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It was the little things that first started Ella's brain turning. Bruce would wince uncomfortably at breakfast and complain about a sore back, or he would do one hundred pushups in the middle of a chess game to "keep his blood flowing." Truthfully, she never suspected a thing until the day she began reading The Outsider by Stephen King. Bruce had found her deep in the first chapter before he left for a business meeting that morning, and promptly snatched the book out of her hands.
"I think not," he had said, carrying it back to the bookshelf covering the entire west wall of his private study. "You can read that book when you stop complaining to me about how scary Jaws was."
"Okay, first of all," Ella had replied, pushing herself up from Bruce's easy-chair, "Jaws was absolutely terrifying. And second of all, it was visual. This is just a book. I think I'll be fine."
"Refusing to put your foot on the floor beside your bed because there might be a shark underneath it is not the kind of behavior I expect from a child capable of handling horror novels," Bruce had smirked, giving her a quick hug. "Okay, I'll see you later tonight. Be good and obey Alfred."
Approximately twenty seconds after Bruce's Lamborghini roared off, Ella was buried in the pages of the King novel again, pacing the floors of the study as the plot began to unfold. Around page 34, she found herself leaving the room to walk up and down the hall with the book. Energy was something Ella never lacked, and she often walked through the entire manor while engrossed in a book. This particular time, she found herself downstairs and circling the music room when she subconsciously leaned against a section of glass paneling and felt the wall give.
"What on earth?" she mumbled. She pushed with her back a little harder and decided the panel was definitely loose. Setting the book on the antique piano in front of her, she leaned her weight against some of the other panels and found them to be quite stable. "It's just this one," she said aloud. "Definitely funny." The fact that the manor was generations old slipped into her mind and she raised an eyebrow. "Maybe not so funny." Leaning her entire weight against the panel, Ella took a deep breath and pushed. It felt just as loose as before but didn't move in any way.
Stepping back, Ella put her hands on her hips and assessed the situation. "There are several possibilities," she announced to no one in particular. "First, this is a poorly installed glass panel that, when removed, will reveal a wall covered in the same weird yellow paint as the rest of this room." Ella leaned back against the piano, arms crossed and sighed, "That is the boring and therefore discarded option. The second option is that it opens when you apply heavy force. Either I am weaker than I originally thought or that is not the case. The final option, and the one that we are one hundred percent going to go with, is that there is a latch somewhere. So the rest of my day is officially planned out and I hope Alfred doesn't come looking for me."
And that was the beginning of a forty-minute search for anything that would open the secret door. The adventure was put on hold when Alfred's voice echoed through the halls for her to come and make her bed. Clamoring to her feet after crawling out from under a desk, Ella sighed and hurried off to obey the order. "Why does Alfred even say he's the butler if he doesn't actually do anything butler related?" she mumbled, the book and the potential secret door lost from her mind for the time being.
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After lunch, Alfred and Ella spent the afternoon caring for Alfred's herb garden in the back yard. The November air was far too chilly for the plants to still be producing, but Alfred wanted to clear up some dead leaves and branches before the snow came for the season. Ella managed to earn a sizable cut on her left knee after scrambling over the inground stone wall holding the garden above the rest of the lawn. The two were in Ella's room arguing over whether or not she needed hydrogen peroxide when Bruce came in, suit coat flung over his shoulder.
"Well, what do we have here?" he asked, crossing the room to assess the situation. Ella was seated on a chair while Alfred was on one knee, trying to keep her leg still so he could spray it with antiseptic. "How did you manage that scrape?" he asked, leaning in close.
"Laziness," replied Alfred, pushing Ella's hand aside as she attempted to cover the scratch.
"The stairs were super far away, and I figured it would be quicker to climb over the wall," whined Ella. "I don't need that stuff. There is nothing to get infected, Alfred."
"Whatever you say, miss," said Alfred, but he quickly sprayed the cut, and Ella let out a yell.
"Hey! No! Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow. It stings, Alfred!" she whimpered, closing her eyes and gritting her teeth.
Alfred rolled his eyes as he cleaned the scrape and placed a bandage over it. "There," he said. "It took me ten seconds to accomplish what you spent ten minutes pleading me not to do. Master Wayne, how was your day."
"Fine, Alfred," chuckled Bruce, helping Alfred stand. "And what did you two get up to on Ella's day off?"
"Gardening," said Ella, rubbing the bandage and wincing.
