Batman: Lost To The Night--Part VIII

“I am Changing” lyrics by Tom Eyen. From Dreamgirls, Copyright 1982 by Decca.

Batman: Journey into Night, and Birds of Prey: Sensei and Student are referenced in this chapter.

Afterward, Bruce marveled at how easy it had been. Alex hadn’t pushed, hadn’t probed, hadn’t asked Bruce how he “felt” about Tim’s tirade. He’d just sat back and listened. And he’d shared a few stories about his own children putting him on the spot, as it were.

Bruce had to admit that the hour he’d spent upstairs hadn’t seemed much like the therapy sessions he’d endured sporadically over the years. Grief counseling hadn’t been commonly prescribed when he’d been a child. If it hadn’t been for Alfred… He frowned. Looking back… had he ever really spoken with Alfred about that night? Certainly, he’d talked about wanting to make his parents proud, about marking the day, about missing them. But had he ever truly opened up? Bruce chewed the inside of his lower lip, remembering. Alfred had been there for him, but Bruce now suspected that the older man hadn’t quite known how to help a young boy cope with his pain. The support, the compassion, the willingness to listen had all been present. But Bruce hadn’t known how to talk. And Alfred… hadn’t known how to draw him out.

He frowned. Children, even precocious children, did not think like adults. Ascribing ‘grownup’ thoughts to his eight-year-old self was, perhaps, a flawed exercise. But he wondered: had he forced himself to act as though he’d ‘gotten past’ his loss because he hadn’t wanted to upset Alfred? Or… a memory surfaced: one he hadn’t thought of in decades.

No, he hadn’t dared to confide in Alfred. The Englishman had made it clear that it was his duty to do what was best for Bruce. And should Alfred believe that his charge was unhappy…

In high school, there had been times when he’d thought about sharing the past with some of his friends. They, however, hadn’t wanted to hear about it. A tragedy for them was a picnic called on account of rain, or a Mercedes in the shop. After a few halfhearted attempts, he gave up. Bruce shook his head. He’d had so little in common with his so-called peers that he could truthfully say he’d harbored no regrets about disappearing from his dormitory one night, never to return. On that night, he’d taken his first step toward fulfilling an oath he’d taken, all those years ago. He hadn’t spared a thought for those he left behind. He ignored the past. Away from school, away from Gotham, he’d hurled himself into his new life, his training regimen and the future he envisioned for himself.

He’d attempted therapy one more time, shortly after taking over the reins of Wayne Enterprises. Perhaps, had his doctor not had an agenda of her own, things might have been different. His night activities had begun to take over by then, and Bruce soon began to shy away from situations which might cause him to relax his guard. He’d spent every waking hour either in costume, in the cave, or counting down the minutes until he could don the suit again. And if the nightmares of his past claimed his sleeping hours, well that sort of thing had been happening for a long time, and it was a small price to pay.

The window screening slid away, interrupting his thoughts, and an attendant pushed Bruce’s supper tray through. He reached for it automatically. He raised his eyebrows. Someone had actually seen to it that the grilled vegetable wrap was warm this time, he realized. Bruce took a bite and chewed absently, thinking.

His earlier bouts with therapy could perhaps best be compared to interrogations. Why did he think he’d come today? What did he think to gain? Did he feel his parents had been overly strict with him? Granted, those sessions had been civil interrogations, but they’d immediately put Bruce on the defensive. Today… today, he’d had a conversation with Alex. There had been a real give and take on both sides. It had been refreshing. In fact, Bruce realized as he plunged a carrot stick into the small container of dip, bit off a piece and chewed, he was actually looking forward to tomorrow.

“What are you doing here?” Selina demanded. She’d opened her door to find Dick Grayson standing there with a hopeful expression on his face.

“I was wondering if I could have a few words with you during the daylight hours.”

She frowned. “This really isn’t the best ti—”

At that moment a baby began to wail. Dick did a double take as he realized that the cries were coming from the apartment. “I can hear that,” he said quickly. “I could come back—”

Selina was shaking her head. “No… no, on second thought, you might as well come in. I’ll just be a minute—she’s due for her feeding.” She turned on her heel abruptly. The door swung back behind her. Dick flattened his palm against it before it could shut entirely.

