Batman: Lost to the Night--Part XVI

It was another two days before Alex returned. Bruce greeted him civilly enough, and the doctor’s relief was apparent.

Bruce smiled. “You thought that I would see your… revelations as a betrayal.”

“It crossed my mind.” Alex’s expression was serious. “You do realize what the hearing will entail, right? That you’ll need to be present while we—myself, your lawyer, and the DA… discuss the particulars of your case in open court.”

The smile fell away. “Yes.”

Alex shook his head sadly. “I’d personally prefer it if you had the opportunity to be elsewhere while that part of the hearing transpires, but—”

Bruce rested his chin on his knuckles. “I don’t have the option, so there’s nothing to discuss,” he said tersely. A thought struck him. “You’ll have to discuss your methodology on the witness stand, of course.” His eyes met Alex’s without blinking. “That’s why you decided to come clean about your… means of ensuring my participation.”

The psychiatrist nodded. “That’s part of it. The timing matters. Had you known earlier about the part I played in helping you come back from where you were, I doubt that you would have been willing to work with me as quickly. However, I believed then—and I still do now—that you have the right to know the entire truth before it comes out at the hearing.”

“Do I?” Bruce demanded. “Or are there other things you’ve kept from me?”

Alex flinched. “That was the big one. I’ve tried to level with you as much as possible, but I’m not always cognizant of my underlying motives.” He steepled his fingers. “I wish I could give you a better answer than ‘I don’t believe so’, but I haven’t lied to you yet and don’t plan to start.”

That much was true. Bruce’s head dropped, almost imperceptibly. “Thank you for your candor.” He sat up straighter. “I can do this.”

Alex nodded. “Bruce, before we got sidetracked the other day, I know you were experiencing some apprehension about the hearing.” He watched the other man’s reaction carefully as he continued. “In case you were wondering, it’s normal. We’ve spent the better part of a year working toward this goal. We’ve built it up as the object to strive for. And now, it’s practically upon us.” He smiled. “To be honest, I’d be somewhat surprised if you weren’t a little nervous.” He shook his head, still smiling. “It doesn’t mean we’re rushing to set this up before you’re able to deal with the outcome. It means you’re nervous. Nothing less, nothing more.”

Bruce nodded back.

He found himself reflecting on Alex’s words with increasing frequency as the date of the hearing drew closer. And then, quite suddenly, there was only one day to go.

Bruce raised an eyebrow in greeting as Dick came in. “Everyone seems to think I need the support,” he said dryly, gesturing toward the other occupants of the room.

The younger man grinned. “I would have been here sooner, but with traffic and all, well… So…”

“Please, don’t tell me that ‘tomorrow’s the big day’,” Bruce said. “If I weren’t already aware of it, your combined presence here would be something of an indicator.”

“Sorry.” His expression turned serious. “And I’m sorry about the judge’s ruling.”

For a moment Bruce frowned in confusion. Then, realization dawned. “In the eyes of the law,” he said, “my situation is no different than it would be were I the Joker. Or the Mad Hatter. From that perspective, it’s only reasonable that I attend the proceedings in shackles.”

He sighed, almost imperceptibly. Cass caught the action, and stretched out her hand toward his shoulder. Bruce shied away, shaking his head. “Unnecessary. Thank you, though.”

Her hand dropped back to her side. “Okay,” she said, “but…”

Bruce looked around the room, from Dick to Jim to Barbara to Cass to Tim and then back to Dick again. “I know,” he said quietly. “You’re all here for me. Whether I ask you to be or not.” His voice fell to a whisper. “Whether I deserve it, or not. Whether I… show you I appreciate it…” and there was a lump in his throat as he forced himself to finish the sentence, “or n-not.” He held up a hand as Dick took a step forward. “No. Wait.” He took a deep breath, and then another. “I’m alright,” he said, when he could trust his voice to remain steady. He forced a smile. “Really.”

They nodded. “We know that already.” Jim grinned. “Tomorrow, a few more people get to know it too.”

There was an awkward pause.

“Well,” Barbara said finally, “even though it’s not really late yet, you probably should try to get some extra sleep.” Impulsively, she leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “I know it’s a tall order, but try.”

