TWO MONTHS AGO
Two Shots.
That's all that it took for me to realise my parents were dead.
My eyes jolt open, awakening from the repetitive nightmare I've found myself revisiting lately. I look around, feeling the cold air as I realise the window's open. I'm in the study, sitting in my father's old, worn chair. I'm not entirely sure how long I've been here or whether I even made a concious effort to be, but for now, there's no place I'd rather be. Except maybe the cave. Maybe if I had just lived the rest of my life there, I wouldn't have failed Gotham or my parents as badly as I did.
It's been three days. Correction... four, considering I just noticed that the sun's just rising outside. But I just can't shake it. The possibilities... the 'what ifs?' have run through my head at least a dozen times. The feeling is familiar... I remember doing that when Vicki Vale was put into the hospital by Johnathan Crane, better known now as The Scarecrow. Aswell as when Harvey "Two-Face" Dent murdered the man who disfigured him. Even when Carmine Falcone met his demise at the hands of the maniac calling himself The Creeper. But over time, I was able to rid myself of the guilt that came with those failures. Now, however, it's all coming back. With an addition, too. As terrible as those crimes were... I don't think they can be compared to the
massacre I witnessed seventy tw-...ninety six hours ago.
My fault. All of it. I've tried to tell myself otherwise, but I only know I'm attempting a lie. I knew it would happen. I knew those people were in danger. And yet I let myself become distracted with the phonecall, and the mugging. If I had just ignored both, there's a chance that all of those people would still be alive today, and The Joker would've been put into The Arkham Institute. But I didn't. And it's a price I'm paying.
Maybe I was wrong to go about my promise, like this. It all seemed so logical at first: Use my own childhood fear to strike terror into everyone else. Even when I was building the costume, modifying the car, digging out the cave... I never told myself I'd fail. I was just too obsessed with restoring Gotham to it's prime, like I remembered it before my parents' murder. But failure? That isn't something that crosses one's mind, when you devote your life to an ideal. You think you've thought of everything. I couldn't have been any more wrong.
So that begs the question. Should I just give it all up? I worked so hard to get as far as I could... but it all seems so pointless with what's happened. All of my training didn't stop The Joker from murdering those innocent people. So what good is it to continue? Even the innocent people themselves don't trust me. I've read the headlines... Nearly all of them accuse me of vigilantism and insanity. And maybe they're right... Maybe I am insane for what I've tried to do. Dressing up like a Bat to take down all of the crime in one city isn't nessacarily a declaration of the opposite.
It all goes back to the reason. My parents. Both of them wrongfully gunned down right before my eyes. That incident spawned all of this. But what I never focused on was honoring what they stood for... the example they made to this city. I only focused on my own pain and anger. Why else would I have chosen such an extreme and violent approach to this? Sometimes... I actually think about what they'd say to me if they knew about this. And none of their reactions are nessacarily pleasant, everytime I imagine it.
I don't know. Apart of me feels like it's too late to go back. I've established a pattern in my life that would be difficult to rid myself of. And I can't just force everyone to forget about The Batman. To put it simply, I've painted myself into a corner. A trap. One I'm not sure I'll ever be able to escape. But if I don't... how many more will it take to make me reconsider? How many more have to be killed by psychopathic madmen like The Joker or Scarecrow, before I begin to realise that maybe
they aren't the problem?
I look up for the first time in minutes, only to spot the familiar sight of Alfred's tuxedo out of the corner of my eye. Has this life taken a toll on him, aswell?
"Forgive me for sounding like a broken record, sir, but... How are you doing?"
For a moment, I can't find the words. Of all of the people I've dragged along with me on this crusade... Alfred is probably the one I most regret.
"How do I look?", I eventually ask, quietly, looking down at the fireplace.
"Well, your ability to speak is improving, at the very least. That's the first thing you've said since the other night.", He responds, laying a tray on the table next to me.
"Manage some room for a bit of food?"
I finally look at him. He's trying his hardest to cheer me up... make me forget about what happened. But all I see when I look at him is another victim of this... war, as I once referred to it.
"I suppose not."
Putting the the lid of the tray back on, Alfred begins to walk out of the room. But then I notice him pausing. A long moment passes before either of us say anything. Unfortunatley, I keep my vow of silence longer than he does.
"Master Bruce, you can't blame yourself."
"I'm doing a pretty good job of it, so far."
"You know what I'm trying to say, Sir. Don't try and ignore it."
I look away.
"I feel like I could've done something. More than I did, really..."
"But you tried, didn't you?"
I look back.
"Trying didn't save those people. And it's not going to save Gotham if I continue."