“Sit,” Selina called from the hallway. Then in a softer voice, “It’s okay, baby… Mommy’s got your bottle, yes she does. Sh… sh… Don’t you cry, now…”

From his vantage point, Dick could see her striding down the hall toward the kitchen, a bundle wrapped in a white blanket braced securely against her shoulder. A moment later, she returned, now cradling the baby in her left arm, while her right hand held the bottle so that the infant could nurse. She sat down opposite Dick. “So,” she said casually, “what’s this about?”

Dick blinked, still stunned at the sight of Selina with a baby. “Um…”

Selina sighed. “Fine. Yes, she’s mine. Her name is Helena, she’s twenty-four weeks old…” she hesitated, then drew a deep breath, “and I don’t know.”

Dick’s eyes grew wide. Was she saying what he thought she was saying? “E-excuse me?” He managed.

She rocked the baby gently, as she smiled down at her. “I don’t know,” she repeated, less defiantly than she had the first time. “Three nights before he was arrested,” she stated, “Bruce was with me. Four nights after he was arrested, I… Let’s just say it hit me hard. I woke up here, the next morning, with someone else beside me. Two weeks after that, I found out that I was pregnant.”

Dick gaped at her. “Wow. And you didn’t have a paternity test done?”

“What would have been the point?” She demanded. “I’m not planning on collecting child support, and knowing who the father is isn’t going to change anything.” She lowered her eyes again.

“The truth is,” she continued, “I wanted to believe she’s his. I still do. I thought that if he knew about her, it might give him an—an incentive to get better. I couldn’t lie to him about something like that, but I thought, if I didn’t know for sure, then it wouldn’t really be lying. Except that if it turned out that she wasn’t his after all…” She let her voice trail off. “Anyway,” she smirked, “seeing as protection was used by both parties on both occasions, well… knowing Bruce… if anyone could beat those odds…” She broke off, laughing at his expression.

Dick knew his face had to be beet-red. He wasn’t exactly a prude, but when it came to Bruce, there were certain activities in which he just preferred not to picture his de facto father.

“Even if his identity hadn’t been publicized,” Selina continued, sobering, “I don’t know if I would have had the test done. If Bruce wants to be with me when all this is over, then the baby’s part of that package; no matter who the father is. And if he can’t accept that, then he’s not the man I think he is… and I can’t be with him. So, really, it’s a non-issue.”

She smiled, then. “So, enough on that subject, what did you want to see me about?”

It took him a moment to remember. “Forget it. It’s not important.”

“It’s important,” she countered. “You wouldn’t knock on my door to try to sell me a magazine subscription.” She grinned mischievously. “C’mon, spill.”

Dick sighed. “Robin’s leaving Gotham. That leaves me short-staffed. I was hoping you’d be available… but…” his eyes darted toward Helena, “obviously, you’ve got other responsibilities.”

Selina nodded agreement, but her smile remained. “I haven’t given up completely on being Catwoman,” she pointed out. “If I had, I wouldn’t have helped you out with Scarecrow. But,” she admitted, “I have cut back. I’ve been training Holly to fill in for me but she’s still learning.”

“Understood.” He hesitated. “Ever since Bruce’s arrest, we… Batgirl, Robin and I, that is, have been on a rotating schedule—two nights on, one night off. It’s been working out well. With Robin leaving, though…” He steepled his fingers. “How often are you available?”

She frowned, thinking. “I can give you one night per week. And,” she added, “if there’s trouble in the East End on any other night, you can involve Holly.” She adjusted her grip on the baby bottle. “If it’s costumed trouble in the East End, forget Holly, involve me. Holly can watch Helena if I can’t get a sitter.”

Dick nodded. That was better than he’d hoped for, after seeing Selina with the baby. “Thank-you,” he smiled.

She smiled back. “No problem, Junior.”

Her expression turned serious. “One more thing, since you’re here. Can you pass on a warning for me? Oracle doesn’t contact me very often.”

Dick tensed. “Oracle? What about her?”

