Die a hero

Chapter 1 - Graduation

Having achieved almost everything he set out to, Harvey Dent felt becalmed. It was almost as if there was nothing left to fight for. The bar was emptying, most of his friends had embraced him and departed. His graduation day had wound down to this, clutching a glass of whiskey in his ridiculous blue and gold robes. He raised the glass to himself and whispered 'to the Thomas Wayne foundation, thank you for my degree.'

Looking over his shoulder Harvey noticed that Mikhail, one of his best friends, was regaling a group of girls with one of his many camping stories. His mis-spent childhood outside Helsinki was a subject of such fascination that he seemed to have found himself a captive audience. Though, it wasn't quite possible to tell whether it was the tales themselves or this Finn's drunken demeanour that kept them captivated.

Harvey could tell that Mikhail was telling them the one about the disused quarry. After a few years of knowing him, Mikhail had told this one to him two or three times from slightly different perspectives. His friends had left the camp in temperatures well below zero, without his parents being able to hear a sound. Jari, his best friend had constructed a swing in the local woodland. Unfortunately, the weakness of the branch had not been taken into account and young Jari fell, head over heels into the quarry. The young, noble Mikhail had wondered in to save his broken friend when the local police turned up. As he had turned, Mikhail realised that his parents had also followed him. He faced a choice between two evils and ended up running to the police, who he felt would be less harsh on trespassers.

Laughing as he turned, Harvey noticed another group in the far left hand corner. He was not familiar with any of them, they had mostly been on different courses to him. At the centre of the group was a woman who Harvey had never spoken to, a woman with dark brown hair and a shockingly bright smile. One of those he had seen around the campus a million times without ever stopping her, without ever being able to express the frustration of attraction.

Harvey knew he was not a naturally charming man. He also knew that he was certainly not the first student to have experienced this frustration. There were so many men his age who had greater successes than him, the bastards he thought. His relationships had been short, bitter affairs that ended badly. Sometimes he felt like this aspect of his world was grinding him down. Why, he asked himself, would the beautiful and popular Rachael Dawes fall for him? He flinched away the moment before she realised he was staring.

Closing time was approaching rapidly. The old clock at the back of the bar chimed out eleven. Harvey decided that it was time to depart. He removed his graduation robe reluctantly, folding it up and placing it in the collection box. The cynical alumnus manning the box raised an eyebrow in mild amusement. Harvey clapped him on the shoulder with a slight smile and then turned away.

After a brief goodbye from Mikhail, who looked very pleased with himself, Harvey scanned every inch of the room. He had always loved this bar. The tall mahogany ceiling with a staircase set into it that no one ever used. It was rumoured to lead nowhere. Student artworks covering every section of each wall, they varied in quality wildly. The dark sheen floor complemented the brightness of the room perfectly. It was the sort of bar where one would not look out of place in a dinner jacket. A remnant, Harvey thought, of a better age in Gotham.

It was a five minute walk from the bar to his flat. His housemates had left for the city centre to continue their night of mayhem. Harvey was not in the mood. He crossed the street. It was a warm, humid night with a slight breeze blowing from the west. Harvey's palms were sweating as he pulled his keys from his pocket. His wallet slipped from his grasp.

A foot stamped on it. Harvey looked up momentarily, noting the man's ragged appearance. Before he could speak, a foot connected with the side of the head, knocking him unconscious.

What felt like a moment passed and Harvey woke up in an alleyway he recognised as being two hundred yards from his flat. He felt the warmth of blood seeping through his blonde hair. He was still drunk and now also a little concussed. Whilst he attempted to rise, he recalled with horror the circumstances that had led him there.

He ran around the corner, the wind whipping him sideways in his dazed state. Checking his pockets made him realise that not only his wallet had been stolen, his keys were missing as well. Through the malaise, he saw that the main door to his block was open. He walked up a flight of stairs to his door. The door was left open to intimidate, there was no sign of a break in.

He pushed the door to, confronting the stark horror within. The place had been utterly turned over, broken glass littered the purple carpet. Harvey was riven with disgust at the scene. As he entered his own room, it became apparent that the pictures of his family were gone. None remained of his mother, who had died three years previously, none of his father and sister, whom he had never known. A hideous rage consumed him as he roared out at the night.

In a blind panic, he reached for the bottom right hand draw. Towards the back he felt his hands clasp around what he was looking for. Buried beneath his clothes was an envelope addressed to him. He felt inside for the letter and the photo but most pressingly the coin, the coin had to be there.