"Trying, I'm afraid, is all one could hope for in any case. You're giving yourself far too much grief."
"Or not enough."
He pauses, for a moment.
"What?"
"If I may, sir... I seem to remember another young man who said that on quite the regular occasion."
I raise an eyebrow.
"Your father. Everytime he failed to save a patient's life. Do you believe him to be a failure aswell?"
"Of course not.", I respond rather quickly.
"He may have made mistakes. But my father was a good man, and he still had the decency to at least tr-"
I pause, catching that. Alfred smiles. I shake my head, looking back at the fireplace.
"I never wanted to compare myself to him, Alfred."
"Then perhaps it's time you tried. Lord knows that everyone else does...", He responds.
"The point is, sir, that you're more like your father than you realise. Both incomparably driven, both incomparably stubborn... But both incomparably human, above all."
I look over at him again. He seems so sure of that. Maybe I should be, too...
"I'm still not my father."
"Of course not, Master Bruce. But no one else is. You, however, do come the closest to being his equal, given how much good both of you have done in the world."
How much good I've done in the world...?
Okay, now I know he's just being considerate. I haven't-
We both turn, hearing the sound of the phone. Before Alfred can move, I walk over, and pick it up.
"Hello?"
"I wasn't sure if you'd pick up, this time."
I lower my head, letting out a sigh at the sound of her voice.
Great. Rachel.
Just the person I needed to talk to...
"I've... not been in the mood for talking, lately."
"You haven't been since I met you."
...Well, she's got me there.
"I assume you heard about what happened?"
"With the massacre at Gotham High? It's been making the newsrounds, yes. They didn't say Batman was involved in any way, but I had a feeling..."
I lean on the desk behind me, annoyed. I wish she'd just get the point. Maybe I should do it for her...
"So you called to tell me how badly I failed? Because I got the message, thank you."
"Actually, I called to do the exact opposite. I want you to meet me somewhere tonight."
I raise an eyebrow, looking at Alfred. He tries to look away... But... I think he may actually know something about this.
"Where, exactly?"
A few hours later, and I'm walking into the absolute last place I ever thought I'd go to again. Rachel walks beside me, bundling up her coat at the chilling winds of the nightly winter's air. I notice this, and look over.
"We don't have to do this, if you don't-"
"No.", She immediatley responds.
"You're not using me as an excuse to get out of this, Bruce. We came here for a reason."
I turn, continuing the tread forward. We pass a street sign. I can't even look at it, because I already know what it reads. It's image will probably never leave me.
PARK BLV.
It's here. This exact spot. This is where it all started. Where a figure lashed out of the darkness, armed with a gun. Where that same figure ended the lives of my parents as quickly as it came. This is where my true life began. In almost every way... this is where I was
born.
I can't move, seeing it. But eventually, Rachel gives me a stern look. I don't even know why she cares, anymore. But something about that look convinces me to walk forward. I look back at her, for a moment. She turns away, as she promised she would. I don't want her or anyone else to see this... this is a private matter. Between me and them. Without a second's hesitation, I reach into my jacket, and pull them out. I remember my mother always being so happy, at the sight of these, whenever my father brought them home for her. It's why I've chosen to continue the tradition, today. That and, well... I think that it's become long overdue.
I place the two white roses down, gently, onto the pavement that once provided home to my parents' dying bodies. Their bloodstains are faint, but still visible. Fitting, I guess. But the roses make it all seem so... well actually,
less morbid.
I... want to say something. It's an odd urge, but... I really feel as though I'll never get the chance again.
"I don't know what to say.", I begin, looking down at the roses.
"I'm crazy for saying anything, really. Because I know you can't possibly hear me. But... I... It's been awhile."
I don't even bother to look back and see Rachel's reaction to this. She probably thinks I've lost it, too. But something tells me to keep going.
"What happened to you is something I'll never forget for as long as I live. There hasn't been a day that's gone by, even now, when I haven't thought of... that night.", I continue.
"You probably wouldn't have wanted it. Who would, really? Having a son... dwelling on something like that. But I have. And I probably always will."
I shouldn't stay long. I know what it'll do to me. I have to make this quick... even though part of me doesn't want to.
"I know it can't matter to either of you anymore. I know that better than most. But... I just hope one day, both of you can understand why I've chosen to do what I've chosen to do. And why I... I have to continue."
Until this moment... I didn't even realise I had already made a decision. But I guess I have. Huh.
"I love both of you. And I know this goes without saying, but... I'll be thinking of you."
I touch the pavement, softly, remembering what it felt like that night. It brings back so much... yet it pains so little. Because now I know that I can finally continue with the rest of my life.