Bruce nodded. “Good point. I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he said. “And… thanks.”

"Would you please state your full name and professional address for the record?

"Alexander Herschel Morgenstern. My office is currently located at 1284 Grand Avenue in Midtown."

"And your profession?"

"I’m a clinical psychiatrist with a concentration in abnormal psychiatry."

"Is Grand Avenue your only professional address?"

Alex flexed his fingers. "For the moment."

One of Rae’s eyebrows arched. "Can you elaborate please, Doctor?"

"I’d be happy to," Alex smiled at her. "I’m also a staff psychiatrist at the Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane. While I remain affiliated with the Asylum, as recent events have forced it to temporarily shut down, I can’t honestly claim to maintain a professional address there."

Rae nodded. "How many years have you been practicing psychiatry?"

"Twelve."

"All of them at Arkham Asylum?"

Alex shook his head. "No, I did a one-year internship at the Asylum during my studies at Gotham State University Medical College. Following graduation, I maintained an affiliation with Rabe Memorial in Bludhaven for three years. I’ve been on staff at Arkham for the last nine."

Rae walked to the witness stand and handed a document to her witness. “Doctor, I’m showing you what has been marked as Defendant’s exhibit number three for identification purposes. Can you identify this document?”

Alex nodded. “Yes, this is my curriculum vitae.”

Rae smiled. “Thank you, Dr. Mogenstern. Your honor,” she started as she approached the bench, “I would like to introduce the curriculum vitae of Dr. Morgenstern as Defendant’s three.”

“Admitted,” the judge said, nodding in turn.

Rae smiled and continued. "Thank you, Your Honor. I tender Dr. Morgenstern as an expert in the field of clinical psychiatry with a concentration in abnormal psychiatry."

The judge turned to the DA. "Any objections?" He asked.

"None."

"So qualified."

Rae turned back to face Alex. "Bruce Wayne is currently one of your patients, is that correct?" At Alex’s confirmation, she took a step closer to the witness stand. "Can you tell the court something of Mr. Wayne’s mental state at the time that you became his therapist?"

Observing the back-and-forth, Bruce felt himself relax a bit more. As Rae continued her questioning, Alex seemed completely at ease with the proceedings. Of course, the cynical part of him had to point out that things might look a bit different when it was the State's turn to present.

Rae took a few steps away from the witness stand and then doubled back. "Now, Doctor, according to the report I’m holding, on the afternoon of November fourth, Mr. Wayne escaped from Arkham Asylum, returning several hours later. Is that accurate?"

"Yes, I’ve read that report," Alex confirmed. “I wasn’t present at the time, however.”

She frowned. "In your professional opinion, would you consider that to have been a setback in Mr. Wayne’s treatment?"

"Not at all," Alex said emphatically.

"And why is that?" Rae asked.

Bruce nodded to himself. They’d gone over this before, all three of them, and they’d come to the conclusion that it was better to bring up the escape during the initial testimony. If they didn’t get it out in the open at the start, the DA would be sure to do so on cross-examination.

Alex leaned forward. "As I've just mentioned, at the time that Mr. Wayne was remanded to Arkham, he was laboring under the conviction that the placement was no less than he deserved. As such, he had no interest in evading or—or ameliorating his circumstances. We were working at cross-purposes: he believed that Arkham was a fitting penalty for his errors, and as such, must be endured. On the other hand, the goal of every doctor on the asylum’s roster was to work toward his eventual release. Naturally, he balked." His expression turned serious. "A major part of our work together has been to help Mr. Wayne realize that Arkham was a means to an end, and not an end in and of itself. Now, while I can scarcely condone his decision to break loose, I should point out that, over the preceding months, Mr. Wayne and I had built up a comfortable rapport. Due to a prior contractual obligation, I was required to take a temporary absence from the asylum…"

Despite the hours he’d spent with Rae, preparing himself to hear this testimony, Bruce felt his face grow warm. He wasn’t proud of his earlier actions, and it infuriated him that they were about to be discussed in open court. There was going to be a transcript. For a fleeting instant, he wondered whether it would be possible to call a halt to the proceedings and just return to the psych ward. The moment passed.

