Bella MacLeod's Twilight Fanfiction

The Wayne Legacy: Knightmare

By BetterInTexas

Chapter 26:

Boone Park, Missouri

George Hayworth was a simple man, living a simple life. He was a farmer, just like the five generations of his family before him. He was a husband of twenty years and a father to two teenage girls and one young son.

George wasn’t perfect. In fact, he was far from it.

He drank too much. He lost his temper easily and did things to his wife he wished he hadn’t later. He had a history of depression, recreational drug use and aggravated assault in his younger days. He had spent many terms in the county jail.

He was a powder keg waiting to explode that just needed the right match.

In short, he was the perfect target for Dr. Jonathan Crane.

For the past months, Crane had not hidden in the depths of the woods, doing nothing. He had stolen money when needed, robbed and murdered strangers on his path across the eastern, southern and mid-western parts of the country. If he was ever suspected of being alive, Diana Wayne and her Bat vigilante that haunted his dreams would look for him on the East Coast. It was familiar territory for him.

Once had had made it to Missouri, the robberies and killings stopped. A “mysterious serial killer” was being reported in the media and no doubt being tracked by the Feds. His last kill had been in Indiana so they would be looking there.

He had enough money now and had found the perfect old, abandoned shed in an overgrown pasture in Boone Park, Missouri. It was twelve miles from the small town with a population of eight hundred and fifty-eight souls. Strangers weren’t welcome so Crane drove his stolen car with new plates long distances to pick up the supplies he needed: normal household chemicals, the plants and herbs, the pots and pans, burners and air tanks, storage tanks and other needed supplies. It wasn’t a quick process, but he had one shot at this, and he had to get it right.

He had lived like an animal, rarely venturing away from his large, rusted shed, whose only visitors were foxes, deer and the occasional bobcat that was easily scared off. He used a bucket for waste and only ate dried food that did not need refrigeration.

He took the laptop he had stolen and occasionally snuck into town at night, staying in the shadows outside the public library, close enough to use the free Wi-fi. He also listened and learned about Boone Park.

George Hayworth had caught his eye. Court documents were public records and George could have been a harmless, witless heathen, or a psychopath ready to burst.

He watched the man leave the bar some nights, followed him home and listened to him yell at the wife and children, heard glass objects shattering on those nights he had heavily imbibed.

In a nutshell, he was perfect for Crane’s objective.

Crane had been making a new type of gas. He had realized late one night after he had killed a victim too quickly, that a fatal gas didn’t actually achieve the greatest impact of devastation. He offered the victims ten minutes of fear before the toxins killed them.

He had reworked his formula and made something far greater. This toxin was perfect. A strong hallucinogenic but not a fatal one. It would show a person their worst nightmare, push those fear receptors in the brain and encourage their fight instincts.

His ultimate goal was to maximize the chaos that would occur when he unleashed his fear toxin. What could be more fun than to watch people kill each other?

George was chosen to be his first live test subject and that night would be perfect.

The bar was full and despite local bans on weapons inside establishments that served alcohol, George was always carrying a gun and a very large knife.

As the man walked into the bar, Crane followed him, keeping his head down in the darkened establishment. It was busy on Saturday night and despite his pungent smell, he slipped through the crowd quickly, staying behind George.

George had a seat at the bar and Crane slipped behind him, reached his hand in front of George’s face and sprayed his fear toxin from a simple perfume spray bottle.

It was odorless and George only turned briefly to see who had dared invade his space.

Crane was already gone, slipping through the patrons and out the back door. He exited and kept walking hurriedly, staying in the shadows along the backs of buildings and avoiding the few street cams that were in the small town.

Once he was two blocks away, he waited.

It wasn’t long before he heard two shots in quick succession.

Screams.

More gun shots.

He moved in closer to get a better look. He heard more shots, no doubt some of the burly men were trying to stop George, only making him more terrified and determined to defend himself from the imagined monsters surrounding him.

Still more gun shots. Crane suspected the gun would be empty now.

The screams continued. He guessed George was now trying to cut the monsters with his buck knife.

Crane walked directly across the street, staying in the shadows and standing under the only street camera out of sight, smiling gleefully.

Panicked patrons were stampeding out from all exits, some falling in the doorway and getting trampled by others. A few were throwing chairs through the windows as alternate exits. Some were covered in blood, most likely not theirs judging by the speed they were moving.

Sirens joined the screams and two police cars arrived. The officers bravely rushed inside.

He heard another scream, likely an officer being stabbed then a gunshot.

Crane suspected George was now dead.

Ironic that George had owned a gun designed by Kara Wayne, Crane thought. He suspected the gun the officer had just used to kill George was one of Kara Wayne’s designs also.

He stayed hidden in the shadows all night, watching State and County police arrive, ambulances from nearby cities rushing in and out to take the injured away.

He watched the bodies carried out of the local watering hole, covered in bloody sheets.

