Hero's Blood
Chapter 4
Gotham's dingy light cascaded off the smooth curves of Thomas Wayne's Bentley as it moved through Downtown and into the West Hills district, where the Donne home lay. Thomas was sitting in the front seat with Winifred as their third passenger occupied the back seat. Neither of them spoke, as Wayne was lost in thought.
Who am I to think that I can accomplish this? This isn't some disease I'm facing. This isn't some tumor I can operate on these man aren't my tools. There is a dead man in the rear seat of my car, a man who took a chance with his life that he had no right to take, that I had no right to ask him to take. What has possessed me to think that I, one man, can affect such a profound change in this city?
"We're here sir."
Winifred brought the car to a stop and Thomas retrieved his hat from the dashboard, exiting the Bentley into the clear night sky. Walter Donne's home stretched before him, a friendly home that betrayed its owner's sentimentality. It had about it an elegant simplicity, vastly different from the looming darkness of Wayne Manor. This was a place for children, where they could feel warm and safe in the knowledge that their father would always provide the simple necessities of life, and a little bit of extra love as well. Lining the small, one-story tower that topped the house was a railing, against which Thomas could make out a slim figure watching his approach. Knowing that Walter's children would be asleep, Thomas did not ring the bell, but instead waited quietly until Darlene Donne came to the door.
"Hello Thomas."
"Hello Darlene."
She simply stared at him for a moment, and at the Bentley parked just down the drive, the rock-solid façade that she'd painted on her face only just barely wavering.
"I. I suppose that you should bring him in."
"Darlene."
"Please." Her voice faltered for a moment and she dropped her head a bit. "Please, Thomas. Just bring him in."
Thomas nodded silently and returned to the car, lifting Walter's limp body out by himself, the firm muscles beneath his suit hardly straining.
I am responsible for this man's death. It is the least I can do to carry him the last few steps home.
He followed Darlene into the parlor on the first floor and laid Walter out on the couch.
"He doesn't look that bad, does he Thomas? He just looks like he's sleeping." Darlene's voice broke and she collapsed to her knees as sobs wracked her thin body. A great pain drove into Thomas's chest as he knelt beside her reached a hand to her.
"Darlene, I'm so sorry. I never should have forced him into this."
Thomas's eyes took a moment to focus as his face came back around from the vicious slap that had stung his face.
"How dare you, Thomas Wayne?" Darlene hissed at him. "How dare you? You think for a moment that you had this power over him? You imagine for one instant that my Walter wouldn't have done this if he'd known this would happen?" She came to her feet and Thomas recognized again the fiery woman he'd seen at so many fund-raisers and speaking heatedly with her husband before city council meetings. This was someone with a spirit that couldn't be broken. "You were never why he did this, Thomas. It was never you. It may have been your idea, but Walter has always fought for this city. You just gave him a new way to do it. For you to feel guilt over his death is to rob him of the responsibility he took for those around him. He did this for me, for Molly and Stephen, and for every other child in Gotham who has had to see their parents walk in fear. You did your duty Thomas, as he did his."
Thomas came to his feet as well and stood there, looking down at the resolute face of Darlene Donne with a newfound respect.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me Thomas. Don't ever thank me. Just don't give up. Don't make his death mean nothing. You have a duty to my children and I now, as well as your duty to this city. Don't shirk it."
Thomas nodded and walked outside into the cool night air. Winifred stood at the back door of the Bentley, waiting to let him in. As the car drove away, Thomas once again fell deep into thought.
Duty. Always duty.
His father's voice echoed in his head and rang true in his heart. It was his duty to protect people. It had always been his duty. That was where he had gone wrong. It was not for these men to do this work. It was for him. As they passed the graveyard that skirted the West Hills, Thomas was suddenly inspired. He took his journal from the sideseat compartment and wrote.
"Criminals are a superstitious and cowardly lot. It is therein that their weaknesses lay."
He laid the book by his side and contemplated the grotesque statuary that dotted the graveyard.
It is there that I will frighten them. It is in their minds first that I must attack. Fear will be my weapon and justice my cause. I will be the nightmare that shatters their sleep. A ghost of the night. The Gray Ghost.
(author's note: I know that I'm abusing the idea of the Gray Ghost as established in continuity, but don't worry, it will all be okay.)
