2.

The nightmare… He had awoken to a nightmare and it was still chasing him. Everywhere he turned, shadows loomed like monstrous bats. The dark figures he passed leered at him with mocking eyes, laughing, always laughing. The laughter vibrated his ears, rattled in his skull, harsh and cruel and hateful. So many faces…!

His legs hurt, his lungs were burning. He couldn't run anymore. Diving into an alley, he slammed his back against the wall and slid down, down, down into the sour, reeking darkness. There, with a sobbing cry, he felt the faces take him, carry him away with death-cold hands along a stream of memories that were not his own…

"Mom! Mom, are you here? Please, Mom… You've gotta answer me…"

The ancient high-rise was condemned, falling apart. Moisture dripped down the peeling walls, mold climbed up and through the exposed asbestos insulation. The floor had rotted in patches, and it was difficult to know where to step. But he kept going, doing his best to avoid the rat droppings, the bat droppings, the human waste and vomit that carpeted the narrow corridor.

There was no electricity, no heat. The moans and sighs and sobs that choked the sour air were his only guide as he climbed the slippery, urine-soaked stairs. And then, there they were. Bodies without souls, ragged and wretched, packed together like slaves in a dungeon of their own making. The smell was worse here, the sounds, the half-mad laughter…

"Mom?"

The meth-heads didn't move, just stared straight up or straight ahead with their empty, bloodshot eyes. He picked his way through, searching the faces. But, in the dark they all looked the same. Male, female, young, old, there was no difference. They were just bodies, huddled bodies, hiding behind lank hair and brown, bleeding grins.

"Mom, please!" he cried, fiercely wiping away the tears he couldn't stop. "I know you're here. You gotta know my voice, Mom. You gotta know who I am!"

"I know who you are. You're that stringbean's brat, ain'tcha?"

A shadow broke away from the wall, bald and looming. The man's face was cloaked in darkness; all he could see were his eyes, and the gleam of his silver tooth when he smiled.

"Where's my Mom," he demanded, struggling not to show his fear. This man carried a knife, he'd see him use it on rats and strays and customers who tried to trick or fool or double-cross him.

"On an errand, my boy," he said in the smooth, cocky voice of a man who's climbed to the top of his own little world. "She can't expect something for nothing. If she can't pay in cash there are…other uses for her."

He swallowed. "When will she be back?"

"I wouldn't wait up." The man smiled his cruel, silver smile. "Go home, boy. This place isn't for you. Yet."

"Bastard..."

"What was that?" the man snarled.

"You're a bastard!" he yelled, too angry to be afraid. "Just you wait till I'm big. I'll pay you back. You'll see!"

"Kid," the man said, "trust me. You ain't gonna live that long."

The knife was in the monster's hand before he could blink and a jolt of real terror surged through him. Acting fast, he grabbed the nearest meth-head and shoved her at the man. Then, he ran. He ran down the stairs and out into the cold, sweet-smelling street. He couldn't go home. There was no point without his mom there, and besides, that scumball knew where he lived. So he just ran. Ran past the junkies and the alcoholics, past the homeless schizophrenics lost in strange and frightening realities all their own. And as he ran, he began to laugh. He'd told that jerk off and made it out with his life. At that moment, he felt free, like he could do anything, be anything, have anything he wanted. And what he wanted was to make that bastard pay. Not for his mother, although that was still part of it. He wanted to make him pay for pulling that knife on him, for making him feel so afraid…


"Mom... Mother. Father... No!"

The nightmare… He had awoken to a nightmare and it was still chasing him. He turned and tossed on the starched hospital pillow, his thoughts bursting like fireworks with no coherence, no pattern. All he saw were images, unfamiliar memories he knew were not his own...

An elevated train curves through the nighttime city, a man in the seat across from him holds out his stethoscope, letting him listen to his heartbeat.