Selina’s eyebrows knit together. “I have it on some very good authority that Penguin’s been trying to ascertain her whereabouts. He’s offering a fair amount of money for that kind of intel, too.”

Dick nodded grimly. “Thanks. Oracle’s pretty good about hiding her tracks… but I’ll forward that message along to her.”

“She may not have been good enough,” Selina persisted. “My contact tells me somebody approached Cobblepot claiming to have the information he wanted. I don’t know how reliable that claimant is, but I can give you a name.”

“I’m listening.”

“Carter. First name’s Brett.”

“I’ll tell her,” Dick repeated. “It’s probably nothing, but I’ll let her know. Thanks again.”

Dick somersaulted down from the uneven parallel bars, landed in a handstand, and flipped solidly to his feet. Next, he did a series of back-flips, moving effortlessly into a double salto. A back handspring led to a cartwheel, which in turn led into a series of capoeira moves. He began to weave in elements of kickboxing, blending them seamlessly with hapkido and tae kwon do.

He came to rest before the heavy punching bag, and quickly donned a pair of boxing gloves. Jab… jab… left haymaker… right haymaker… He’d just delivered a left hook when he became aware of someone else’s presence in the cave. He swiveled his head to see Tim standing at the entrance to the training area.

“Did you want to use this?” He asked, as he went back to the routine. “I’ll be done in another minute or two.”

Tim shook his head. “No. I just figured I should give the suit back.” He held out the Robin costume.

Dick dropped his arms to his side. “You don’t think you’ll need it in ‘Frisco?”

“You haven’t seen the tapes at Arkham for the past week, have you?” Tim asked.

“I saw them,” Dick said shortly. “I shouldn’t have pushed you into going.”

Tim looked away. “I didn’t know I was going to tear into him like that,” he said. “I really wasn’t planning on—”

Dick held up a hand. “I know.” He sighed. “Don’t expect me to tell you it’s fine. It isn’t. But you already know that, or you wouldn’t be trying to hand back the suit.”

Tim smiled faintly at that. “It’s just… Batman might need a Robin, but since I’m not going to be operating in Gotham for awhile… I figured I should leave the uniform for the next guy… or girl.”

His smile grew a little wider. “The Teen Titans are going to get a new member in a few days,” he continued. He crossed over to the computer station and called up a file. A humanoid figure appeared on the screen. It wore a charcoal-gray hood, which attached to a flowing cape of the same color. The cape’s edges were black. Beneath the cape, the figure sported a silver-gray bodysuit, held in at the waist by a black belt. “It’s still a rough design,” he admitted, “but if all goes well, you can be the first to say hello… to the Harrier.”

He looked up nervously, as though afraid that the older vigilante might laugh. He’d spent days trying to come up with a name that hadn’t already been taken… and wasn’t utterly ridiculous.

Dick only nodded. “I like the suit. And the name’s not bad either.” He clapped the youth warmly on the shoulder. “But as long as you’re in Gotham, Batman could still use a Robin tonight. If you’re up for it.”

Tim grinned. “You got it. Just let me work through my training katas.”

“Need a partner?”

Tim hesitated. “You… um… meant it when you said you weren’t mad at me about Bruce, right?” He pulled out his collapsible staff and, in a single fluid movement, extended it horizontally before him.

Dick settled into a combat stance. “I never actually said I wasn’t mad,” he pointed out as he lunged for the younger man.

Tim sidestepped and swung his staff into Dick’s mid-section. The battle was on.

Firefly pondered. He was armed with a map and pictorial atlas of the city and a listing of notable buildings and landmarks. There were so many decisions to be made. He could select his targets for symmetry, or for location. There could be a rigid geometric pattern to follow, or he could aim for randomness and asymmetrical design. He needed to decide on criteria.

Thoughtfully, he walked over to the back door of his flat and stepped out on the fire escape. Perhaps he could draw inspiration from something in the outdoors. He lifted his gaze skyward, and frowned. A decrepit tenement blocked his view of the stars. The eyesore was at least four stories higher than his balcony, rife with graffiti, and nearly begging for a wrecking ball.