All told, he counted eighteen bodies, including one officer.

Eighteen dead, fourteen injured, and poor old George didn’t die until he was taken out by a police officer.

Tomorrow morning, every paper in the nation would publish a story about the Boone Park Massacre. George Hayworth’s life would come under scrutiny. It was a tragic story. A man who drank too much, with a history of violence, finally snapped. He opened fire, screaming about monsters, then began cutting his imaginary monsters down with a very large knife.

Crane was very pleased. The first test was a success. The others would be smaller in scale in remote locations: farmhouses, camping spots, a place where a victim could go mad without being gunned down… places where the victim could come to his or her senses and see what they had done. It would be interesting to see if a person would kill themselves after realizing they had killed loved ones, turn themselves into the police, or run.

For now, he was on top of the world. He knew without a shadow of doubt, this Halloween would be one that would be written about in Gotham City history. Unlike this small town, when the smoke cleared, everyone would know Jonathan Crane was the man who brought fear to the masses.

---

The Narrows, two nights later

When Blake received the call from Detective Montoya at midnight, he knew it couldn’t have been anything good. He had been up reading, beer in hand and feet kicked up on the coffee table in his small apartment.

The day had been exhausting.

He had worked with Kara and Terry after his shift as was usual these days. He was at Wayne Tower so often now that security began waving him through and he was learning their names. He felt he was getting better and since she smiled more than she scowled, he supposed she thought so as well.

It was getting more difficult for him to be around Kara. Despite the fact they were from two different worlds, they had a lot in common, more than he had imagined. She was still too good for him, and he had to reminded himself of that constantly, especially in those moments when she smiled so brightly and innocently, it lit up his world.

He had only been home for two hours and told Bruce he would not be training tonight. Bruce had planned on going out early, so it worked out for both.

Then Montoya called with an address in the Narrows. While he didn’t know the exact location off the top of his head, he knew the street. Everyone who grew up in or near the Narrows knew that street.

It was a motel, and he saw the entire front was ringed by police cars, lighting up the entire avenue in blue and red lights. Yellow tape was wrapped in front of the motel. It was the type of establishment that didn’t offer balconies, cable TV or the option to charge by the night.

Montoya was waiting for him when he arrived. He wore civies, his gun holstered to the right side of his belt and badge pinned to the left and he passed under the crime scene tape.

“Detective.” He greeted her. “If you called me, this can’t be good.”

Montoya wasn’t her usual antagonistic self, Blake noted. In his opinion, she just looked tired, not in a physical sense but in the world weary sense. It was a look he knew well.

“Thanks for coming, Blake. It’s pretty bad inside. We think we got a witness, but she said she would only talk to you.” Montoya explained. “She doesn’t like cops.”

“Let me guess, you let Bullock talk to her first?”

To his surprise, Montoya shook her head. “Good guess but no. We found a sex worker two weeks ago, cut to shreds in this motel. Espinoza got the case and wrote it off as a dissatisfied john. The worker was one of Marie Le Claire’s girls. Le Claire wasn’t asked any follow up questions, and nothing was done so she got pissed off. This time, she got a look at the man with the victim but says she will only talk to you… do you know why?”

“I know her. Everybody who grew up in the Narrows knows her.” John replied.

“You grew up in the Narrows?” Montoya asked, a bit surprised. She only knew he had been an orphan in the system when she had looked up his file after the Crane incident.

“Some of the most elite group homes and orphanages are in the Narrows.” Blake told her. “So, who’s the victim?”

“Annie Devine.”

Blake stopped moving, even breathing, a cold chill racing through his suddenly stiff body.

Montoya watched him, not interfering. She could tell by his sudden intake of breath, he knew her. If her guess was right, the girl wouldn’t have been much younger than Blake.

“You knew her?” Montoya asked, quietly.

Blake nodded. “Let me see her.”

“If she ever meant anything to you, I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Renee told him immediately.

Blake looked at her and she knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer. She sighed, dropped her head and walked toward the motel, Blake following her.

When they reached the room, Blake stood next to Montoya in the doorway, not moving any closer. The room was covered in blood and CSI was processing the scene, wearing biocontainment suits so they wouldn’t contaminate the evidence.

Annie was laid on the bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. She was uncovered and Blake could see from a side view that her entire body was marred by deep slash marks and stab wounds. Her blonde hair was spread out around her, and her body was so drained of blood, it looked like a marble statue, painted in red streaks.

Blake did something he had not done in years. He crossed himself and closed his eyes, fighting back tears.

He watched the scene for a few moments wishing, if he stared long enough, it would go away like some horrible dream.

Finally, he had enough and asked where Marie was. He followed Montoya to the motel’s office and the two entered together.

Marie was the same as Blake remembered. A white woman in her fifties, with artificial red hair fanning in all directions, slightly overweight, wearing a tight black dress and stockings that made her look like a typical street walker.