Chapter 4
Gotham's dingy light cascaded off the smooth curves of Thomas Wayne's Bentley as it moved through Downtown and into the West Hills district, where the Donne home lay. Thomas was sitting in the front seat with Winifred as their third passenger occupied the back seat. Neither of them spoke, as Wayne was lost in thought.
Who am I to think that I can accomplish this? This isn't some disease I'm facing. This isn't some tumor I can operate on these man aren't my tools. There is a dead man in the rear seat of my car, a man who took a chance with his life that he had no right to take, that I had no right to ask him to take. What has possessed me to think that I, one man, can affect such a profound change in this city?
"We're here sir."
Winifred brought the car to a stop and Thomas retrieved his hat from the dashboard, exiting the Bentley into the clear night sky. Walter Donne's home stretched before him, a friendly home that betrayed its owner's sentimentality. It had about it an elegant simplicity, vastly different from the looming darkness of Wayne Manor. This was a place for children, where they could feel warm and safe in the knowledge that their father would always provide the simple necessities of life, and a little bit of extra love as well. Lining the small, one-story tower that topped the house was a railing, against which Thomas could make out a slim figure watching his approach. Knowing that Walter's children would be asleep, Thomas did not ring the bell, but instead waited quietly until Darlene Donne came to the door.
"Hello Thomas."
"Hello Darlene."
She simply stared at him for a moment, and at the Bentley parked just down the drive, the rock-solid façade that she'd painted on her face only just barely wavering.
"I. I suppose that you should bring him in."
"Darlene."
"Please." Her voice faltered for a moment and she dropped her head a bit. "Please, Thomas. Just bring him in."
Thomas nodded silently and returned to the car, lifting Walter's limp body out by himself, the firm muscles beneath his suit hardly straining.
I am responsible for this man's death. It is the least I can do to carry him the last few steps home.
He followed Darlene into the parlor on the first floor and laid Walter out on the couch.
"He doesn't look that bad, does he Thomas? He just looks like he's sleeping." Darlene's voice broke and she collapsed to her knees as sobs wracked her thin body. A great pain drove into Thomas's chest as he knelt beside her reached a hand to her.
"Darlene, I'm so sorry. I never should have forced him into this."
Thomas's eyes took a moment to focus as his face came back around from the vicious slap that had stung his face.
"How dare you, Thomas Wayne?" Darlene hissed at him. "How dare you? You think for a moment that you had this power over him? You imagine for one instant that my Walter wouldn't have done this if he'd known this would happen?" She came to her feet and Thomas recognized again the fiery woman he'd seen at so many fund-raisers and speaking heatedly with her husband before city council meetings. This was someone with a spirit that couldn't be broken. "You were never why he did this, Thomas. It was never you. It may have been your idea, but Walter has always fought for this city. You just gave him a new way to do it. For you to feel guilt over his death is to rob him of the responsibility he took for those around him. He did this for me, for Molly and Stephen, and for every other child in Gotham who has had to see their parents walk in fear. You did your duty Thomas, as he did his."
Thomas came to his feet as well and stood there, looking down at the resolute face of Darlene Donne with a newfound respect.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me Thomas. Don't ever thank me. Just don't give up. Don't make his death mean nothing. You have a duty to my children and I now, as well as your duty to this city. Don't shirk it."
Thomas nodded and walked outside into the cool night air. Winifred stood at the back door of the Bentley, waiting to let him in. As the car drove away, Thomas once again fell deep into thought.
Duty. Always duty.
His father's voice echoed in his head and rang true in his heart. It was his duty to protect people. It had always been his duty. That was where he had gone wrong. It was not for these men to do this work. It was for him. As they passed the graveyard that skirted the West Hills, Thomas was suddenly inspired. He took his journal from the sideseat compartment and wrote.
"Criminals are a superstitious and cowardly lot. It is therein that their weaknesses lay."
He laid the book by his side and contemplated the grotesque statuary that dotted the graveyard.
It is there that I will frighten them. It is in their minds first that I must attack. Fear will be my weapon and justice my cause. I will be the nightmare that shatters their sleep. A ghost of the night. The Gray Ghost.
(author's note: I know that I'm abusing the idea of the Gray Ghost as established in continuity, but don't worry, it will all be okay.)