"Well, if it hurts, stop touching it," scolded Alfred, gathering his medical supplies to return to the bathroom cabinet.
"Hey, Bruce," said Ella, looking up and grinning, "how about chess? I have a new strategy."
"I'm down," said Bruce. "But you better have a killer of a strategy because I am going to leave you in the dust just like every other time."
"Oh, sure," scoffed Ella, standing and running to the door of her room. "You must have dreamt those times up."
Bruce followed her, and Alfred stuck his head out of the bathroom, "No need to thank me! It was no problem cleaning you up!" He shook his head, shutting the medicine cabinet, "The attentions spans of puppies. This is why Bruce never finishes the bloody elevator into the Batcave. He gets distracted by a stalagmite and decides to make it into a pullup bar."
...
A rather short game of chess, which Bruce dominated victoriously over, and a simple dinner of soup took up the first part of the evening, and then the three of them retired to Bruce's study. Alfred and Bruce discussed some financial aspects of Wayne Enterprises, and Ella looked over National Geographic's Backyard Guide to the Night Sky for the fourth time that week. It was a quiet evening and at precisely ten o'clock, Bruce stood up and closed the folder he was looking over.
"Okay, missy, time for bed," he said. "You have tutoring early tomorrow."
"Five more minutes," came Ella's voice from behind the book. She was sitting in Bruce's easy-chair, feet up on the headrest and head hanging over the edge, elbows propped up on the seat.
"Nope, let's go," said Bruce, pushing his chair into the desk and crossing the room to his ward. He pulled the book from her hands and set it on the side table while Ella flipped right side up.
"What if we cancel my writing tutor for tomorrow, and I work on the telescope," said Ella, wrapping her arms around Bruce's chest while they left the study and started for her bedroom. The new telescope sitting on the balcony above the top floor guest rooms had been floating through Ella's mind ever since Bruce brought it home the day before but he had forbidden her from putting it together without his help.
"A $3,000 telescope is not something I intend on letting you build by yourself," said Bruce. "And canceling tutoring will only happen if you magically catch malaria in the night."
"Hey, Alexa, how do you fake malaria?" said Ella.
"Oh, you're hilarious," said Bruce, pushing her bedroom door open and pulling her in. "Hey, Alexa, how do you make a teenager go to bed the minute she's told without stalling."
Ella released her grip on him and picked up the Asian art book Bruce had given her the first day she had arrived, "I'm not even stalling."
"Books are done for tonight," said Bruce, pulling it from her hands. "Pajamas on; brush your teeth; bed. I'll see you in the morning, missy."
"Love you, Bruce!" said Ella, throwing her arms back around him and squeezing him tightly.
"Love you, too, kid," chuckled Bruce, patting her back. "Night, Ella."
Bruce left, pulling the door shut behind him and sighed. Patrol tonight. Time to get into the suit. He was already down the side staircase when Ella's bedroom door silently opened, and the girl stepped out into the dim hallway.
The mansion may have been old, but it was solid and didn't make noises and creaks like most aged structures. Ella had no problem slipping downstairs and following Bruce towards the music room. It was just as she had suspected. She stopped at the door and looked in to see him hit some notes on the piano and, to her delight, step through the now wide-open glass paneling. It was a secret door. She stepped into the room but stopped short when Bruce reemerged from the wall. He froze when they made eye contact and a look of anxiety crossed his face.
"What are you doing?" he asked. "You're supposed to be in bed."
"Where does that go?" asked Ella, pointing to the opening and ignoring his question.
"To the dungeon where I keep annoying kids," said Bruce, his face still pale despite his attempt at humor. "But while I've got you here, would you like to explain this book to me?" He picked up the Stephen King book Ella had forgotten on the piano that morning. "Funny how I left it in my study earlier, and now it's in here."
"I…" Ella stopped and looked behind Bruce at the opening. "That doesn't really go to a dungeon. Does it? Is there a dungeon under this house? Can I see it?"
"No, you can't see the dungeon," replied Bruce. "The prisoners might convince you to let them out. Were you reading this book again? I told you not to read this book."
"I only read like the first five chapters," said Ella, never taking her eyes off the opening. "It wasn't that bad. Does Alfred know about the secret dungeon?"
"Alfred minds his own business and obeys me when I tell him not to read certain books," smirked Bruce, walking over to the panel and sliding it shut.
Ella wrinkled her nose, "And what books do you forbid Alfred from reading?"