Despite her appearance, she was much more. She was a shrewd businesswoman, who made a living off the backs of girls, while still doing her best to look out for them. If you were a street rat who had enough of a foster home or group home and hit the streets for a bit of freedom, she always had a sandwich ready for you. She may have been a pimp but there were far worse people in the Narrows.

The woman looked up when they entered, immediately focusing on the young officer. “Mad Johnny Blake. All grown up. I heard the stories that you were one of Gotham’s finest.”

“Cut the shit, Marie. Why her?” he asked, sure the woman would know what he meant.

“She needed a job. She couldn’t afford a shitty apartment on a waitress’s salary. She wasn’t going to go off to college or marry rich. You want me to turn down every girl who comes for help? It was either here with food every night and medicine when she got sick, a roof over her head… or on the streets, freezing and starving. She wouldn’t have lived past the first winter. I’m not running a charity here, Johnny.”

Blake’s face darkened. “She was too sweet for your world. She was too naïve.”

“She used what god gave her to survive.”

“God had nothing to do with this! Why aren’t you talking to the police?” Blake demanded.

“I wanted a cop here who would take it seriously. Nobody seemed to give a damn two weeks ago. They carried Deidre’s body off, sent a crime scene clean-up crew that half-ass wiped the place up and I never heard anything. She was cut to pieces, and it didn’t even make the news.”

Blake crossed his arms. “You have our attention now. Tell Detective Montoya what you know. I’m fairly certain she hates me, but she gets things done. Who did this?”

Marie looked Montoya over. “She’s too busy keeping her drunk ass partner walking a straight line. I’ll only talk to you.”

Blake hit the wall behind her, causing her to jump. “You will talk to both of us… now!”

Marie’s eyes widened then she nodded. “How many times did you live with her, Johnny?”

“Four group homes and two foster families.” He answered.

Marie locked eyes with him. “You gonna do what needs to be done by her?”

Blake clenched his fists and forced himself to calm down. “Marie, you’re a pimp, plain and simple. You think you protect these girls, but you don’t. Don’t quote some street code of honor. I know the code. Talk or go to the station in cuffs for obstruction of justice and a host of other crimes I bet Montoya can hang on you.”

Marie frowned then sighed. “I heard Annie say hello to a ‘Vic’ in the parking lot. I didn’t know who Diedre went off with a couple weeks ago, but she had mentioned a guy named Vic too, said he paid good. The next night she went off property and wound up dead. I told this to the cops two weeks ago.

“Tonight, I saw him. It must have been this Vic guy Annie had said ‘hi’ to earlier. His hour was up, and the damn radio was blaring so loud the whole building could hear it. I went to knock on the door and found it open. I saw… that poor child. It was obvious there wasn’t nothing I could do, so I ran to the front and called the police. My signal isn’t great inside, so I stepped outside and saw him. He was at the end of the parking lot, shirtless, bald skull glowing under the lights, and his skin looked rough, like he had scars all over his body. The asshole winked at me and walked off. I heard a car start up, but it must have driven in the opposite direction. I can’t tell you what kind it was.”

Montoya groaned. “There isn’t a street camera in the Narrows that works. I’ll put an APB out on the description.”

Montoya walked off, leaving Blake with the madam.

“He swung the blade, but you put her in his way.” Blake accused.

Marie waved it off. “I read about you. You used to get in fights all the time, but the Army taught you how to kill. Killed two people already since you been back. How many you kill in that sandbox?”

“It was the Marines.” Blake said, not bothering to answer her.

“I asked for you, because I had to get you here. Those cops might pay it more attention now, may even make the news. You’re not mad Johnny Blake anymore, taking on the world with his fists. You got skills now. You can kill all nice and legal.

“Whether you blame me or not, the man who did this has to be put down. Put him down, Johnny. Put him in the ground.”

Blake stood unmoving, a myriad of emotions running through him, the most prominent was a boiling rage he was fighting to keep inside.

“She got anybody?” he finally asked.

“Do any of you?” Marie answered.

“You gonna take care of her?”

The woman sighed. “City of Gotham takes care of my girls. They harass them enough during their lives. Least they can do.”

Blake shook his head.

“They would put her on West side.” He said, referring to the area of Gotham City cemetery where vagrants, homeless and everyone who doesn’t have next of kin or insurance were buried.

“This job doesn’t come with life insurance.” Marie responded.

Blake thought of a million things to say but knew none of them would hurt her. She was inhuman now after so many years of this life. Had she always been and like the others, been fooled into believing she was alright because she showed the kids a bit of kindness? Living in the Narrows, surviving in the Narrows year after year made a person hard. There was no other way to be. You didn’t leave the Narrows to go to college. You left for the military or prison and those that didn’t, scrapped by every day for simple survival.

John walked outside to find Montoya and Bullock waiting for him.