Or… Lynns thought, a coruscation! He dashed back into the room, in sudden excitement. Gotham had so many blemishes on its architectural landscape. Slums, tenements, warehouses… he flipped through the pictorial atlas nodding to himself. Some of these structures were well over a century old and practically begging to be torn down. He turned the next page, and a savage smile split his face from ear to ear. He knew this building. He’d spent years in it. And he would take great pleasure in making it the apex of his next exhibit.

He nodded to himself. Burning down Arkham Asylum would be a sheer joy…

Cassandra Cain stalked into Barbara’s work area, face clouded. “Why can’t I see the patterns?” She demanded. At Barbara’s surprised start, Cass held up the bag of letters. She loosened the drawstring, plunged one hand into its depths and extracted one of the symbols.

“Jade.” She proclaimed. “J.” She reached in again. “Hemp. H. Tin. T.”

The red-haired woman grinned. “Cass! That’s excellent. My gosh do you realize—”

The younger woman cut her off. “No. It’s… um… a game. A trick.” She dropped the bag on the table. The letters clacked as they landed. “A joke.” She shook her head. “I’ll show you.” She pointed to the display on the computer screen. “F. C. I. R. A. Y. B. R,” she continued to name off the letters. “But that’s not… reading! It’s… it’s like I know ‘punch’, ‘kick’, ‘throw’, ‘flip’, but I can’t… put them together. Just knowing moves… it isn’t fighting unless I can see the… um… the pattern.”

“Two months ago,” Barbara pointed out, “you couldn’t tell an A from a B. Cass, you can’t learn this overnight.”

“Stick fighting,” Cass countered.

“Wh-what?”

“Batman taught me,” she explained. “After breakfast. One day. I learned it that morning. I didn’t forget. I didn’t have to practice each lunge. It all made sense!”

“That’s right,” Barbara said. “Because it was a fighting style. It wasn’t anything you’d been taught before, but you recognized the technique from the styles you did know.” She patted the vigilante’s arm. “Just like you’ll learn to recognize new words after awhile, even if you haven’t come across them before.”

Cass thought about that for a moment. Then, she slowly reached out for the bag again. “I want to,” she said. “But I hate this.” She weighed the bag in the palm of her hand. “I don’t like feeling… stupid.” More quietly, “maybe I… am stupid after all.”

“Hey,” Barbara said. “Hey! You are NOT stupid. If you were, you wouldn’t have learned stick fighting in less than a day.”

Cass gaped at her. “But… that’s easy.” She reached for Barbara’s escrima and automatically held them in the beginning position for a sumbrada drill.

“For you,” Barbara scoffed. “But physical combat is your first language. Cass, you didn’t even speak English three years ago. Of course reading it is going to be harder for you.”

“But I learned stick fighting in…”

“This isn’t stick fighting.”

Cass frowned. “But there’s no… pattern. Barbara?” she asked, “why does my name have… two esses in it?”

Barbara blinked. “What?”

Cass spilled out the letters. “C.A.S,” she held up each symbol in turn. Then she pointed again to the elegant curved wooden shape covered with a layer of sandpaper. “S,” she repeated. “Why twice?”

Barbara pushed herself away from the computer. “Because if a word ends in just one ‘ess’,” she explained, “it sounds like a ‘zee’.”

Cass touched the zinc plating on another letter. “Then, why not use a ‘zee’ when you want a letter that sounds like that? Does the zee also…um… change?”

Barbara frowned. “Er… no.” Not unless there are two of them together, like in ‘pizza’, anyway. “Not usually,” she amended.

“Then, why not?”

“I don’t know,” Barbara admitted. “It’s one of the rules.”

“The rules are stupid.”

Barbara looked up in time to catch a hint of a smile on the young woman’s lips. “Well, there are tricks to them,” she grinned. “What you were calling ‘patterns’ before. They’re not as cut-and-dried as you’d like, but there’s still some logic to them, if you know what to look for.”

“Show me?” Cass asked.

“Okay,” Barbara replied, grinning. “Let’s go upstairs to the den, and I’ll see if I can find a good book to start with. I’m not sure I’m the best teacher, mind you,” she added as she wheeled over toward the elevator, “but I’ll try if you will.”