With a grip like a vice he held his father's double-headed coin, the only token Harvey had ever possessed of his existence. He kissed it and placed in his right hand pocket. Next, he moved the photo of his sister to his inside jacket. It would be with him always. He removed the letter and sat upon his broken bed, on the back was written 'to be read on your graduation'. Harvey had kept his word, however much it pained him to think of those final months in which she had written it.

He turned over the letter and read it with rapt attention:

Dear Harvey,

I am so proud of you. I know how important to you this day must be. My hope is that I find you well and happy and as ready as ever to do what is right because before I die, there is some knowledge that I must confide in you. I want you to know why your father has never been here. I told you that he had died along with your sister in a car crash before you were born. It was a half-truth I used to protect you until you were old enough to understand.

I believe that now you have graduated and you are equipped with the knowledge to fight injustice it is the right time to tell you what happened. It still hurts me greatly to write it, so please have patience. Your father was a very passionate man, much like you, if anything his belief in justice was even greater than yours. He was a close friend of Thomas Wayne and along with him he attempted to fight the poverty that was crippling Gotham twenty years ago. Unfortunately, as the senior at the biggest law firm in the city, he made quite a few enemies.

One day, he took your sister for a walk in Gotham Square. On the way to the train station was a large bank where a violent robbery was taking place. Your father and sister were on the opposite side of the road. Several of the bastards had already made it to the getaway car but there was one who was slower than the rest. Charles ran out into the road and tackled him, and as they wrestled on the ground your father tried to block the getaway. Your sister Laura ran out into the road to try and help him.

Charles turned and shouted at her to get back but he could not stop her. The getaway car ran her over as it pulled away. Your father survived. After Laura's death, your father searched for years without success for the killers. The police were not able to find them, there was no one able to identify those bloody cowards through their masks. I cannot disguise the grief I felt, but it was nothing compared to your father.

His search eventually turned him into a bitter and hateful man. After a year I gave him an ultimatum and he left. He never had any idea I was pregnant with you at the time, I did not want him taking out his anger on you. I knew nothing of where he went. Then, three years ago I received a letter from him saying that he would return soon to 'save Gotham from itself'. I gave it to the police but they assumed that he had been driven insane by his search and that he would never follow through with it.

For a long time I thought the same, but there was something in that letter, something in the tone which made me think that he will return. Harvey, you know what he looks like, you have seen the photographs and when he returns you must turn him in. I fear for you my son, I fear for your safety but you must do this for me. I loved your father, he was a great man but his beliefs destroyed him.

Never become like that Harvey. Stay true to what you believe in.

With all my love,

Your mother,

Jane Dent

Harvey could not be certain how long he had been reading it. He had lost all conception of time since leaving the bar. It could have been twenty minutes or two hours. He looked at his watch, it was past midnight. An imperceptible hush descended over the building. There was some movement downstairs, a man was approaching the flat. In a more logical moment, Harvey would have stayed still, safe in the knowledge that this was where he lived and he could not rob his own house.

However, he was in no mood to compromise. He approached the door purposefully, ready at any moment to spring the intruders. He switched off the light and knelt on the floor, poised for the moment. There was a great slamming sound as the door opened and two silhouettes appeared. Dent sprang forth, knocking one of the men to the floor. He went wild, wading in with right and left.

The man beneath him reeled in shock and Harvey felt a gun click silently against his skull. A police badge was flashed in front of him. Harvey withdrew his fists and held his hands up in surrender. The man beneath him slowly rose to his feet and adjusted his glasses. He spoke nervously to his colleague 'Let him go Flass, lets do this properly.'

Harvey had his wrists drawn roughly behind him and handcuffed. The man with glasses drew himself up and looked at Harvey in puzzlement. He was briefly joined by his gun wielding colleague, a shorter, stockier man with a straggly beard. Streetlight flowed in through the windows. The bearded man held the gun out at arms length, waiting for another strike.

The man with the glasses spoke first 'I'm guessing from the state of you that its been a busy night.'

Harvey sensed an edge of unintended sarcasm and practically spat out the reply 'You could say that.' He took a pace towards him, Harvey noted for the first time how tired he looked, on another night this would have made him sympathetic, this was not another night.

Those eyes examined him warily, he said 'My name is Lieutenant Jim Gordon and this is my colleague Lieutenant Flass. As you can see, the Gotham police force have given us a search warrant for this property. Take him to the car Flass, we'll deal with him there.' Harvey was dragged unceremoniously away, he noticed that Flass exchanged a dark look with Gordon as he left. Harvey could tell, even in his brief acquaintance that these were partners in name only.

