Beginnings in Darkness #2

“We can’t take him to the lab.” The man in the wheelchair said.
The boy could hear them, crystal clear, even through the thick tinted glass of the black sedan’s window. He wasn’t sure he liked what he was hearing.
“Then what do you propose we do with him?” The black guy was saying, pacing back and forth.
“He’s not going to react well to another lab, Lucius.”
“I know. What are you going to do? Take him to the mansion? There’s the clinic.”
“No, the clinic wouldn’t be any better. I don’t see any other options.”
“The mansion’s no closer to a normal environment, Bruce.”
“I know, but who knows what this kid’s normal is?”
“Alright, alright. What should I tell the police?”
“We’ll deal with that later.” Bruce glanced over his shoulder at the car, sensing the boy’s attentive stare. He quickly looked away and down at his hands. Don’t attract attention. He thought, before he realized that there wasn’t much point now. He’d attracted plenty of attention already.
Bruce wheeled away toward a much more expensive, sleeker car than the sedan. Moments later the car pulled out onto the street. The sedan’s engine roared to life, and it pulled out onto the highway and sped off after the other car. The city flashed above him in great pillars of concrete and steel. He stared up in them in wonder, amazed that he had always been so close and never seen them. Pedestrians walked the sidewalks, scanning for a gap in traffic or hurrying toward their destination without a glance toward the living, breathing city around them. There was a certain look in their eyes, like an animal constantly hounded by the hunter, as they glanced nervously over their shoulders at dark alleys and at vagrants curled up in the trash.
Gotham City, he realized, wasn’t as safe and prosperous as the gleaming towers boasted.
The car passed through the thick traffic mid-town and out into Gotham’s outskirts. Here the state of the city was more obvious; homes in foreclosure, people looking in store windows but not buying, and the cheapest apartments advertising vacancies. He got the feeling this wasn’t just an economic lull; this was Gotham in its natural state. The outskirts-the suburbs-showed Gotham’s true colors.
The car turned onto a long, empty drive on the edge of a wide park that transitioned smoothly into a golf course. The suburbs turned to sprawling villas adorned with thick, rich gardens. Big, expensive SUVs or sleek sports cars sat parked in driveways or glided smoothly past them on the street. A road wound jet black against the dusty grass of a gentle slope above the sea of rooftops, and ended in an oval drive before the doors of the biggest house he had ever seen.
It overlooked the gleaming, gently rippling surface of the Gotham River like an elegant European castle, all windows and turrets, complete with a guardian gargoyle perched on the peak of the roof. It turned away from the setting sun to face the night, drowning in rippling shadows. It might have been meant to ward off the terrors of the night in times long past, but the expression on its face wasn’t quite right; as if it welcomed the soft velvety cover of darkness.

The boy didn’t like the look of it at all, it was too solitary and too worn by time.

Both cars pulled into the drive and stopped before the doors. Before the driver had even turned the key in the ignition, the sedan’s door hanging open behind him, the boy jumped out and stepped up to the huge, ornately carved doors of the manor. It loomed over him, impossibly intimidating and elegant. The doors opened, and an aging butler ushered them in. Lucius and Bruce stopped just short of the threshold. Bruce whispered something to Lucius, but the boy wasn’t paying attention.

He was too busy staring open mouthed at the grandeur of the entranceway. It was no less magnificent than the building’s exterior; all rich mahogany paneling and marble pillars that rose gracefully to an arched ceiling from which a flashing crystal chandelier hung. Lucius’s heals clicked on the gleaming wood floor, and the massive oak door swung shut behind him.

Bruce spoke quietly to the butler and he hurried off. They were alone in the foyer. The mansion was eerily silent around them.

“Kid?” Bruce said cautiously from behind the boy. He turned to look at the man in the wheelchair with wide blue eyes. “What’s your name?”

His eyes grew blank and distant. A splitting headache leaped up inside his skull as he automatically started to dig for the scrap of information. It was there, he knew it was, but images welled up in his mind over the name. A faceless man in a hat, always the same he thought, the abrupt vividness of a sprawling savannah I can feel it. I can feel the sunlight and the wind. The image cut off. He found his name there in the dark dregs of his mind from the life before.

“Jason.” He said. Bruce nodded.

“Alright, Jason, let me give you a tour while Alfred’s preparing your room.” He wheeled off towards an antechamber, Jason followed. Bruce stopped in front of a door and pushed it open. There was a big room within, lined with bookshelves and a few display cases containing various expensive, ancient looking odds and ends. There was a large bay window looking out on the lawn at one end, and a desk stood in the center.

“This is my study.” He said. “If you need anything, just knock.” Jason nodded, peeking through the doorway.