“When the body is ready for release, put me down as next of kin. I’ll take care of the arrangements.” He told Montoya.

“Thanks for coming out. We can handle it from here.” Renee told him. “You want in, we can get the Captain to assign you to the case. You can canvas…”

“I’m good but thanks for the offer. I doubt you guys need a rookie slowing you down.”

He turned and started walking toward his car.

“Hey, kid.”

Blake turned and saw Bullock walking up behind him, away from the others.

“If you want to pick a fight tonight, I swear they will need DNA results to identify your body.” He warned the detective.

Bullock raised his hands. “Not wanting to fight. We got off on the wrong foot and yeah, I’m a drunk asshole and you are some cocky little shit, covering for a vigilante that people pretend don’t exist. That’s us and it ain’t gonna change.

“Can I just give you some advice from someone who has made possibly every wrong decision a cop can make?”

Blake stayed quiet so Bullock continued. “Don’t go hunting, kid. You want in on the investigation, fine, you can help out… but not like this. I’ve seen a lot of guys with that look in their eye. I don’t doubt you can find this guy quicker than us. You gotta a lot of connections and despite its size, the Narrows can be like a small town. Call us. Don’t go gunning for him. You got a lot going for you. If you track this guy down and kill him without calling it in, not even Gordon can cover for you.”

Blake met the man’s eyes for a moment then nodded. “Take care, Bullock.”

John didn’t drive home, but instead went to a bar. He walked in and nodded to the bartender who jerked his head to the back. Blake walked past the bathrooms to a maintenance closet. Once inside the closet, he opened up a doorway in the back wall and went down a flight of stairs where illegal poker games were going on.

Many at the tables stiffened when they saw his badge and gun, but a large, bald Hispanic man, with a goatee, wearing a very expensive suit, called his name and hugged him. The others, realizing they weren’t going to get busted, relaxed and went back to their games.

“I just heard. I’m so sorry, Johnny. We all loved her.”

The man motioned for Blake to follow him into his office. Once inside, the two had a seat and the man poured a drink for the officer.

“Leon, I didn’t even know what she was doing.” Blake admitted. “I’ve been back for months and never thought to look for her.”

“What were you going to do? You know how many girls wind up out there. How many of your brothers ran errands for Maroni or Falconè before they got ran out of town?” The man asked knowingly. “She isn’t your only old friend selling herself on the streets. How many are scrambling around selling drugs, stealing, hustling, doing whatever they can to stay a step ahead of starvation and prison?

“You got out, Johnny. Don’t beat yourself up for that. You did good. Why you think I ain’t mad about you not coming to see me? You couldn’t pull the whole Narrows with you. It hasn’t been a cake walk, has it? I bet you been through some shit overseas too.”

Blake nodded. “You could say that.”

“Did war sooth your anger?”

Blake shook his head. “As much as I missed our philosophical discussions, Leon, I need to find who did this to her.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “You mean you looking for leads, patrolman? I’m always willing to assist Gotham City PD if I hear anything.”

Blake said nothing for a moment, his message clear.

Leon nodded. “What do we got?”

“Bald man, young, figure twenty-five to thirty-five, slim build, cuts all over his body, possibly goes by Vic or Victor. He has got a taste for it. She is the second in two weeks. He may have killed more and bothered to hide those bodies. Either way, the Narrows are his hunting ground, and he isn’t going away.”

Leon nodded. “I’ll send word on the wire. You want anonymous tips sent to the police or you?”

Blake didn’t say anything, instead handing him a card.

Leon got the message. “Let me know if you need back up, the kind that your friends with badges can’t give you.”

Blake stood up. Leon walked around and clasped him by the shoulders.

“Come by sometime so we can catch up.” Leon said, “And for God’s sake could you hide the gun and badge next time? If I hadn’t seen you in the camera, this place would have turned into a warzone.”

John patted him on the shoulder and headed out.

He made it to his car but stopped before he opened the door.

He closed his eyes and shook his head. “This isn’t international organized crime. Just some maniac on the loose. GCPD has it.”

Batman walked out of the shadows, across from his car.

“I’ve been watching this place for a while. Leon Sanchez, host of high stakes, illegal poker games.”

“He’s a good guy.” Blake told him. “He does more to help the kids of this community than the Wayne Foundation does. He isn’t some organized crime head.”

“I’m surprised. I wouldn’t think you would go to a known criminal for help. You could have come to me.” Bruce told him.

“What’s the difference? A guy who runs an illegal game I’ve known most of my life and trust, or a guy who fights crime without a badge, breaks into wherever he needs to go, does things to bad guys cops aren’t allowed to do?” Blake asked, his tone flat. “You got bigger fish to fry. This is a straight up murderer haunting the old grounds. You got a lot of knowledge, Bruce, but no one knows the Narrows like the people who live here. I can handle it.”

“I got a crash course from Selina on the Narrows.” Bruce argued. “I’ve got an idea of what goes on here.”