Flass shoved him into the car and took the driver's seat. Harvey noted the clock above the rear view mirror read 00.42am. This momentary lapse cost him a slap across the face 'Hey wise guy, stay quiet and look at nothing but me.' Harvey thought that perhaps he better save his rejoinder for the interview. A compartment opened and Flass placed his gun inside, removing a bag of nuts in the process. He ate them with as much ceremony as he could manage, chewing the nuts into a fine paste before digesting them.

He leant over the wheel, almost as if he were falling asleep. Harvey noticed his lopsided grin in the mirror, the sort of smile that hinted at a perverted secrecy. An internal laughter that none shared. Gordon was approaching now and he sat a little straighter, still gulping audibly. Harvey noticed a few uniformed cops entering the flat, police tape covered the door and they ran in silently. Once he was in the car Gordon turned around briefly, examining the prisoner with an exasperated expression. A brief nod to Flass then followed. The engine revved into action.

A silence descended over the vehicle. There would be no polite conversations on this journey. Flass drove like a maniac, throwing his car left and right seemingly as his mood dictated. Gordon seemed completely unaffected by this behaviour, checking his watch occasionally and yawning soundlessly. As the radio buzzed with news of suspected muggings, assaults and burglaries he scratched his chin in thought asking Harvey 'What's your name son?'

Harvey was caught off guard by this unexpected attention and stuttered in reply 'H-h-Haarvey Dent sir.'

Gordon nodded, as if in satisfaction. He turned to Harvey and asked 'The same Harvey Dent who lives at the flat we found you?'

'Yes sir, the very same.' Harvey replied, he was still angry enough to be there. He did not want to go back to his ruined flat, where almost every possession that had ever held meaning had been lost. He wanted to get to a cell and start shouting. After a ten minute drive Harvey found himself at Gotham police station, it was a typical example of the over-elaborate architecture which the city had been so fond of in the late 20's. They parked in one of the bays directly outside and walked in.

The building had large main doors, a quasi-classical frieze that ran above them read 'the truth overcomes'. Dent knew it was unusual to be brought through the main entrance. It would be a busy night if the cells at the back were full. He was receiving an array of angry stares from those around him. All the stereotypes of the recent crime wave were present, the young mother looking concerned shaking her head at Harvey as he passed, the youth cradling a broken arm, using all his concentration to keep his wrist still. Harvey considered that perhaps the media were right, perhaps this city really was hitting rock bottom.

A front desk clerk greeted Gordon and Flass with an air of cheeriness. In contrast he studied Harvey with impatience, with a sigh he asked 'Name?'

'Harvey James Dent' came the blunt reply, laced with exhaustion. Harvey looked around the massive hall, bathed in the bright golden light the cross-checked floor tiles had a rare sheen to them. It could almost have passed for a ballroom in another context. The uniformed men rushing around did not give much notice to it. He refocused and noticed that the officer behind the desk was becoming irritable, he must have missed a question. Gordon calmed him down and helped Harvey finish the forms, before he was led away through a darker corridor.

As they turned into the nearest available interview room, Gordon switched on a light. The room was a dark brown colour with a couple of plain plastic chairs either side of the table. A fan in the corner whistled gently. 'You wanna get that cut checked?' Gordon asked, standing with his hands in his coat. Harvey shook his head in response and brought his hands together on the table. There was a long pause, broken only by Flass dragging his chair into position.

A small part of Harvey wanted this night to end, the part which made him favour the matted blood-stained hair. Gordon sat down and studied him evenly, his left cheekbone was swelling from where Harvey had connected with it. Everything about this seemed a little distasteful to him. In a calmer state of mind Harvey would have found it shocking, even mildly amusing that he had ended up here.

Gordon began his interview by returning the slight smile 'Mr. Dent, welcome, I just need to know a few things.' Harvey nodded, indicating a willingness to continue. 'Where were you at eleven pm?' Gordon asked

'I was just returning from the bar. It was my graduation day and I was heading home to get a bit of time to myself' replied Harvey. Flass then leant forward malevolently, daring him to slip up, daring an inconsistency in the story. Harvey continued to recount the tale of the evening, there were no gaps in his story and Gordon was well aware that Harvey lived at the property he was supposed to have robbed.

Flass' questioning became more intense: why had the neighbours heard a roar of frustration? Why was there no sign of forced entry? How does any of this exonerate you? Harvey answered each with precision. The interviewers quickly moved on to the subject of his assault of Gordon. Harvey explained in full the reasons for his actions, citing his changed state of mind after a combination of stress, alcohol and concussion had altered his emotional state.