"Thank you, Doctor. "

Bruce blinked. His mind had just been wandering. That wasn’t good—he did have more than a passing interest in what was taking place, after all. He focused on her next question.

"How would you interpret Mr. Wayne's mental state at that point?"

"Well," Alex replied, "we need to look at the big picture. Many of Mr. Wayne’s issues stem from a drive to command and control his environment. This has been evident from his resistance to earlier psychotherapy sessions and from his refusal to work within the system to secure his release. Essentially, not playing by ‘our’ rules provided him a measure of control."

Rae nodded. "But you were trying to change that."

"Gradually, and with Mr. Wayne’s understanding and cooperation at every stage. Initially, we…"

As Alex continued to relate what had transpired during their sessions, Bruce fought the urge to storm out of the courtroom, clanking shackles and all. Or to stand up and shout. Or do something—anything—to end this torment. All the planning and preparation in the world couldn’t alleviate his mortification at hearing himself picked apart in this manner. He checked himself. As a youth, he’d willingly subjected himself to physical and mental torture in order to strengthen his resolve. This was the same idea—it was simply another sort of discomfort. He closed his eyes and summoned a basic meditation technique. He could endure this, if only as a means to an end.

"Another symptom of Mr. Wayne’s condition," Alex continued, "is an almost pathological fear of asking for help. Commanding it isn’t a problem, but asking implies weakness… or lack. In the past, the likelihood of his asking for assistance was almost always inversely proportional to his need: the weaker his actual condition, the greater the need to conceal it." Alex smiled. "This time was different." He leaned forward. "This time, Mr. Wayne recognized he still required psychiatric help. And once he came to this realization, he asked for help. He turned himself over to a person whom he trusted to return him to Arkham’s care."

One could have heard a gas pellet hiss in the quiet courtroom as Rae continued. "Doctor Morgenstern, since my client’s voluntary return to Arkham, how would you characterize his behavior?"

Alex smiled. "Positive. That’s not to say that there haven’t been setbacks or touchy subjects, but even when the topic is painful, he’s been making a genuine effort."

"In your expert opinion, what course of treatment would best serve my client’s needs at the present time?"

"Well," Alex said, "while there’s no question in my mind that Mr. Wayne still requires psychiatric care—in my professional opinion, his needs can no longer be adequately met in an institutional setting." Looking directly at the judge, he concluded: "My recommendation would be that Mr. Wayne be seen by a qualified mental health professional in an outpatient setting for a period of not less than six months."

Rae smiled. "Thank you, Doctor. I have no further questions."

The judge straightened his posture. "Ms. Boudreau, your witness.”

Fran Boudreau took a deep breath and reminded herself again why she was doing this. At one time, she had held the man currently seated at the defense table in high regard. Remembering their past working relationship, she still did. She couldn’t help it. But if Bruce Wayne was a danger to society today, then, respect or no respect, it was her duty to see to it that he remained in a secure facility.

“Dr. Morgenstern,” she said, “you testified a few moments ago that you considered Mr. Wayne fit to be released.”

“Provided he continues therapy as an outpatient, that’s correct.”

Boudreau picked up a sheaf of papers. “Do you recognize this, Doctor?”

Alex reached for it. “Yes, of course. Those are my notes.”

“On your sessions with Mr. Wayne.”

“Correct.”

She turned to the judge. “Your Honor, may I ask that the material be marked as an exhibit in this case?”

The clerk made the notation. Boudreau continued. “Would you turn to your notes on October 9th, please, Doctor?”

The courtroom was silent, save for the sound of rustling pages. After Alex looked up, Boudreau asked him to read aloud a passage that she had highlighted.

Alex shot an apologetic look in Bruce’s direction. “The patient related that chief among his regrets was that in his desire to keep innocents safe from harm, he found himself paradoxically compelled to thrust them into harm’s way.”

“Is this in reference to the children who fought by his side?”

Alex nodded. “It is.”

“Continue.”