Blake nodded. “Great. Tell me where some psycho with a blade that goes by the name Victor is.”

Batman walked around the car and Blake was face to face with him. It unnerved Blake a bit. When he had first met Batman, the eyes gave away his humanity. Since Kara had covered his eyes with those high-tech lenses, he almost appeared inhuman.

“What are you going to do when you find him?” Batman asked.

Blake shrugged. “I got to find him first. Tonight, I can’t do anything. Whoever did this is lying low. Until I hear something, I’m going home and living life as usual. All I can do.”

Blake wanted to leave but Bruce stopped him.

“You were close to her.” He said, not a question.

“Not close enough. A dozen guys and girls I grew up with in this slum and I forgot about them the minute I got on the plane to boot camp. I never thought I would come back and when I did, I didn’t bother looking back. Past is past, right?

“It’s kind of my style, moving on. Been doing it for a long time. I don’t want to find out what happened to other kids I knew. I bet some died overdosing on heroin or crack. Some are probably in prison, probably a lot of girls wound up doing what Annie was doing or latched onto the first abusive asshole that showed them the slightest amount of affection.”

“You aren’t responsible for them.” Batman told him.

Blake laughed lightly. “You… the man who has taken the safety of a city on his shoulders, made it his personal mission to rid Gotham of crime, are telling me I’m not responsible for the only semblance of family I had growing up.

“I don’t care what you think you learned from Selina Kyle. You will never understand how it is growing up here… this is not your world.

“Good night, Batman. Be careful out there. I’m going to bed.”

Bruce watched him drive away, considering for a moment driving after him to make sure he actually went home. He knew that look in Blake’s eyes.

John always seemed so calm and composed. Bruce knew there was a fire inside him, but he always seemed to have it under control. He never became frustrated when they were training. No matter what Bruce threw at him, and he threw a lot, Blake took it with a smile and stood back up, eager to learn more, to become better.

Tonight, John Blake looked like a man who would kill someone with his bare fists in a blind rage.

The Batman walked back into the shadows and started up his bike, taking off to scout various areas around the Narrows where prostitutes gathered. If he was lucky, this Victor character would be scouting out his next target.

---

Gotham City, Various Locations

The next afternoon, Blake had called in to work and then called Kara to cancel their dance practice.

“Is everything okay? Your feet are okay, right? You just need a break or something?” She asked nervously.

Blake sighed, hating to hear that edge to her voice. He knew enough to figure out she always had certain abandonment issues because of Bruce leaving them for six years and her parents dying when she was young. With Tommy’s recent relocation to Star City, all those old feelings had resurfaced. He suspected she was being extra clingy with Diana.

“I’m not leaving my dance partner behind.” He promised. “I just need a few days to take care of some personal stuff. We still got to work on lifts, right?”

“Yeah… if you’re sure.” She still sounded uncertain. “You know, I keep pushing this, but you are a good dancer. We don’t have to be professionals. You’re probably tired of spending so much time here. It’s okay if we stop.”

“I don’t want to stop, Kara.” Blake reiterated. “I just need a few days and while I appreciate your compliments, we both know I’m not that good of a dancer and I don’t want an angry Terrance Berg hunting me down. I’ll see you soon.”

An hour later, he was at Memorial Funeral Home, talking to Pat Miner, the owner.

“Her body should be released in a couple days.” Blake said after he had briefly explained the situation. “There is a spot next to her parents. Could I get that spot for Annie?”

Miner nodded. “It wasn’t purchased by her parents. It is still open, but it is in a premium location.”

“How much are we talking?”

“Are you sure cremation wouldn’t be a more viable option?” he asked. “The cost…”

Blake shook his head. “Her parents were buried, and she deserves to be next to them. If any of us deserve it, she does.”

“Do you have someone in mind for the service?”

“Father Al from Saint Rose of Lima. I talked to him this morning and he will clear his schedule, no matter the time.”

The man sighed. “Let’s look at headstone and coffin options. Then we can talk total cost.”

By the time they were done, Blake sat back in the office with a bill in front of him.

“Fourteen thousand, three-hundred and ninety-one dollars?” he asked, after staring at it for a moment.

“I understand and believe me, I am giving you the lowest price I can. I sympathize with you, Officer Blake, and I think what you are doing is very honorable. But funerals today, even simple ones are quite expensive and with her having no life insurance… if the city claims her body…”

“She gets buried in the West block, her coffin is a couple of sheets of plywood, and she gets a wooden cross with her date of birth and death like it tells the whole story. I got it. Look, I’m fine with it.” Blake said, shaking his head. Sighing, he asked, “Is there some kind of payment plan?”

The man frowned, obviously upset that he was having to break down these realities to a young man who wanted to do right by a friend he had grown up with.

“Unfortunately, we do not finance funerals.” The man replied sadly. “Life Insurance usually covers the cost, or the city pays for those who are indigent or unclaimed. You could ask for a personal loan from a bank but that size of a loan, I am sure they will want collateral.”

