Haunted
Ugly_Girl (mickerella@yahoo.com)
Disclaimers: Don't own 'em, don't make money off 'em. The only real crime I'm committing is the overuse of adverbs, and ending far too many sentences with prepositions.
A/N: This story was inspired by a challenge given on the JL Animated RPG message boards (like Artemis's "Sick Day" short). The first paragraph was given to us…the rest was up to the author.
HAUNTED
Part VII
Diana sat alone in the room for several minutes, trying to comprehend everything that Jason had told her.
"Your highness?"
She snapped out of her reverie, saw Alfred standing in the doorway. She jumped to her feet, feeling suddenly guilty without knowing why.
"I didn't realize that you were still in the Manor, Princess Diana." He stepped into the room, stopped beside her. "I'm afraid everyone else has gone home," he added apologetically.
"I'm…sorry," Diana stammered, gesturing at the painting, at the room as if trying to explain. How could she explain? "I was just…walking, and talking to…" Her voice trailed off. She couldn't think of a good lie – she was a horrible liar. "I lost track of time," she said finally, truthfully.
Alfred nodded. "Of course, your highness." He stood with his hands folded behind his back for a moment, simply looking at her, before saying, "Would you like me to show you out?"
Diana blushed, realizing that she was probably being incredibly rude by not immediately offering to leave. "Out? Yes…of course." She took two steps toward the doorway, then changed her mind. "On second thought, is Bat—Mr. Wayne still here?" She cringed as the name almost slipped off her lips; she was going to have to be more careful.
She saw surprise shine briefly in Alfred's eyes as he caught the mistake, and he said slowly, "No, your highness. I'm afraid he has already…retired…for the evening."
Which meant, she realized, that he'd already started his patrol of Gotham. "Thank you, Alfred," she said. She turned toward the door again, turned back. A hint of amusement crossed Alfred's features at her continuing display of indecision as Diana searched her mind for the right words.
"Your highness? Is there something amiss?"
"No. Yes." Diana took a deep breath. "I was just wondering if you get a lot of…visitors in the Manor."
"Yes, we do," Alfred said, his face carefully blank. "Just last week we had the mayor—"
Diana shook her head. "No…I mean visitors." She remembered that Bruce had told her Alfred saw the ghosts at times as well; but if he hadn't seen Jason that she didn't want to dredge up that painful memory. It had been bad enough that she'd told Bruce about his parents.
Jason had told her how he'd died – killed by the Joker. Beaten and then caught in the wake of an explosion.
Alfred raised a brow. "To whom are you referring? Do you have someone specific in mind?"
Diana twisted her hands together nervously, then decided to just say it. "Jason." The word was a whisper. "Jason Todd."
If the name meant anything to Alfred, he didn't show it. Instead, he simply took one of her hands, tucked it into his elbow. "Are you hungry, your highness? Let's go down into the kitchen, and we'll talk, shall we?"
Diana nodded, let him lead her out of the room, taking one last glance at the painting above the fireplace.
******************
Batman tried to ignore the whispers as he focused on the spot Diana had said she'd encountered the couple claiming to be Thomas and Martha Wayne. Now and again he felt chilled as one of the apparitions touched him, or passed through him, but they didn't seem to have any physicality with which to really hurt him.
How many times had he been to this place, looked at that theatre? He'd lost count years ago. He'd been here so many times: in reality, in his dreams and nightmares, and each time it was the same. He saw the gun, heard his mothers screams and the report of the shot. He saw them lying on the sidewalk, pearls dribbling into the gutter, the pools of blood.
And now he was looking for them to show, to somehow appear. He wanted to laugh at himself, but he was too tired.
He'd already swept the area in front of the theater for clues, residue that imposters might have left while talking to Diana. And he'd tested for projections or electronic signals, just as he had done at the Manor. He hadn't expected to find anything.
And he'd been right.
A involuntary shiver ran through him as another apparition floated past his arm, whispering blame.
…you couldn't save them, you couldn't save us, you can't save yourself…
Batman closed his eyes against the words, then suddenly stood. There was no point waiting here. Whomever – or whatever – had talked to Diana wasn't coming back.
He was turning to leave, firing a grappling at the next building when a movement out of the corner of his eye made him look back at the theater. He stiffened, unable to understand what he thought he was seeing.
The words that escaped his lips were the words of a grieving ten-year-old boy.
"Mother? Father?"
Part VIII
Diana swirled the last bite of cheesecake into the remaining caramel sauce on the plate and pondered Alfred's last statement. "No," she admitted, "I don't think that he would accept a curse as an explanation. But considering what Jason told me, that he had appeared—actually, Jason said he 'felt called'—when an old woman was pointing at Batman and saying that he would be haunted…well, I may not be trained as a detective but there is nothing faulty with my logic. These ghosts appeared after the woman cursed him – ergo, the curse actually did something." She popped the cheesecake into her mouth, sighed in ecstasy. If Alfred wasn't careful, he'd find her as a dinner guest more often than he'd appreciate.