Cass gathered up the letters hastily and followed. “Yes.”

“Just to make you aware,” Alex said, “I’ll be away for six weeks starting the 25th of October.” At Bruce’s sharp look, the therapist continued. “Today’s only the 4th, so we have a little while to go, yet. I thought you might need some time to get used to the idea.”

Bruce absorbed that. “Where are you going?”

“University of Nebraska at Blue Valley.” Alex smiled. “They have a work-study program—half the semester in classes, half in the workforce. I’ve been invited to give a seminar for the fall term.”

“On abnormal psychology?” Bruce guessed.

Alex shifted a little in his chair. “Building rapport, actually,” he said. “The topic was chosen by UNBV. Well over a month before you turned up on my roster, by the way.”

Bruce had just been wondering about that. Well, he supposed he could attest to Alex’s gifts in that particular area. “So,” he asked, “what happens to m… to your patients, in the interim?”

“The other staff will be taking over my caseload,” Alex said. “It is only temporary.”

Bruce nodded. In the past, when an inmate had escaped the asylum, Batman had questioned many a staff doctor, the better to understand the escapee’s frame of mind and likely plans. And, of course, more recently, he’d met with these professionals under more onerous circumstances. “Are you aware of the doctor to whom I’ll be assigned?” He forced his voice to remain steady.

Alex nodded, as an expression of sympathy crept onto his face. “Doctor Arkham stated that he’ll be looking after your case personally.”

Bruce exhaled slowly. That settled it. If he was going to have to endure an hour with Jeremiah, he was definitely going to need an hour of fresh air, too. He had to win back his yard privileges, and fast.

“Have you considered,” he deadpanned after a moment’s pause, “that there are trained professionals here who might benefit even more from the subject of your seminar?”

“More than half of them are within ten years of retirement. I’m thinking about the next generation.” He steepled his fingers. “Moving on…”

Two weeks later

“Fire crews were called to the scenes of two separate warehouse fires on Gotham’s South Island at approximately eleven P.M last night. On Port Adams, the building belonging to Maleev Imports, burned entirely to the ground. And, at the opposite end of the Island, Gale Consolidated suffered heavy smoke damage, but remains standing. A spokesman for Gale stated that it may be over six months before the facility is again operational. The two fires are both believed to have broken out between 10:20 and 10:45 last night. Arson has not been ruled out at this time.”

Firefly frowned. It was really a pity about Gale Consolidated. He hadn’t expected an old warehouse to have such a high-quality sprinkler system installed. He should have checked. This was hardly an auspicious beginning to his masterwork. For a moment, he debated scrapping the project entirely. Common sense won out. He’d planned to start with a series of common fires, gradually building to a conflagrant chef d’oeuvre. If one of the first such spectacles fizzled, it was of no matter. He just had to build momentum from here.

A dreamy smile spread across his face. It would be stupendous!

Cobblepot slammed down the receiver. The number that Calculator had given him was no longer in service. And there had been no word from Carter since that scene in front of the Iceberg, weeks ago.

A brief knock sounded on the door to his office.

“Enter,” he commanded.

A wiry figure in blue dungarees complied.

Cobblepot peered down the length of his nose at the pockmarked man. “Well?”

“It’s like you thought, Penguin,” he replied. From an inner jacket pocket, he pulled out a manila envelope. Cobblepot took it. He examined the three photographs inside with a frown. So Kuttler had doublecrossed him. The man had gone—behind Penguin’s back—to seek out Carter. “Thank you, Hector. That will be all.” He dismissed the flunky with a wave of his hand.

No sooner had the door shut behind the man than Cobblepot leaped up from behind his desk in a fit of rage. Nobody cheated the Penguin out of his due! “Wak!” He squawked, booting over the wastepaper basket. When the word got out, he’d be a laughingstock in the Gotham Underworld. “Wak! Wak! WAK!” He punctuated each outburst with a kick to his umbrella stand. It toppled after the third blow from his foot. Not yet mollified, he aimed another blow at the bar fridge. He squawked again—from pain, this time—and hopped about on one foot.

