tightness of anxiety in my chest and the cold pit in my stomach at the thought of going someplace new didn't help, either.

No, tomorrow... I would go over tomorrow and find where Arthur was, where I could hear my friend's laughter once again. Surely he would understand why I waited. He'd always seemed to understand when the anxiety would get the best of me, just reminding me to breathe, even as he fought to get the words past his own laughter at times.

Checking yet again to make sure the slip of paper was still safely tucked away in one of my pockets, I boarded the subway train and slipped into a seat near the back. At least it wasn't so late that I wouldn't be able to get home before it got too dark to see the streets around me. It wouldn't do to make myself an easy target if someone was planning mischief.

I'd dealt with enough of that for this lifetime, after all. It was bad enough that I'd lost my hearing to such mischief. I didn't need to lose anything else, especially with how crazy things had gotten lately.

--------

"What do you mean he's been fired?" I gasped the words out, feeling like the floor was falling away from under my feet.

"Just what I said. He's been fired. Brought a gun into a hospital, from what I hear," the large man said, a smirk on his face as he turned back toward the locker, pulling out a pair of shoes.

"Where is he? I need to speak to him! Does anyone know where I can find him?" I asked, my chest tight as I fought to keep calm, but I could see the way the edges of my vision began to grow dim.

"Are you the lady from the hospital?" Someone behind me said, the words barely even registering in my ears as a whisper.

Turning around, I saw a very short man standing there, no makeup on his face yet as he looked at me with a curious gaze. With a nod, I took a small step closer, my hands clenching together in front of my chest as I tried to slow my breathing down to a normal pace.

"Arthur talked about you sometimes. Said you were his friend, his hope," the man said, a smile appearing on his face. "Let me get a piece of paper. I can write down his address for you."

"That's my name. Hope, I mean. My mom said she named me that because I gave her hope for a better future. Sometimes I wonder if she was crazy, thinking Gotham would ever get better," I said, waiting for him to finish grabbing paper and pen before he began scribbling an address onto the sheet he'd found.