Father…

But Father was dead. Two gunshots in the street. Two roses on the snow, on the grave where Father and Mother were buried together under the headstone…

WAYNE

He sat up with a gasp and reached up to touch his face. A mask, cool and smooth, met his searching fingers, and he stared down at his hands in confusion. Blunt fingers, thick, muscular arms…

And there, on the chair, an armored suit and cape as black as the night.

He practically heard the lightbulb click on in his brain, and he realized he understood. He understood it all.

The laughter bubbled up inside him, uncontainable, uncontrollable. It brought the nurses running, needles in hand, and as they pumped the tranquilizing drugs into his veins his hysterical laughter calmed enough to let him get a few words in between the chuckles.

"It's a dream, it's a dream. Oh ho! It's a dream come true…"


"A nightmare," he grunted, only dimly aware that someone was there, smoothing a warm, damp cloth over his forehead. "All those people, in the dark… That man…"

"It's all right, puddin'."

It was a woman's voice, shrill yet somehow gentle. He felt her fingers stroking his hair, calming, soothing. "The big bad Batman can't get you no more. You're with me now, yeah? And I know how to make everythin' all better."

Warm lips on his cheek, the sharp chemical scent of greasepaint and hairspray—

He opened his eyes.

"Gah!" he exclaimed, pushing her away as he shot to his feet. His memory was still hazy, disjointed. But that woman, dressed up like a porcelain doll with her white-painted face, her black lipstick and skintight costume…

"I know you," he muttered, casting his gaze around the room. It was large and cluttered with brightly colored boxes and posters and broken arcade games. Fun House mirrors lined one wall, and he approached them cautiously, not quite trusting his eyes.

"No…"

"It's only a little burn, hun," the woman said, coming up behind him, her fingers brushing the side of his head where the green hair was singed and brittle. "Mommy'll make it better."

"Don't touch me," he said and pulled away from her, stepping closer to the mirrors.

Wide, jade-green eyes stared back at him, slender fingers reached up to touch a long, chalk-pale face, its muscles stretched into a permanent grin.

The sight was so impossible, so repulsive, he had to laugh. A horrified, hysterical laugh that tore from his gut like a sob.

"Mistah J?"

He looked at her face, as distorted as his own in the mirror's wavy glass. "Harley," he said slowly. "You're Harley Quinn. And I… I am…"

A cloud of squeaking bats swarmed behind his eyes, blotting out the moon. He saw a cave, a high-tech computer console tucked in among the eerie rock formations. A man's face. Alfred…

"You're comin' back to bed," Harley said, taking him by the arm. "Oh, my poor puddin'. That mean ol' Batsy must have walloped you harder than I thought."

He started to go with her, then yanked his arm away. Dashing to a purple trunk, he hefted it open and dug through its contents, pulling out socks, underwear, a dark shirt, dark pants, a broad-brimmed hat, and a long trench coat.

"Get out of here while I change out of this filthy hospital gown," he ordered. Harley looked like she was about to protest, but a glare from him sent her scurrying. He dressed quickly with his eyes focused on the wall in front of him. He knew where he had to go, who he had to contact. There was only one person he could trust to look past this freakish body and recognize the man trapped inside.

Gathering his resolve, he took a final glance at his warped reflection, then strode from the room. Harley was there, crouched between her two hyenas. They stood and snarled when he appeared.

"Shh, babies," Harley said, stroking their bristly heads. "That's your Daddy. You know your Daddy."

Their growls deepened, but they lay back down. Harley stood up and danced over to him. "Goin' somewhere?" she asked brightly.

"Out," he grunted. "I want you to stay here, Harley. Don't follow me."

"Oh, but can't I-?"

"No," he said firmly. "Stay here, and don't cause any trouble."

"Sheesh," he heard her say as he strode out the door, his thoughts still muzzy and disconnected. "'Stay here, and don't cause any trouble!' Honestly, babies, sometimes your Daddy can be as bossy as Batman."

To Be Continued…