“I’ll handle it. I can get it to you tomorrow. I got good credit and a car. Maybe…”

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. It opened without invitation and Bruce Wayne walked in, casually dressed in a polo and jeans.

“Excuse me for interrupting, gentlemen.” Bruce told them apologetically. “Hello, John. You didn’t answer so I tracked your cell phone.”

“You can do that?” Blake asked.

“I was surprised too. I learn something new about me every day.” Bruce replied, shrugging. “Is everything going alright?”

Blake stood and walked outside, and Bruce followed, closing the door on a stunned funeral director.

“What are you doing here?” Blake asked him, irritably.

“I was worried about you. I understand that is what friends do for other friends. Diana told me so and since she is never wrong, it must be true. How are you?”

“I’ll be better.”

Bruce nodded, understanding what he meant and knowing he was wrong. Even taking this man down wouldn’t make it better. He was silent for a moment. “So how much?”

Blake shook his head. “Let me worry about that. When we first started hanging out, I told myself there was one thing I would never do, no matter how tempting it would be and that was to ask you for money. I’ll handle it. I can get a loan.”

“Or you could take a loan from me.” Bruce countered.

“I’m not borrowing money from you.” Blake insisted.

“Why would you go to a bank and pay interest?” Bruce asked. “I already own the bank. Technically, you would be borrowing from me anyway.”

Blake raised an eyebrow. “Your sister owns the bank.”

“That hurts… and is entirely accurate.” Bruce admitted. “Let’s say I consider myself a bank. Friends help each other. So, can we get this done and get some food? Not that hanging out here isn’t a joy, but I can think of a dozen places I would rather be.”

The sincerity in Bruce’s tone meant a lot to Blake, but the admission that Bruce considered him a friend meant even more.

“Thanks, Bruce.” He told him gratefully, giving in, knowing the loan made the most sense, no matter how much he hated it.

“Thanks for being my friend.” Bruce replied with a smile. “I’ve never had one before. It’s a pretty good feeling. Do me one favor in return, as a friend.”

“What’s that?”

“When we find this guy, and we will, don’t gun him down, unless you have no choice. Let’s take him in.”

Blake dropped his head. “Next you are going to want me to call police back up. Read him his rights. Appoint him a lawyer. Where does the madness stop, Bruce?”

Bruce patted him on the shoulder, and they walked back into the director’s office. An hour later, the two were in Blake’s apartment, eating Chinese food.

“What was she like?” Bruce asked.

John smiled, despite his mood. “Sweet. Never argued with anybody, even when she needed to. I got into a lot of fights on her behalf. She had bad taste in men. She was kind of the baby of our group. We had to look out for her because she wouldn’t look out for herself.

“She wanted to be a singer. Unfortunately, Annie wasn’t that great of a singer. Don’t get me wrong, she was good, but not world famous good. There was one song she could sing though… ‘Silent Night’.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “ ‘Silent Night’?”

“It was her favorite song. She would sing it every Christmas around the tree of whatever group home we were at. If we weren’t living together, me and some of the other guys would go to wherever she was. A lot of girls did too. Sometimes we would meet on the corner of Baltimore and Penn street and grab a trash can, light it on fire. She would put a little show for us. But when she sang ‘Silent Night’… magic happened. She left the toughest of us in tears and we didn’t even care. If you didn’t cry when she sang that song, you didn’t have a heart anymore.”

Bruce felt his heart ache. He had seen so much death in his life and he was thankful he never became immune to it.

He looked over at Blake’s TV and on the stand was a picture of him in desert fatigues, with three others, dressed the same, two men and one woman. The foursome were smiling, arms around each other, and one of the men flashed the peace sign at the camera.

“Marine buddies?”

Blake nodded. “Another example of me moving on. See the guy and girl to my right? That’s Sharon and Paul. The guy on my left is Eric. We were pretty tight. One day, we are driving to patrol a small village at the bottom of a valley. We run over an IED.”

Blake took a breath. “Paul and Sharon had just gotten engaged. They were getting out in three months, moving to Modesto, California. Eric was a lifer. Eric had been driving and the bomb exploded under him. He was dead the second it went off. Sharon got a piece of shrapnel in her heart. Paul lived, lost his left leg and was scarred on his face and torso from the blast.

“Wanna know what happened to me? I got thrown from the wreck, through the front windshield that had already been shattered. I landed about twenty feet away. Had a dislocated shoulder and some cuts. That’s it. I basically walked away without a scratch.”

Bruce knew what he meant. He had been a kid and stood between his parents while they were being murdered. Why had he survived? He was as much of a threat as his mother, but she was gunned down and he was left alone.

“I haven’t talked to Paul since that day. What am I supposed to say? Sorry you lost your leg and the love of your life? I’m doing good. I should have kept in touch, but I moved on, like I always do.”