Had that been Calculator’s plan all along? If a man wanted to establish himself as a primary service provider, it was only good business to eliminate—or humiliate—the competition. And when said service was information, Penguin slammed his hand down on the desk, he was the Calculator’s competition. He couldn’t believe he’d been taken in.

A moment later, he drew a deep breath, composed himself, and sat back down at his desk as though nothing had happened. So, Calculator thought that he could use the Penguin’s own information network, and then squeeze the Penguin out of his cut? “Hmpf,” he snorted. “We’ll just see about that.” He lifted the receiver and dialed a number.

“I need you to find a man,” he stated to the party at the other end of the line. “And ensure that you do not try to find him by any electronic means.” He considered. “Don’t communicate with me again by telephone, either. Just come by in person to tell me where he is, once you’ve located him. His name is…”

The cell door clanged shut behind him. Bruce could hear the guards fussing with the two padlocks, threading them through the catches on the door, and snapping them closed. It was an extra precaution—even if he somehow managed to pick the primary lock on the door, the additional measures would still prevent his pushing it open.

It had never bothered him before. Bruce looked around. The furnishings were unchanged, the dimensions of the room as always—not spacious by any means, but then he didn’t need much room. It was a shame about losing the lounge privileges, though. He didn’t really care—he’d earned them, as Alex had suggested, in order to have something to lose. Still, it had been pleasant to have that extra hour away from his cell. He sighed. He’d managed without it for so long; he’d manage again.

As far as the yard privileges were concerned, it might make sense to turn them down now, and get used to the idea.

Of course. And I can tear up the list of telephone numbers and tell Dick to stay away, too. For the first time he recognized the old pattern before he fell into it. He’d gone back to kicking down his sandcastles before anyone else did. If he was going to lose the privileges anyway, wouldn’t it make more sense for him to enjoy them while he could? He had five more days, and then, once again, he would be confined here, only to emerge for his therapy sessions. With Jeremiah Arkham. Bruce closed his eyes. He had to endure another five weeks of Jeremiah Arkham. He shook his head. He needed that hour when he was neither confined in his cell, nor trapped with Jeremiah. Without it, he knew with chilling certainty, he wouldn’t last.

For the first time since his arrival at the asylum, Bruce felt trapped. For the first time in the fifteen months that he had been here, he saw the asylum for what it was: a prison. And for the first time… he was able to admit it. He wanted out.

One day later

“I’m going to head over there,” Dick said finally. He’d been debating whether to return to Arkham all day. “Worst he can do is tell me to leave again.”

Barbara shook her head. “And if he asks you to spring him again?”

Dick was trying not to think about that possibility. “Awhile back, Bruce bought an estate for Shondra,” he replied. “If you can’t find another place that’ll take him, maybe that’s the way to go.”

Barbara reached for the stack of mail. “That might work for a little while,” she said. “Then it’ll start to chafe.”

“You’re not suggesting leaving him there.”

Barbara hesitated. “How many doctors did Bruce go through?”

Dick didn’t answer.

She pressed on. “As long as Bruce was lying around like a lump, to be honest, it didn’t matter where he was. At that point, if we could have gotten him back to the manor, he’d have been content just staying in his bedroom all day. This… Dr. Morgenstern who’s seeing him now, if nothing else, he’s got Bruce fighting again.”

“Yeah,” Dick snorted. “Him or Jeremiah.”

Barbara nodded. “Good point. All I’m saying is, it’s what Alex told you. If Bruce is uncomfortable, he’s going to try harder to get out. He has to try.”

Dick nodded. “I know you’re right. I just…”

Barbara wheeled over to him. “Look,” she said. “If every time I wanted to go somewhere, someone saw me struggling with this chair and ‘helpfully’ started pushing me, I hate to go all afterschool-special on you, but I’d never have bothered doing it on my own. That’s the reason I went for a chair without handles from the start. I didn’t want to get used to feeling… dependent.” Her green eyes were serious. “Bruce has to get himself out of this one.”

Dick nodded again. “I’ll keep telling myself that, Red.”

“You do that, Short-pants.” They shared a smile. “He’s a fighter, Dick. He’s just got to remember it.”