"But, your highness, your logic accepts the possibility of supernatural and otherworldly influences. Batman's does not. Although he has had dealings with people who manipulate magic, like Dr. Fate, he sees it as some form of metahuman ability – like telekinesis. Accepting that the soul or ghost of his adopted son is visiting him is quite out of the range of Master Bruce's imagination."
"And the others? Like the one I saw in the ballroom, or the one Jason said touched me in the cave?"
"I think that Master Bruce considers them manifestations of his own guilt – a simple psychological quirk implanted or suggested by the woman's curse." Alfred slid another slice of cheesecake in front of Diana, and she attacked it without an ounce of guilt or hesitation.
"That wouldn't explain why you and I have seen them."
"No," Alfred said. "It doesn't." A smile tilted the older man's lips as he quoted, "'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'"
Diana frowned. "Horatio?"
"I should have substituted Master Bruce's name for Horatio's," Alfred said. He looked thoughtfully at Diana, and added, "I should have realized that a woman growing up in an ancient culture wouldn't have been introduced to the Bard. I shall have to instruct Master Bruce to give you access to our library."
Diana grinned at the idea of the older man 'instructing' Batman to do anything and replied, "I'd like that." Not only to read additional books from Man's World, she thought, but to see if 'Master Bruce' would do as Alfred demanded.
It was apparent that a deep and trusting relationship existed between the two men, and that they dearly loved each other, relied upon each other – all without feeling the need to declare that love, or constantly test and try it. It wasn't unlike the bonds that formed between the Amazon sisters. Or between Diana and her own mother.
Thinking of her mother, Diana wondered aloud, "Do you think that Martha and Thomas were just a hoax, or connected to this curse in some way?"
Alfred shook his head. "I don't know. Master Bruce is examining the scene now; perhaps he will come back with some answers."
"I hope…" Diana began, then stopped. What did she hope? That it really were their ghosts? If so, wouldn't that torment Bruce further? Or did she hope it was a hoax? Either way, she thought, Bruce was going to be hurt by it. "I hope that he finds something," she finally said.
"Perhaps, your highness," Alfred said slowly, "you might try to help him. You were the only one who saw them the first time—for some reason they came to you alone. He wouldn't appreciate it, of course, but sometimes, with a man as stubborn as he, you have to help him despite that."
She knew that very well. Diana nodded, and stood. "I'll go now," she said.
***************************************
Halfway there, she realized that she probably should have taken time to change into her uniform, or at least into something more practical than the silk dress. But that would have meant traveling back to the Watchtower, and something within her whispered that she shouldn't wait that long.
As she approached the theatre, her sharp eyes picked out the outline of his form atop a nearby building. She gasped as she saw the ghosts gathering around him.
"Great Hera," she whispered. There were, she realized, hundreds. Pushing at him, surrounding him, passing through him. They didn't move him physically, but he stood as if braced against them, his cape wrapped tightly around his body, his posture rigid.
Their combined whispering was deafening.
She hovered above them for a moment, trying to find a space to land that wasn't occupied by one of the apparitions, then realized that they had crowded too close to him to find room. She braced herself, touched down next to him, immediately feeling the chill of the forms as they pressed in around her.
"Batman." She said the name softly, placing her hand on his arm. He didn't move, and his gaze remained fixed at a point in front of the theatre.
She looked at the spot, didn't see anything. "Batman?" No response, and she shook him gently, anything to rouse him.
His lips finally moved, and she had to strain to hear his words. "They…wouldn't speak to me." He let out a breath then, and his shoulders slumped in a gesture of defeat.
Diana noted with alarm that although the night was balmy, his exhalation had been visible, as if it were the middle of winter. "You saw them? Your parents?"
"I looked at them…tried to talk to them." He lifted up a hand, stared at it as if he'd never seen it before. "I tried to touch them, but my hand…there was nothing there." He let his arm fall back to his side. "I'm so tired."
He hadn't been this exhausted earlier in the evening, Diana knew, and her fear grew. What was happening to him? She needed to get him away from here, of that she was certain. "Batman, look at me."
He didn't turn, and she reached up, put two fingers on his chin to make him face her, then pulled them away in shock.
"You're freezing!" she whispered in horror, slowly understanding. The ghosts – how long had he been standing here while they crowded around him, went through him, chilling him constantly, sucking the warmth from him?
He shook his head, a tiny shake that seemed to swamp his frame. "Tired," he corrected. His voice was still low, weak.
"You're freezing to death, that's why you are tired," she replied urgently. "Let me take you home." But the ghosts were there, too – would he be any safer at the Manor?
She felt a shiver rack through him, and he swayed. She caught him before he fell, reminding her of the last time she'd had to catch him – when she had made him sleep. The memory decided her.
"We're going to the Watchtower," she said, unsure if he could even hear her any longer. "And I'll watch over you, make sure none of these things get to you. I promise."
She lifted him easily, flew up and out of reach of the milling ghosts. She could hear their whisperings long after the building faded from sight.
