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“A statement?” Batman's gruff voice sounded out, breaking the long silence with an almost incredulous tone. He had recently been more paranoid than normal. Creating contingency plans for his contingency plans. He had taken into account every instance that could possibly occur and every outcome that could come of plan.
But this, being approached by an odd man – not Gotham odd – but still a rather odd man with a posh South-English accent was not in any of these plans.
Especially as he was approached not as Bruce Wayne, but as Batman, whilst he was travelling over rooftops, in the middle of patrol at quarter to midnight on a Wednesday evening..
“A statement.” The Englishman spoke with deep irritation, his long greying hair had fallen, in places, out of the loose ponytail it had been strung up in.
Batman didn’t know why hadn’t just ignored the man and why he had failed to continue on his patrol. There was something about him. He was intriguing – even compelling – and Batman wanted nothing more than to tell him everything. The Englishman seemed to have taken his hesitance as confirmation to his request. He cleared his throat, “Right then, Statement of…” he trailed off and stared Batman in his cowled eyes, “The Batman, regarding his stalker.”
Batman wouldn’t have said it like that, Batman also didn’t know how the British man knew it was anything like that. “Statement taken direct from subject. Date, 29th June 2017.” The man’s voice then changed, becoming deeper and more sinister, and Batman could’ve sworn that he heard static creep into it. “Statement Begins.”
All of a sudden, he was no longer Batman, he was no longer Bruce Wayne. He was someone who had not existed for years there was no mask, no persona to hide his true face behind. The story came easy then, “It started a good three months ago, when… When Robin died.” Too much; he had revealed too much. But the words came so easy, he tried to fight, to clamp his lips shut, but the compulsion overruled him.
“His death was my fault, of course. He trusted me, if I had been more vigilant, if only I had noticed the signs, been quicker, or smarter, or… then he would still be here. If I was at all a good father, he would never have left, never even been Robin at all. But I wasn’t – I’m still not. I can admit. I know I am paranoid; somehow now even more than before.
But this isn’t paranoia.
Two days after Robin died I went out on patrol. I promised Agent A that it would be short, that I would return by midnight. We both knew I was lying, that I needed to do something, anything to combat the grief.
That’s when I first saw him. I had just stopped a crime, a mugging – nothing major, when out of the corner of my eye I saw the flash of a camera. I turned my head and there stood a small boy, younger than Robin is – was.
He was perched, almost fully covered by darkness in the deep shadowy corners of a rooftop. This in itself is not too strange, he was young, but maybe an overzealous fan, a runner for a gang – there were many reasons why this boy that age would be sitting there taking pictures of The Batman.
But in his hands he held no camera or phone. His hands were empty; he wouldn't have had enough time to put anything away. But still he perched there and adjusted his sunglasses.
I thought that would’ve been the end of it. Of course, it wasn’t, but the next time I saw him I was not The Batman, I was…”
He faltered, even a compulsion this deep couldn’t stop him realising he had nearly revealed his identity. He was standing in an alleyway, mere metres away from a relatively busy street, even late as this. He stood opposite of a man, probably a meta-human even with compulsion abilities. But, it was so easy to just talk, to tell the man his ‘statement’.
“I was at the annual Wayne Winter Charity Gala, I wanted to skip it, but I had missed the last three and I thought it would be good to raise money as the weather turned. So I showed up, I persevered through the ‘deepest condolences’ and ‘greatest sympathies’.
I stepped up to the microphone to say my speech and cameras flashed, people watched and muttered in anticipation. Yet somehow, over the cacophony of noise I heard it. That same click, not too different to the hundreds of cameras capturing my speech, I shouldn’t have been able to single it out, but I did.
I scanned the crowd and he was there, pushing his sunglasses up his nose. This I noted as strange, he was dressed in the same way as many guests, but he wore a pair of sunglasses. Behind the reflective lenses I could feel his gaze. I faltered in my speech, but pushed through. No one noticed except for him. He saw everything: my hesitation, my fear, my regret.
The next time I saw him I could not explain his presence as mere coincidence. The next time I saw him I was in the Batcave, I had almost entirely suited up, I was just about to put on my cowl when that noise sounded again.
That click.