She opened the topmost envelope and extracted a single sheet of stationary. The smile froze.

“Babs? What is it?”

With a shaking hand, she passed the page over to him. “The envelope came addressed to Barbara Gordon,” she said. “But the letter inside…”

“My dear Oracle,” Dick read aloud. Startled blue eyes met frightened green ones. At Barbara’s slight nod, he read on. “I must congratulate you on an excellent hunt. I can’t think when I’ve had more fun matching wits with an opponent. Another time, another place, I’m sure we might have gotten along rather famously. Sadly, this is here and now. I will be in touch with you shortly, at which point we will further discuss the role I see you playing in my organization. Until then, I remain yours faithfully, The Calculator. P.S. I do realize that you may have already discerned my own alter ego. If so, do feel free to use it.”

He put down the piece of paper. “Holy…”

Barbara nodded. “Okay. Okay, I have to be calm. He’s not the government; he’s the underworld. That means he’s not going to the cops. I can handle this. G-d! What does he want from me?”

“Babs.” Instantly, his hand was on her shoulder.

“I’m fine.” She reached up and squeezed the hand. “He’s not doing anything tonight except trying to spook me.” She wheeled forward and swayed as the chair bumped against the edge of the rug. “And it’s working. Damn him!”

Dick cut in front of the chair and stooped to her level. “Hey. Babs. We’ll get him.” He laughed. “You know that.”

Barbara drew a deep breath. “I know, I know. It’s just…”

“Scary,” Dick stated.

She nodded. “Dick. You… tonight’s your night off, right?”

Dick shook his head. “Tomorrow, actually. Want me to ask Roy to fill in?”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” she said. “Dick? I… I wouldn’t ask this normally but… do you think you could give Arkham a miss tonight?” At Dick’s pained expression, she turned away. “I’m sorry. I know how worried you are about Bruce. I don’t want to put you in that position. Kuttler’s not going to try anything tonight, and if he does, I’ve got the security systems.”

“Which are ninety-five per cent computer-controlled,” Dick pointed out. He drew a deep breath. “My gut is telling me that Bruce didn’t mean it when he said he didn’t want me to keep dropping by… but that he won’t realize it unless he thinks I took him at his word.” He flinched. “That probably came out wrong.” He inhaled a deep breath. “You’ve never asked me to pass up Arkham before. I know you wouldn’t, if you weren’t really worried.”

“Tomorrow night, we’ll both go,” she said. “I haven’t spoken to him in awhile. And I really should.”

Dick nodded, praying that he was making the right decision about staying in tonight.

It took him a half-hour to get home. He barely remembered the drive. He was too busy thinking about Bruce. It was going to be a cold night. Did Bruce have anything other than that cotton uniform? Did he even have a decent pair of shoes? Dick knew that he was probably worrying needlessly. Bruce was sure to have some well-stocked safehouse somewhere that he’d never mentioned. Bruce was nothing if not prepared. He kept telling that to himself as he drove into the underground parking garage. He repeated it as he got into the elevator and rode it to the fourteenth floor. And he kept thinking it as he walked down the long hallway approaching his unit.

He opened the door to see three uniformed officers poking about in his living room. Barbara sat watching them, a furious look on her face. Dick could see a blue shirt off in the kitchen as well.

“Be sure you check the coffee canister,” Barbara called. “If he got his hands on the Atom’s belt, he could be anywhere.” She smiled a greeting at Dick, which quickly gave way to a glower. “They have a warrant. Tell me you didn’t know about this.”

“Not until a half-hour ago when they caught me at work.”

She considered that, and then nodded. “I hope he’s okay.”

“Me too.”

She squeezed his hand. “And no. He hasn’t called here,” she said. She looked up angrily at a loud crash coming from the study.

“I’ve spoken to Daddy,” she said loudly. “He’s on his way over, and we’ll go out to supper as soon as some people are done trashing the place.” She smiled with satisfaction as she heard the books being replaced on the shelves. “They were in Dewey Decimal order,” she called sweetly.

She grinned as the officer in the other room began to curse, then abruptly choked it off.