Bruce sighed. “It wasn’t your fault. You think he blames you?”

“I saw the look in his eyes when I visited him in the hospital after it was over.” Blake replied evenly in a flat tone. “Yeah, he blamed me for living. I probably would too, if I were in his spot.

“Hell, even when I got shot, a friend was next to me. We were caught in a crossfire. He got his head blown off, literally. I got a clean shot through the leg. I’m lying there on that damn, rocky ground, my face looking at what used to be Diego’s head, waiting for it to end. I’m shooting at the general direction of gunfire, maybe I shot a few, maybe I didn’t. I’m just waiting for the shot that makes it all go away and then I’m over someone’s shoulder, being carried to safety. I walked with a limp for a couple weeks and went back on duty.”

Bruce shook his head. “You survived. That is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Is that what you tell yourself, Bruce?” Blake asked, knowingly. “Something tells me you don’t.”

Bruce sighed. “I’m getting there.”

Blake shrugged. “I ran into every firefight I could find. I saved as many people as I could. People said I was brave, but it wasn’t that. I just figured I was living on borrowed time. May as well make the most of it, right? Try to do… something good.

“Then I come back to Gotham and nothing. I don’t look up old friends. I don’t call old Marine buddies. I start a new life. I hang out with my new cop friends. I hang out with Bruce Wayne. I dance at Wayne Tower so I can escort Kara Wayne to the wedding of the century. I never look back. Maybe if I would have… maybe Annie would still be alive.”

Bruce leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, feeling the man’s pain. Blake kept a lot inside, but he had no idea it was this much.

Bruce knew all about keeping pain inside. It was one of the things that drew him to Blake and even Dig.

“I could have thrown myself at Chill.” Bruce said.

Blake looked at him in surprise. “What?”

“The man who killed my parents. I could have screamed to distract him, given my father an opening. I could have collided with him when he aimed that gun at my mother. I wasn’t a small child. I was twelve. Albeit, not an adult but I could have done something. I didn’t though. I stood there, watched my father fall, then watched my mother die. I stood there while he aimed the gun at me. My hearing was gone, but nothing was wrong with my sight. I watched and never moved a muscle.”

“You were twelve.” Blake told him.

“And what were you doing when you were twelve?” Bruce asked. “Something tells me you weren’t backing down from fights. I had never faced reality. I never had to be brave. When I needed to be, I wasn’t. I froze.

“That is the thought that will haunt me all the days of my life. What if I had done something, anything?”

Blake said nothing but did stand and walk to the kitchen. He brought a bottle and two glasses and the two sat silently, drinking until it was dark. Around eleven that night, Alfred arrived to pick Bruce up and Blake fell asleep on his couch.

When Bruce reached home, he ignored a worried Diana and made his way to his room.

Kara was concerned as well when she saw him in the hallway, but he gave her a soft smile and hugged her hard, then thanked her.

“What are you thanking me for?” she asked, obviously puzzled.

“For being you, for being here, for fighting, for making this world better every day because you never gave up.” Bruce told her with a soft smile. “Goodnight, Bunny.”

He kissed her on the forehead, entered his bedroom and was soon fast asleep.

The next morning, Bruce woke and traveled to his other mansion and made his way to the cave. He turned on the tracker he had slipped inside Blake’s phone a few weeks ago. Technically he hadn’t lied. Bruce did tell the man he could track him by his phone. Blake never asked how.

Bruce was concerned. Blake had more demons than he could have guessed. When he first told Bruce he knew who he was, Bruce did a thorough background check on the man. All the background check showed was his medals. He should have known medals and decorations never told the whole story.

He needed to find this Victor before Blake did.

For the moment, he began making shuriken, getting lost in the simple act of metal working, the sparks flying, the grinding, the detail on the objects, sharpened over and over again.

Later that night, he was in the Southside of Gotham. He usually stayed in the shadows and listened for higher level crimes in Arkham City or the Narrows, following trails to gun or drug shipments, and the movers and shakers behind them.

Tonight, there were others he wished to speak to, those who would need encouragement.

He knew of a hangout where neo-Nazis gathered often. He had planted listening devices months ago that fed into the computer in his cave. He was alerted to key words, involving hate or politically motivated crimes hoping to stop them before they happened.

Tonight, he cut the power to the hangout and walked in the front door. There were seven scumbags playing cards and they were alert as soon as the lights went out and the door opened.

Bruce must have looked like an avenging wraith. The sky outside was thundering, the wind blowing his cape as a storm was brewing. Four of the men walked towards him, one with a rifle.

Bruce grabbed the rifle barrel and bent it, testing the hydraulic function of his suit for the first time. It worked perfectly and he jerked the rifle away and used it to strike all four men to the ground, swiftly cracking their skulls. He tossed the gun to the side and marched to the three.