I guess... I can go now. Goodbye, mother and father. It's time I made good on that vow I made to the both of you, a few years ago...
I stand, letting the windchill hit my face. It doesn't phase me, as I turn, a new man. This spot birthed me. Now, I feel like it's rebirthed me, as I look at Rachel, who turns, and smiles lightly.
"I disagree."
I raise an eyebrow at the comment.
"I think it does still matter to both of them."
For a moment, I'm silent again. But eventually, it comes. A smirk on my face. Something I'd never thought would hit it again. Of course I'm quick to hide it... but I think it's too late anyway.
"Come on. I need to get back.", I tell her, as we begin to walk back into the city.
"There's work to be done."
It took me awhile to trace the origin of it. But when I eventually did, it wasn't surprising in the very least.
Letting go of my line and spreading my cape so it'll catch wind, I land on the edge of the rooftop, still a bit surprised by it. He turns, noticing my arrival. Taking the cigarette out of his mouth, he smirks at my reaction to it.
"Figured that'd get your attention.", He says, letting the cigarette drop to the ground.
I step off of the ledge, walking towards it. Surveying. It's... very big. Very traceable. But in some ways, I can't help but feel it has a certain charm to it.
"What is it?", I ask, as Gordon lightly taps it's symbol.
"Newest form of communication. Or oldest, depending how you look at it.", He responds.
"Guess you could say it's a signal, of sorts."
"Why?"
"Because frankly, our old method wasn't working quite as well. At least this way, you won't have much of an excuse not to show."
I stand, silent. I seem to do that alot. It gets on everyone's nerves... but part of me likes that. I'm not out to be liked, or even admired. I'm just out to be me.
"You don't like it?"
I turn my head.
"I never said that. But you'd think one would be tempted to trace it."
"Won't have to worry about that. Not after I get the others installed."
I raise an eyebrow.
"Others?"
"Oh, yes.", He states, stomping out his cigarette on the ground.
"I realised that it'd take less than a damned second for anyone to trace it back to here, so I'm setting up a few extras around town. Remote controlled. All set to light up at the same time with the press of a button. Anyone tries to find it or you, they'll end up on a wild goose chase across half the city."
He's... thought about this. Willing to use this more than once. Perhaps even willing to continue trusting me, after what happened. I find a small amount of comfort within knowing that.
"Then we move on."
"From The Joker? I figure that's all we can do.", He states.
"Still blaming yourself for it?"
"It... comes and goes, now.", I begin.
"But I'm more concerned with capturing him. And the rest."
"Now that's thinking I could get used to.", He responds.
"Starting with a report I filed just a few minutes ago. Seems after Falcone's passing, someone's tried to strongarm his territory from all the other criminals in this city. They call him The Penguin."
He looks at me, after looking out at Gotham. I think I know what he's about to say.
"Interested in taking a look?"
I look at the... signal, as he called it. Then back at him.
"If you're interested in trusting me."
"I am.", He states, extending his hand.
"You've earned that much, I'd say."
"How?"
"Because even if you've fallen short a couple times... At least you've still gave a damn enough to keep trying."
I try to hide the smirk from my face, remembering Alfred's comment with his own... but I don't think he'll mind seeing it. If anything, it may convince him to trust me more. Extending my own hand, I grasp his, and we shake on it.
"I'm interested.", I state, before walking back towards the ledge.
"Batman..."
I pause, and turn.
"If you don't mind me asking... what made you decide to stop blaming yourself? From all the other times, I assumed you'd be knee deep in grief."
I turn back around, getting back on the ledge.
"I realised two things, Jim.", I begin, before turning around, letting my cape catch the wind again.
"One... I made a promise, a long time ago. And that promise doesn't permit me anymore grief."
I don't expect him to understand that... but he nods anyway.
"And the other thing?"
I turn around, looking out at the city. Gotham City. My city, now.
"The other thing?"
I've never felt more confident in saying this. And it's never felt more right.
"I've got work to do."
I manage to catch the smile on his face, as I leap off the rooftop, and swing into the night. Maybe for the next time. Maybe for the last time. I'll just have to keep hoping, because I realised... that's really what I need to keep doing anyway. Hoping. And
trying.
My name was Bruce. I was born into a grand utopia, once known as the greatest city in the world. Now, I wage a neverending quest to make it that way again. Not out of revenge. But out of respect. Respect for two very good people who gave their lives in order for this to happen. Why am I the one to carry this out?
Because as far as I'm concerned, my name isn't Bruce anymore. It's Batman. And it's going to stay that way as long as the criminal element rots my city to it's core. I don't care if it takes a day, a week, a year, or even a lifetime... I'm going to put a stop to it all.
This, I vow.
