Bruce's eyes snapped open and he let out a guttural moan. The bright sun made his eyes screw up in pain and the rest of his body followed, under the after-effects of a hard night of being Batman. A simple drug bust had gone bad when he realized that the criminals had a monster of a man on their side, a guy who could probably stack two phone books on top of one another and rip them in half simultaneously. He'd taken the Goliath out by shoving him into a tank of water after he dropped a severed electric cable into the liquid, but not soon enough to have prevented the huge bruises and possible fractures that now covered his body.

Slowly Bruce tested his limbs. Nothing was broken, but his right ankle was either sprained or he had one hell of a electric burn. And his arms, he saw, were an artistic swirl of blue, purple and black. It looked like he belonged in the surrealist section of the museum.

Groaning, he turned over and saw to his surprise that his digital clock blinked that it was only ten o'clock in the morning. What on earth had gotten him up at this ungodly hour? Usually he muttered his "bats are nocturnal" phrase and went back to sleep until one or two.

Now he was intrigued. Sitting up, he winced and hissed at the shooting pain in his ankle and dressed in a silk gown. Since he was alone in his room, he even indulged in his pair of fuzzy slippers that, if one looked closely, one would notice a few stray threads where a bunny head may or may have not been attached, but had been removed for sake of dignity.

The slippers, however, were comfy as hell and he loved them. Gave a sense of humor to his life, at any rate.

He plodded over to the curtains and opened them. Damn it all, some kid was down in his garden. Probably one of the help's children. He'd have to find out whose…

Suddenly he remembered that, for a month, that was technically his kid. Rebecca…did kids wake up this early? He'd expect children to understand the comfort in sleeping in. But no, there she was, fully dressed and inspecting the bourganvilla.

He rubbed his eyes and moved to his closet, where he picked out a decent at-home outfit of khaki slacks, a dark green polo shirt and black dress shoes. When he was presentable, he slid the slippers under his bed again and went downstairs.

"Ah, Master Bruce, I was just getting Miss Richards' breakfast ready," Alfred greeted. "You're up early."

"Yeah, it's a new concept, this being awake in the late AM."

"Would you like something to eat? Drink? I recall from a while back that when you ate breakfast, you enjoyed waffles."

"Sure, Alfred. I could go for some waffles."

"I'll go inform the cook, then, sir. Ah, if you were wondering, our young lady chose 'Anthropophobia' by Edmund Wallace last night as her reading selection. I suppose she was intrigued by its comic-book-like qualities."

Bruce cocked an eyebrow and let out a nervous laugh. "She really is one-of-a-kind, isn't she? What did her mother get her into, I wonder?"

"Ah, sir, she's probably one of those progenies that develop after a major emotional change, such as the death of her father. That or the fact that she is enrolled in Master's Prep School for the Youth and is far more educated than the usual ten-year-old."

"I'll put my money on the first choice. So long as she doesn't start reading Freud, I don't mind what she looks at. Her mother would kill me if I let her read 'The Interpretation of Dreams'."

Bruce moved into the study and looked over the shelf that "Anthropophobia" was stacked on. Among other titles were a lot of psychiatric selections. He felt uneasy about letting her look over this sort of deeper subject. He resolved to take her to a bookstore soon and let her pick out things more suited towards her age level.

Speak of the devil, there she was! Rebecca stood in the doorway, a few dead leaves in her hair and a big smile on her face. "Good morning, Mr. Wayne," she greeted. "Sleep well?"

"I'd ask the same of you. Why does this kind of stuff interest you?"

"Hmm?" She went over to see the book he was holding. "Oh, no real reason. I like the pictures. See? It's like a comic book."

He nodded and put it back on the shelf. "Alright. Let's go eat. Did you eat already?"

"Nope."

They went into the dining hall, where two places had already been set. A huge pile of waffles sat between them. Rebecca giggled with glee and sat in the chair to the right of the head of the table. Bruce eased into the latter.

"Now, I'm going out all today," he spoke while they tucked in. "So, just be careful and don't get lost. It's a big house."

"Okay."

After Bruce left, Rebecca wandered around, getting used to her new surroundings. Alfred knew well enough to let her explore, lest she get too curious and go looking for trouble. But no matter where she went, the little girl always came back to the study. She liked its warm lighting and walls of books; it seemed comforting in such a huge, cold house.

All too soon she realized that there was indeed a piano in the room. She had taken lessons when she was younger, so she began to pick out the tune of "Mary Had a Little Lamb".

Alfred heard the noise and came running, worried she might discover the secret of the three strange notes that opened the passageway to the caves below.

"Uh, Miss Richards!" he managed.

She turned with a smile. "Yes, Mr. Alfred?"

He came over and eased her off the seat, closing the lid. "Dear, don't think it rude, but…that piano is far too old and rickety to be played. We haven't polished it or tuned it in quite some time. If you'd like, you can go play the large one in the music hall. It's in much better shape."

She sighed. "Yes, alright then. It would be such a nice piano if it was cleaned up."

"Yes, it probably would. But it's mainly just for decoration right now."

He goaded her away from it coolly and left her at the baby grand piano in the music hall. She played a few simple tunes, but soon got bored and closed it up.

This place is so cold…it's like no one lives here. It's like this is a big costume. A big mask over something else. Like that scary clown in the King-man's movie.

She wandered back to the study. There was a draft somewhere, like a door or a window was left open. The house was quiet, but suddenly she heard loud bells sound. The doorbell?

It didn't matter. Someone would get it. She played with the lid over the piano keys and pushed it back. What did an old, out-of-tune piano sound like, anyway? She was dying to know.

Suddenly she heard a short, stifled scream. Frightened, Rebecca turned around, using the keyboard as a brace. Her hands slammed down on an ear-splitting combination of four high keys.

Trembling, she watched two men in black barge into the room. One had a gun; the other held a short sword. When she tried to get away, she shook the piano and a huge decorative glass paperweight, which had been sitting on top of the piano, fell down and slammed onto the keys. The ivory cracked, and a whooshing sound caught her attention.

Distracted, her eyes averted to the source of the sound, and amazingly she saw that part of the wall had moved away-…

Suddenly there was a flash of silver in front of her eyes and a searing pain in her face.

"No!" she heard a man demand as something sharp and painful poked her back. "We're not supposed to kill her. Leave her. We just gotta make sure she didn't have the disc."

"But sir-…" another voice spoke up.

"She didn't see anything. And now she never will, thanks to you."

Suddenly the men were gone, but Rebecca found that she could not open her eyes. In fact, as she reached up to touch her face and felt the warm blood pouring down her skin, she realized that she had no eyes.

Whimpering like an animal, Rebecca started to cry, but the salty tears burned her cut. Without even realizing it, she was running through the house in search of anyone who would help her.

The little girl ran into several walls before someone grabbed her arm. The phrase "Oh my God" was repeated several times by a deep English voice, and she recognized it almost immediately.

"Mr. Alfred! My Alfred, my face hurts! And I can't see…" she cried.

"Miss Richards, please, calm down! Please," he soothed, rubbing her hair and picking her up. She was aware that he was running with her, and the world suddenly smelled like freshly cut grass. They were outside.

"James, we must get to the hospital, immediately. Call Master Wayne. Tell him to meet us there. Let's go!" Mr. Alfred commanded while he slid her into a stuffy, leather-smelling space. A car.

They pulled out and as they drove she felt something soft and cool pressed against her eyes. It was a cloth of some sort.

"Just relax, Miss Richards. Calm down. We'll see a doctor right away. Just…hold on…"