One attacked him and was flipped over and landed on the ground, where Bruce savagely broke his jaw, striking him repeatedly as he lay on the ground. His friend tried to pull Bruce up but was unsuccessful as Bruce’s elbow struck him, sending him flying back.

He stood and turned, kicking the man in the face and shattering his cheekbone. Another kick to the side of his head, sent the man to the ground unconscious.

Now, only one was left.

Usually, the last one to fight was a coward, a leader or both. Bruce was hoping for a leader or a coward. A leader would give him answers. A coward would tell him which of the broken bodies was the leader.

“You’re real.” The man whispered. “We ain’t done nothing to you. This ain’t the Narrows. Why are you here?”

Batman threw a punch into the man’s jaw and kicked his knee in. He caught him by the shirt collar before he hit the ground and moved his face closer to the man.

“I’m looking for a man named Victor. He shares the same haircut as you and your boys. Scars all over his upper torso, likes knives and cutting up prostitutes. Something tells me that you might know where I can find him.”

“Man, I don’t…”

Batman dropped him to the ground. When the injured man raised his hands to ward off another blow, he shoved a shuriken through the palm of the man’s right hand, causing an almost inhuman scream.

“I can plant more of these in the wall and hang you by them.” Batman promised. “He may not be yours, but you know something. You know everything about the Gotham underworld. You are Reginald Turner, correct?”

“I swear I don’t know…”

“Swear to me!” Batman yelled in his face. “He is killing young women on my streets! If you don’t give me useful intel, for every night I’m not finding him, I’m breaking your face wherever you hide!”

“I got it! He isn’t mine, okay?! We heard about him walking the streets around the Narrows and approached him.” Turner explained. “He stabbed one of my guys. We were going to get payback but thought we would give him another chance. He might be a great enforcer with all those scars. He’s holed up in Bludhaven, but that’s all I know. I don’t know his exact location. We were told he was seen around Dunhurst and were going to look for him there, in force this time to make him an offer.”

Batman let him go and backed up. “Your hate group is over. Gotham is my city, all of Gotham. No hate crimes, no political crimes, no drug or weapons running. Everything you are doing is over. If any of those things happen, I’m coming for you, Reginald Turner and you won’t be able to stop me. No matter how many men you surround yourself with, I’m the monster from your nightmares… and I am watching you.”

Bruce walked away. One of the men on the ground pulled a pistol from the back of his pants. Before he could aim it, Batman tossed a shuriken into his hand as he continued to walk, not bothering to look at the man.

He made his way to his bike parked four blocks away and drove to Bludhaven. He never considered calling Blake, or the police. Something in the back of his mind told him this Victor character was different. The scars concerned him. Victor wasn’t just a serial killer.

Despite his best efforts, he did not find the man after searching Bludhaven for the next few nights.

On the fourth day, he had a funeral to attend.

John Blake stood from the front row pew of the church and walked to the pulpit. He hadn’t looked out over the audience since the service began but knew others were here.

Before he gave his eulogy, he looked over the crowd.

Leon was present, as well as a few of his men. There were some girls Blake suspected worked with Annie. He was also grateful to see twenty or so men and women he recognized from various group homes and orphanages they had been switched between often, depending on space or funding at the time.

John Diggle sat in the back. Next to him was Bruce, Steve and Diana. Kara was on the other side of Dig with Alfred on her other side along with the antiquities expert whose name he couldn’t remember.

Montoya, Bullock and Cash were there as well.

In the back, stood the woman Bruce had called Tatsu, keeping guard by the door.

He cleared his throat. “Thank you all for coming. Annie would like that we were all together again under the same roof, despite the circumstances. She was always the social one.”

Blake paused for a moment looking at the closed casket. “Everybody who has ever known me, knows I’m not good at speaking in general, much less in public. I only have a few words. Annie made our lives better. She deserved better.

“The only thing keeping me together is knowing that she is with her mom and dad. She loved them. When I first met her, she was five and just… broken. I had entered the system at the same time, and she was a few years younger than me. We kind of all took her in and eventually she was the one making us feel better.”

He paused and smiled sadly. “I must have been eleven or twelve, when I got into this fight. I’m not sure who it was with or what it was over. I gave a good beating, but I got one as well. When I got back to the house I took a good chewing from the director.

“Annie burst into my room without knocking of course. I was sitting on my bed, pissed off at the world and she jumped next to me, threw her arms around me and kissed my cheek. I asked her what she wanted, and she told me she was just gonna give me some advice… stop blocking fists with my face.

He chuckled to himself, and the audience joined him.

He then paused for a moment, looking at her coffin. “You were too good for this world, Annie. You were just too good for it.”

He stepped away before he could break down.

The entire procession followed her hearse to the graveyard. It was a solemn and short ceremony.

Once it was over, the audience stood in silence for a moment then a voice began softly singing.

No one moved from their spot until Kara had finished the last verse of “Silent Night”.