Bruce fought to maintain his composure as Alex complied. That had been the day that he’d told Alex about Two-Face beating Dick within an inch of his life. He’d nearly given up on the idea of a partner, then, although it wasn’t until over a decade later that he’d finally followed through on that impulse. Joker had squeezed off one gunshot too many. And yet, barely three months later, he’d found himself in Crime Alley… and he’d found a fourteen-year-old boy in the act of stealing his tires…

“And less than a year after that, the Joker attacked that boy with a crowbar and left him to die, whether of his injuries or in the subsequent explosion was never determined.” Boudreau kept her tone sympathetic, and allowed the facts to speak for themselves.

Bruce fought the urge to turn and see Tim’s reaction as Boudreau continued to read. She’d reached the point in Alex’s notes that described the wedge that the Robin costume had driven between the youth and his father. Bruce had hated putting the youth in a position where he’d had to dissemble about his whereabouts, and conceal or lie about his injuries. He had burdened a thirteen-year-old boy with responsibilities that would have weighed heavily on a man twice his age. Tim had been willing, but that wasn’t the point. A minor could not make this kind of decision on his own.

He forced himself to appear calm. He knew that doctor-patient privilege held only limited application in hearings such as this. He’d sat in on enough of them as a spectator in earlier times. Why had he thought that his own records would remain confidential? And of course, the spectators here today were hanging on every word spoken. He gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the murmuring behind him.

“If I had never taken him in,” Alex continued, “would the boy’s father be alive today? It’s possible—”

“Objection!” Rae called. “Relevance?”

Boudreau faced the judge. “Your Honor, this line of questioning is necessary to impeach the doctor’s testimony.”

“Overruled.”

Boudreau nodded. “Thank you.” She turned back to the witness stand. “Dr. Morgenstern, according to what you’ve read out here today, Mr. Wayne has recklessly endangered the lives of three… young… boys. Minor children. And he knowingly and recklessly pushed them into danger night after night. One died, in fact. And despite Mr. Wayne’s obvious, and I freely grant, genuine remorse, it wasn’t long before he found another eager candidate for the costume. Dr. Morgenstern, can you assure this court that, if released, Mr. Wayne won’t seek out another child to train?”

Bruce winced. He should have let Selina slip him the lock pick. No… no, he might have used it. That would have only made matters worse. Marginally.

Alex leaned forward. “As I’d indicated before, Mr. Wayne came to Arkham suffering from a deep-seated need to control, coupled with an aversion to asking for help. I think it’s extremely telling that he’s at his best when training youngsters, particularly when they’re at an age less likely to question authority and more likely to follow his orders without challenge.”

“Dr. Morgenstern, yes or no?”

“It’s not that simple, Ms. Boudreau,” Alex said. “What we’ve been working on together, he and I, is addressing and resolving his control issues. I do find it encouraging that when Mr. Wayne fled Arkham that night, he did not, in fact, seek out one of the young people whom he had trained. Instead, he contacted an individual whom he could trust to act in his best interests; one on whom he could rely not to follow him blindly. He sought out someone whom he respected as an authority figure.”

“Your Honor?” Boudreau’s irritation was plain.

“Answer the question, Doctor.”

Every vestige of humor seemed to vanish from Alex’s face. “You’re asking me for assurances, Ms. Boudreau. I can assure you that the Bruce Wayne sitting in this room with us now is not the same man he was two years ago. I can assure you that at present, his therapeutic needs can no longer be met in an inpatient setting. And I can assure you that Mr. Wayne has come to a point where he is able to recognize, and to break, destructive patterns.”

Boudreau nodded. “But you can’t guarantee it, can you?”

Alex frowned. “I can extrapolate from the avail—”

“But you can’t guarantee it?”

“No.”

Boudreau smiled faintly, and let the matter drop. She made a show of consulting her notes. “You were Cosmo Krank’s therapist for a number of years as well, were you not?”

Alex nodded. “Yes, I was.”

“Krank was released from Arkham… was it three years ago?”

“Four, if memory serves,” Alex corrected diffidently.

Fran smiled. “Four. Thank you. And that was based on your recommendation.”

“It was.”

Boudreau nodded. “Where is Cosmo Krank, today?”

Alex closed his eyes for a moment.

“Dr. Morgenstern?”

He opened his eyes again. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to remember that for you.” He met her eyes steadily. “At the moment, Cosmo Krank resides in Blackgate prison, cellblock B, in the medium security wing.”