Gordon looked blankly on as Flass continued the interrogation. After ten minutes he spoke quietly to Harvey, saying 'Mr. Dent I believe you did not rob your own house, your story has no inconsistencies in it and as for the motivation, well, lets face it, there isn't one. I am also willing to take into account the state of mind you must have been in when we arrived, so I will levy no charge of assault against you for this. Consider yourself on bail until the morning when we have the forensic evidence. Please report back here at 11am.'

Blank shock was etched on the expressions of Flass and Dent as they both left the room. Gordon heaved a sigh out of his system, expelling some of his limitless fatigue. It was now half past two, his shift was meant to have finished two hours ago. He left the room and switched off the light.

Meanwhile, Harvey was fingerprinted and told to check in to a nearby hotel. Fortunately, the two star Gotham City Paradise Inn was open all hours. As soon as he exited the station, Harvey went straight there. Flass shook his head in bewilderment at his colleague, Gordon smiled indulgently and headed to his car.

As he walked the empty streets, Harvey considered a strange day. The wind had died and a humidity descended over the city as he walked the ten minutes to Gotham's most secure hotel. There were no shortage of people around who knew The Paradise, such was its reputation as an inner city rest-house for those under duress. A few quizzical looks met his requests for directions. Harvey considered that he would not be looking at his best after recent events.

He trudged into the hotel reception, focusing his attention on the bored receptionist. She pointed his luggage carrier out who grasped his solitary rucksack. It was the sort of modern hotel that had pretensions, a place that wanted Lords and Emperors but ended up with Mayors and Governors on the low. The reception had a hyped up post-modern feel to it, with white and black mixed in minimalist design all over the walls and desks. A few doors passed and eventually they started climbing a set of grey stairs. The paint began to flake as they progressed upwards and on the second floor he was led to his corridor.

The baggage handler dropped the rucksack without ceremony and left without completing his job. Harvey collected it and went to the third door on the right. The lock clicked and whined, the key struggling with the evident lack of oil on it. A light switched on by keycard and he beheld the room in front of him. It was a small, habitable place with a charming street view. Harvey was happy with it. An ancient television sat on top of a set of Chester draws in front of the bed. He would no doubt be spending the evening waiting to fall asleep in front of it.

He went to his en suite bathroom, not entirely satisfactory but somewhat better than waiting for the rain to shower, which he had been considering at one particularly cynical moment. The wound had long since staunched of its own accord but drying blood still covered part of his hair and in lines down his face. He placed his head in the bowl and attempted to wash out the unintended dye. As he shook himself dry, Harvey noticed the stress lines marking the edge of his eyes. He was more tired than he had ever been in his life and yet his mind was humming through every microsecond.

At last he lay down, reading once again through the letter. There was nothing new in there, no newer or more urgent sense of danger. Dent now theorised that he may not have become another unfortunate victim of the crime wave but it was still nothing more than a theory. He shook his head and muttered to himself, how ridiculous he felt believing these myths. There was nothing that could make him any more likely to see his father again. He had just been a victim of freak circumstance, a student in the wrong part of the city.

There was nothing left for it. He switched on the television. The scrolling news was telling him the major events of the day. A large scale photo opportunity had been held at the hospital 'Mayor opens new wing' was the byline. Harvey felt it should have read 'Mayor clings to popularity'. Another three minute item was made up of the worst kind of journalism, full as it was with speculation. The piece stated that Bruce Wayne was rumoured to have been spotted in Burma. Harvey chuckled to himself about the wild Lord Lucan of Gotham and wished very slightly that he could just disappear. It had been a very poor evening.

As he passed this rare moment without anxiety, Harvey wondered what was to come. Perhaps now he was ready to show the world just what a genuinely principled lawyer could do, perhaps now with first hand experience he would be that much better at it. Confusion and fatigue muddied his thoughts, positive and negative coming in a completely unrelated order. His limbs compelled him to sleep but his mind kept him from it. At the end of this long evening, his body was fighting a civil war to a stalemate.

A muffled hum began outside the door. The early morning cleaner had arrived. Harvey rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. There was a definable increase in volume. Harvey groaned in annoyance, he felt that the carpet needed burning rather than cleaning. He opened the door and found the apparatus unattended. He noticed the shoes of someone being dragged away at the end of the corridor. A cloth covered his face and all turned to darkness.