I looked to where the noise came from, up high, hanging from a stalactite, the boy. I knew it was him, but he was wearing the Robin costume.
The same one that Robin was in on the day he died. The exact one, with the bloodstains, and the singes, the rips and tears. But the glass memorial remained intact across the cave. This time I could see the boy's eyes, or… where they should have been. In place of eyes there were lenses. Like a camera, they twisted and zoomed in on my face and I heard it again – that noise – that click.
I could not control my rage. How dare this thing enter my home looking like him. I pulled out my grappling hook intent to go up there with him, dropping my cowl on the floor and I aimed, but before I could even shoot he was gone. I did not see him leave, I didn’t even see him disappear, one moment he was there and the next he had never even existed.
I was shaken, but Gotham's criminals wouldn't stop because I was shaken. So I grabbed my cowl and faked confidence heading towards the Batmobile. In the passenger seat there he was, his camera eyes twisting, and focusing, and knowing. All knowing.
But I am Batman, I do not accept things that simply, the boy was likely a hallucination, exposure to fear gas, maybe? There is no lack of Gotham criminals wanting to attack The Batman. I entered the Batmobile and didn't look at the boy.
Despite this I could feel him vibrating and fidgeting in his seat, just like a real child – just like Robin. But, I could not hear him breathe. I could hear his eyes, though, shutters adjusting and lenses zooming as he fidgeted in the too-large seat.”
Fondness started, against all odds, to enter Batman's voice when talking about the monster.
“I began patrol like normal that night, trying to forget about the boy from the Batmobile, on every rooftop I landed on I heard him taking pictures from dark corners.
His presence was still threatening, still achingly reminiscent of Robin when he first joined patrol, observing but not joining me with the actual fighting.
That day I left the criminals less battered than usual. I wanted to be a better example. For this strange boy, even if he was not real, a hallucination, I didn’t want him to get any ideas.
A few weeks later me and my eldest, Nightwing, ended up in a precarious situation. Trapped by Two-Face, unable to escape. We thought… well I knew that we would be alright. That, at least, I would be with my son doing all that I could.
We did not, obviously, die that day. And the city will never have to fear Harvey Dent again. The boy arrived in the Robin costume. Nightwing choked with hidden shock; I didn’t. I don’t know if he can feel in the same way that normal people do, I don’t know anything except his behaviour appeared stressed and panicked.
Harvey Dent was surprised to see him too. He mentioned something about Robin but I couldn’t hear. The lenses were shining, the shutters opened swirling and buzzing a static that grew progressively louder.
We then Knew Harvey Dent. We Knew all there was to know. Everything he’s ever felt, everything he’s ever done, everything he ever would. We Knew all moves he would make and each effect it would create. In just a moment, in an instant, and like the Knowledge was there all along, I Knew.
This made his existence unnecessary. Being Known meant that his being there physically – or even spiritually – made no difference. There was nothing else to gain from him for the universe itself. Harvey Dent became non-existent. Harvey Dent has never and will never exist.
It takes more than a second to recover from a shock like that. Enough time that neither Nightwing nor I could reach the boy as he took off running.
The fact that he was not a hallucination made his presence more intimidating. I did all the research I could but for someone that is filled with such Knowledge, he himself is quite unknown.
Jack and Janet Drake, they lived together in a manor house on the outskirts of the city. They had a son. They do not exist anymore. They never did. The deed of the house is blank, their birth certificates destroyed and erased from any digital records they might have been on. Marriage certificate too.
They had a son.
He will come for me soon. He Knows much about me, I assume all there is to know, I fear he knows more. Each night atop the Gotham rooftops if I strain my ears I can hear it. I can hear him.”
The sound of a tape recorder shutting off with a distinctive click echoed over the rooftop. The Englishman was disappointed with his answer and Batman knew it.
"The Eye?" He muttered but it sounded like the question wasn't for him. The compulsion was quickly draining and Batman felt rising white-hot fury as he realised just how much he had revealed.
Yet with the clear mind came an exhaustion, the type that means any movement feels like wading through molasses: slow and frustratingly difficult.
That - he would tell himself later - is the reason he let the man get away just watching as the frail figure walked into the night.