“Most of the rooms actually in use are on the bottom floor. I think everything except a few guest bedrooms is closed up upstairs.”

Jason’s eyes darted to a half-flattened piece of paper on the desk. It’s surface was wrinkled as if it had been smoothed out after being crumpled into a ball; the only flaw on Bruce’s immaculately clean, organized desk. He didn’t say anything, didn’t point it out. There was a burning curiosity inside him to find out what was written on the paper; even if it was just some meaningless calculation or scribble, but he suppressed it. Later. He thought. Say nothing. He knew how to keep secrets.

Bruce showed Jason around a few more rooms, but mostly they traveled halls full of closed doors. The sheer emptiness of the place was overwhelming. Jason would come to understand the comforting isolation of it soon enough.

“Alfred’s making something for you.” Bruce said tentatively, glancing over his shoulder at Jason. He’s not really sure what to make of me, is he? Jason thought. His stomach rumbled, and realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had actual food. He didn’t count the discolored mush, sometimes vaguely tasting of chicken but mostly tasting like disgusting made into something mildly edible and packed in little plastic containers. Like astronaut food. Only worse.  

“Okay.” He said, his voice eager.

“The kitchen’s this way.” Bruce said, relaxing in relief, and wheeled off down another hall. He followed for a few yards, then abruptly changed his mind and slipped back along the corridor, heading for Bruce’s study and the wrinkled yellow paper. His sneakers were silent on the smooth floor, and the knob on the study door turned smoothly in his hand.

He glanced over his shoulder. Nothing. Bruce had turned the corner without noticing his absence.

He crossed to the desk and smoothed the paper against the surface. The image of a man in a strange costume was scribbled across it. Jason recognized the style. Even he knew about Metropolis’s new hero. But it was different, darker, more primal. The man wore a mask, and his costume was gray and black, nothing like the bright primary colors of Superman’s costume. A chill ran up his spine when he realized what the symbol across the hero’s chest was; a bat, the image of the thing in the dark, the thing you were always waiting to find when you opened the closet door. The symbol was meant to instill fear in those who saw it, now uplift them.

As expected, he whisper of wheels over hardwood flooring sounded from the hall. He would be discovered if he didn’t find a hiding place or whip up some lie as an explanation. His brain, punctual as ever, chose that moment to go blissfully blank, and he stood there gaping, guilty as charged, when Bruce rolled into the room.

“What are you-“ Bruce started, and then broke off, his eyes on the paper in Jason’s hands. “Already getting into mischief, I see.” He said, but there was no amusement in his voice. Jason had invaded his privacy, and Jason could tell it bothered him. Bruce wasn’t used to his solitude being interrupted.

“What’s this?” Jason said, holding up the sketch.

“Just a silly idea I’ve had in my head for a while now. It’s nothing, really.”

“It isn’t nothing.” Jason said, and a look of surprise coming across Bruce’s face. “Ideas are never nothing. What is it, really?” He asked, holding up the sketch. It’s definitely a whole lot more than nothing. He thought. A man doesn’t just go around drawing superheroes. This idea of yours, is this what you could’ve been? Who are you, Bruce?

“I...” Bruce hesitated. The boy’s directness surprised him, it wasn’t something he was used to. Not many people knew about the connection between his [parents and his little idea. That idea had festered inside him for years, like a cancer, something that couldn’t be cured or satiated. He thought he had learned to accept it, reached a consolation with it, but he hadn’t. All this time, and he was still just a kid in a wheelchair. “Just a stupid childhood dream. It doesn’t mean anything.” He said again.

“You wanted to be a superhero? Seriously?” Jason would’ve laughed, if it wasn’t for the look on Bruce’s face. He realized that Bruce was completely serious. “Alright, alright.” Jason put the paper back down on the desk, and sat next to it. He pressed his hands against his head. They were cool against his skull, a comfort.

“I’ll make you a deal.”

“What?”

“You tell me something about yourself, and I’ll tell you something about me.”

“A secret for a secret?”

“Yeah.”
“There’s one problem with that deal.”

“What?”
“I can’t remember anything. It’s all gone, lost in the fog.” He said. Just thinking about it made his head hurt.

“I’m sure some of it will come back to you in time.”

“I don’t think so. I don’t know why, but I don’t think so.” Jason was lying. He knew exactly why. He wasn’t sure he wanted to find out what was locked in his past. How had he gained the ability to control of the strange black oval of black metal in his pocket? Who was he? What was he?

“Come on, let’s get some food. A full stomach relaxes the mind.”

They left the room, Bruce’s idea abandoned on the table, each feeling like they might have found a kindred spirit in one another.