“And where was Mr. Krank residing until April twenty-ninth of this year?”

To his credit, Alex didn’t shy away. “Cosmo Krank was an inmate at Arkham Asylum.”

Boudreau’s eyes widened. “Arkham? But, I thought that you’d attested that he was fit for release. Isn’t that what you said, Doctor?”

“Yes.”

“I have no further questions.”

The judge nodded his acknowledgement. “Any redirect?”

Rae rose to her feet. “Yes, Your Honor.” She approached the witness stand again.

“Dr. Morgenstern,” she began, “You’ve just testified that Cosmo Krank was returned to Arkham. How long after his initial release was it?”

Alex smiled. “Roughly three years.”

“Would you please tell the court the circumstance that brought him back to the asylum?”

“Certainly,” Alex replied. “While at Arkham, Krank was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. At the time of his release, he was controlling it with medication. However, over time, Krank built up a tolerance to the drug. When it lost its effectiveness, his old problems returned. And since at that time, he was no longer under court order to receive psychiatric counseling, he did not address the situation properly. At Arkham, Krank was responding well to the new medication prescribed, and we were hoping to start the process for his release within the next month or so.”

Rae smiled, as a surprised murmur rippled through the courtroom. “Thank you, Doctor Morgenstern, I’ve nothing further.”

The judge looked up. “Thank you, counselors. Any closing statements?”

Both attorneys shook their heads. “None.”

The judge nodded. “Then—”

“Judge Shanahan,” a shrill voice called from the spectators’ rows, “Judge Shanahan, I’d like to make a statement!”

The woman whom Rae had pointed out earlier, Sharon Ryerson, was out of her seat and struggling to get to the aisle, ignoring the frantic hissing of her teenaged son. “Mom! Mom, sit down!”

Rae gasped, barely able to believe her eyes. She whirled toward Fran and then checked herself as she saw that the opposing counsel was as stunned as she was.

The judge lifted his gaze. “Who…”

Ryerson slapped at her son’s hand. “Let go of me!” She snapped. She elbowed her way out of the row of people. “Judge Shanahan,” she repeated. “My name is Sharon Ryerson.” Her words tumbled out in a rush. “I’m the widow of Sergeant Paul Ryerson. Your Honor, my husband was a good man, a fine officer, and he would still be alive today if not for THAT man—”

“Ms. Ry—” Shanahan tried to interrupt.

“…sitting there. He killed m—”

“Ms. Ryers—”

“He should be shut away,” her voice took on a hysterical note, “forever and—”

“MS. RYERSON!”

Despite himself, Bruce started.

Mid-tirade, Ryerson’s jaw snapped shut.

“Ms. Ryerson,” Shanahan continued in a softer tone, “I understand your loss. But this is not a sentencing hearing, and your statement has no relevance to these proceedings.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but the judge continued. “You may return to your seat. If I hear another outburst from you, I will charge you with contempt. If you attempt to approach the bench again, I will charge you with contempt. Is that understood?”

Chastened, she nodded and resumed her place beside her red-faced son.

The judge waited a moment. “Would the defendant please rise?”

Bruce complied. Once more, he tried to ignore the clinking of the chains. Next to him, Rae stood as well. He stole a sidelong glance at her, trying to see whether her expression or her body language in any way indicated how she expected the judge to rule. He couldn’t tell. It seemed forever before Judge Shanahan spoke again.

“I’ve weighed the evidence and I’ve heard the testimony from both sides. Although I mark the compelling evidence that the defendant has made great strides in psychiatric care…”

Bruce gripped the edge of the table for support. ‘Although,’ he thought to himself. That didn’t sound promising…

“I find that the defense has not been able to prove that Mr. Wayne is no longer mentally ill.”

He heard a sharp intake of breath behind him. Dick’s? Tim’s? Someone—a woman—hissed “No!” He thought it was Cass, but whispering voices all sounded similar.

“However,” Shanahan continued, “I do concur with Dr. Morgenstern’s recommendation for Assisted Outpatient Treatment for a period of no less than one year.”

He froze. Had he just heard…?

“Yessssssssss!”

That was Tim. He was sure of it.