"A Christmas Carol," replied Bruce. "I don't want him getting any ideas about housekeeping from Scrooge."
"He kind of looks like the Scrooge from The Muppet Christmas Carol," said Ella, her eyes widening at the sudden revelation. "Oh man, he looks a lot like him!"
"I don't see it," said Bruce, tucking the book under his arm and placing a hand on Ella's shoulder. "Come on, kiddo, back to bed."
"Hey!" said Ella. "You're trying to avoid the subject. What's in the dungeon that you don't want me knowing about?"
"It's not really a dungeon," said Bruce. "And you don't need to know. You need to trust me on this, okay? Right now, I want you to go to bed and get a good night's sleep. Got it?"
"Are you Batman?"
Looking back, Bruce could have sworn that the air in the room completely vanished when Ella asked that question. It was the only way he could explain his sudden lack of ability to breathe, and it took him a couple of seconds to formulate words for a response.
"What? No."
Ella narrowed her eyes and stepped back, arms crossed over her chest.
Neither of them moved for a very uncomfortable ten seconds, and then Bruce sighed deeply, "I'm not Batman. Why would you think that?"
"Because I was down there this morning and found the Batsuit," shrugged Ella.
"What!" cried Bruce, his demeanor changing instantly from awkwardness to energetically anxious. "How did you get down there? The password is impossible to guess! You don't even know how to play the piano! Did Alfred go down? Did you follow him?"
"I knew it!" cried Ella, clapping her hands together. "You are Batman!"
Bruce stopped and looked at her, "Wait, what? Didn't you just say you found the suit."
"I mean, I was just trying to see if you would admit to it if I said that," said Ella.
Twenty minutes later, Alfred, Bruce, and Ella were back in Bruce's study with Ella in the desk chair, and Alfred and Bruce both standing before her, arms crossed. She thought they looked kind of like FBI agents starting to interrogate her.
"Do you understand why you cannot tell anyone about this?" asked Bruce.
"Yeah, I totally get it, Bruce," nodded Ella. "And let's be honest, who on earth would I tell? My tons of close friends that I don't have?"
Alfred crouched down and set his hand gently on Ella's shoulder, "Can we trust you, sweetheart?"
Ella sighed and looked directly into Alfred's eyes. They held questions but also a glimmer of something Ella couldn't quite put her finger on. She nodded, "Yes, sir. I won't tell anyone."
"Master Wayne, Ella has never given us any reason to doubt her, and I, for one, trust her completely with our little secret," said Alfred, standing to full height and addressing Bruce face-to-face.
Bruce gave Ella a sideways glance and smirked, "Unless you count reading a book I told her not to read and tricking me into telling her about Batman."
"That all took place within the last day and is therefore redacted from anything Alfred is recalling about my past behavior," said Ella, jumping to her feet and giving Bruce her best innocent look.
"First of all, why would it not be counted in your past behavior," said Bruce, putting his hands on his hips, "and secondly, when did you start talking like that?"
"Like what?" asked Ella.
"Words like 'redacted' and 'recall,'" said Bruce. "It's weird. You used to use words like 'yeet' and 'vibe.' But that doesn't matter. What matters now is that I can trust you."
Ella's demeanor visibly changed, and she seemed to shrink a little under Bruce's gaze. "You can trust me, Bruce," she said. "I promise."
Bruce looked at her intently for a few seconds, then smiled. "I believe you, Ella. You're a good kid, and I couldn't have asked for a better ward," he said, pulling her close to him. "But here's the deal. I've got to go out on patrol now, and I need you to go to bed and sleep. That's how it's going to be. You've got to keep on being Ella Ferrera and live life like you did before. I know it's got to be weird having all this new information, but we can't act strange or funny and have people start asking questions. Okay?"
"I got ya," nodded Ella. "You go out on patrol, and I'll go lie in bed for six hours in a state of nervous excitement."
"Great," grinned Bruce, patting her shoulder. "You have fun with that. Alfred, can you get her into bed and then join me in the cave?"
"Absolutely, Master Wayne," nodded Alfred, placing his hands on Ella's shoulders and guiding her towards the door. "I'll be with you directly, sir."
An hour later, as Ella drifted off to sleep due to the NyQuil Alfred had crushed up in her water, her last thoughts were filled with masked villains, elaborate crimes, and Bruce perched on the edge of a building somewhere in Gotham, looking down on the streets below.
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I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!. You are all amazing and I appreciate the great support!