“If there is one more outburst, I will clear this courtroom.”

Rae leaned over to him. “Congratulations. Remember, Bruce, what we discussed.”

He nodded. No negotiation. No show of pride or resentment. All he had to do was agree.

Shanahan continued. “Bruce Wayne. Over the next twelve months, you will continue to meet with your therapist as often as he deems necessary. You are to follow all directions and recommendations of the therapist. If you are prescribed any medication, you will take it as directed.” His eyebrows drew together. “You will not operate as Batman, nor as any other costumed crimefighter while you are under civil commitment. Failure to comply with any of the directives of your therapist or failure to comply with the orders of the court, you will be returned to inpatient care immediately. Do you understand?”

Bruce squared his shoulders. “Yes, Your Honor.” It wasn’t lost on him that the judge had doubled the timeframe that Alex had recommended. It wasn’t a total victory. Still, it was close enough. He could accept this arrangement. Willingly.

Shanahan cleared his throat. “Defendant is hereby committed to the Gotham City Mental Health Authority for a period of one year as an outpatient. There will be another hearing called to reevaluate at that time. Court is adjourned.”

“NO!” Sharon Ryerson struggled through the crowd, charging toward Bruce. “You can’t go free! You don’t des—let me GO!”

As a deputy from the Sheriff’s department clapped a hand on his shoulder, Bruce saw Dick grip the woman’s arm, holding her until a bailiff arrived. The deputy gave him a slight tug. “Let’s get downstairs and lose that jewelry,” he said, indicating the shackles.

Bruce nodded numbly, still trying to process what had just transpired.

“Bruce.” Rae clutched his other arm, as she walked alongside him. “Are you okay?”

He wasn’t going to leave the building in chains. He wasn’t going to walk outside with an ankle monitor. He wasn’t going back to the hospital. And, at least today, he wasn’t going back to an empty house filled with too many memories. He looked Rae dead in the eye. “Better,” he said, as he felt his lips pull up into a smile. “Better than I’ve been in a long time.” His smile broadened. “Thanks.”

Sure enough, when Rae opened the door, and they walked outside, it was to a bombardment of clicking cameras and calls of “Mr. Wayne!” and “Batman, just a few questions?” Bruce ignored them. Behind the media representatives, standing a short distance away, he could see Dick and Cass watching—waiting for him.

He squared his shoulders and took a step forward. Someone shoved a microphone at him, and he looked down into the earnest brown eyes of a woman in her mid-thirties. He knew her. “Mr. Wayne? Is there any statement you’d like to make to our viewers?”

Bruce smiled at her. “Ms. Chen, isn’t it?” he asked warmly. Gently but firmly he motioned for her to move the microphone. “No, I’ve no statement at the present time. Please submit any requests for interviews to my attorneys.” Not that he had any intention of granting them.

Someone snapped a photograph. “Just something we can quote?”

Rae spoke up then. “Of course. We’re happy with the results of the hearing. Now let the man through.”

The crowd parted, but the cameras kept snapping as he made his way toward Cass and Dick.

Dick grinned. “Sorry to pull you away from your adoring public,” he smirked. “We could come back…”

Bruce’s face froze midway between a smile and a snarl. “Just keep moving,” he muttered as he pushed his way past them. He’d gone maybe two steps before Dick clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, wait up. You don’t know where we’re parked. Besides, I’m the one with the car keys.” He checked himself. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He hesitated. “Dick… thanks for coming.”

The younger man blinked. “Bruce, I wouldn’t have stayed away today of all days,” he said.

“I don’t just mean today,” Bruce said. He turned to face him. “I… I wouldn’t have lasted at Arkham without…” He broke off. “If there was a time—that first year especially—when you wondered whether your visits mattered, they did. I know I made it easy for you to walk away. Thank you for… for not giving up, when you had every reason to. It mattered.”

Dick shook his head. “Bruce,” he said slowly, “you’ve got it all wrong. Even if I’d wanted to, I couldn’t have given up on you. You never taught me how.”

Only the twin realizations that the reporters were still observing them and that any display of emotion now would be sure to air on the six o’clock news allowed Bruce to control himself until they reached the car.