Chapter 6 - Telltale
The next morning was wet and rainy. I had planned on working in the garden to keep away from all the Waynes and my lying uncle, but it looked like that wasn't happening, so I put on my work clothes and headed out to find the most remote corner I could.
What I found was the west wing.
The west wing of the second floor held little more than unused guest bedrooms and storage space. I'd been there before to clean the bathrooms, but there were a few places I hadn't been in yet. I opened the door to a new room and, to my twisted glee, I discovered it was absolutely filthy. There were two twin beds against the far wall, a couple windows covered by faded curtains, and tons of boxes and bits of unused furniture. Everything was coated in a layer of dust and draped with cobwebs. This room alone would occupy me for hours. With a spring in my step, I gathered some cleaning supplies from the kitchen and rushed back upstairs.
The morning passed with no interruptions, no visitors, no noise, nothing. I was perfectly and peacefully alone. I dusted and vacuumed and piled old sheets at the top of the stairs and scrubbed windows for the first time in what had to be decades. I thought to myself, I could do this all day and never get bored. Never be bothered. Never have to worry about secrets.
I finished the second bedroom and was standing at the window listening to the rain. It was beautiful, really - a mild thunderstorm, the kind I could never get enough of, with soft, rolling thunder and brilliant bright flashes of lightning.
And then everything went silent.
I thought it was the storm, that it had just stopped suddenly. But my eyes proved that theory wrong. Lightning continued to flash; it was the thunder that was missing. Then I thought my ears had popped or something. I tried yawning, I tried rubbing them. But the sound wouldn't come back.
In moments, panic settled over me. I started slapping the sides of my head, feeling the thud as my hands hammered into my ears, but not hearing a thing. I worked my jaw, let my vocal chords ring, gently at first, then harder and harder as I tried to hear them, straining for any semblance of sound. In the end, none of it mattered. It only took a minute for me to realize what had happened.
I had gone deaf.
This had happened to Mom. I had been there, visiting her in the hospital. We were having a normal conversation, and then her face went white. She did the same things I did, trying to get her ears working again. And then she just sat there, watching my lips move as I asked her what was wrong. Then she started trying to talk, but she stopped quickly; it must have been strange, trying to speak and being unable to hear yourself. At last, she managed one thing: doctor. She started screaming "doctor" over and over again until the doctor came, and he herded me out of the room.
I didn't understand. Until now.
I couldn't hear anything. Not the rain, not the thunder, not my own heartbeat. I could feel it, in my head, pounding, pumping blood, working the way it should. But I couldn't hear it. Why weren't my ears working? Where was my hearing?
Would I be deaf for the rest of my life? No music ever again? No Tchaikovsky at Christmas, Dad's favorite tradition? Or showtunes in the car, like Mom used to play? Would I never hear Alfred's voice again?
A tear escaped my eye. It ran down my face like the rain running down the windows, washing out the clarity of the world. I stood still and stiff and silent, staring at the rain, wishing the sound would come back.
Of course, the ancient light bulb would choose then to go out.
I didn't hear the pop as it went, and it went so dark so suddenly, I felt a flash of terror as I wondered whether I'd been stricken blind as well. But then my eyes registered the light from the window. The light flared once, twice, as the lighting shot down from the clouds. It hurt to look at.
I reached for the nearest bed and sat down hard, raising a little cloud of dust. I pulled my knees to my chest and hid my face behind them. If I just waited long enough, maybe my hearing would come back. But as minutes dragged by, and nothing changed, I began to despair.
No, despair wasn't it; this was terror. A second attack, as the doctors had taken to calling them. It proved I had what killed Mom and Dad-a disease that, as far as the scientists knew, had no target; it simply went to war on whatever it came across, and the attacks could be anything from a stinging toe to a stroke.
And I'd be dead in two years tops.
My breath shuddered in my lungs as I thought this. I had been faced with death before, and I feared it for what it could do. It had stolen years of my life, broken my family, and destroyed my world. I wanted nothing more than to get away from death. I didn't want to think about it anymore. I hid from it the only way I could, curled into a ball on a dusty bed in an unused second floor guest room.
For the first time, I realized that the silence could be peaceful.
CRASH!
I jumped out of my skin as the sounds of the storm burst against my eardrums. In an instant, my fear turned to elation. I could hear again! I could hear! I laughed, full and loud, letting it ring in my head like the sound of bells. It felt so good to be back!
I lay back on the bed, gasping in breath after breath, listening to the whoosh of the air as it went in and out of my lungs, relishing the drumbeat of blood rushing through my head. I was so alive, and I had never even noticed.
How could I let go of this?
My laughter became harder to force out. I felt fear creeping back into my heart, destroying my moment of triumph. I was well and alive, so very alive, but death was waiting for me. I could almost see him, perched on the end of the bed, watching with longing in his eyes.
When did Death become a he?
With a snarl of frustration, I sat up and pounded my head. Stop thinking about it. Nothing could make it better, so stop making it worse.
I launched myself off the bed, grabbed the top sheet, and wrenched it off, dust flying through the air like sparks. I put all my fear and turmoil into stripping the bed; then I moved on to the next room, and the next, scrubbing windows, scouring desks, pounding pillows.
I didn't stop until Dick came and found me, announcing it was time for lunch. As I came down the stairs, lugging behind me bag after bag of dirty laundry, I tried to convince myself that I should tell Alfred. I tried forming a script in my head, and thought out scenario after scenario, but nothing played out the way I wanted. Alfred would never take this calmly, and the last thing I wanted was to see him worry over me-more than he already did, anyway.
The secret had to be kept, or this sweet and simple new life I was trying to lead would be dashed to pieces. Death couldn't win.
/
Alfred was way past worried. It had been two days since his row with Samantha, and he hadn't seen her for a full minute at a time since then. The Waynes hadn't gotten more than a passing glimpse. It was Friday now, the day before her free day, when Alfred would likely see even less of her. Was she really trying to avoid the entire household? And how on earth was she succeeding?
Alfred knew this behavior couldn't be healthy. A confrontation and a good talk were in order. All he had to do was get her to stand still for ten minutes.
He tried to nab her at breakfast, when she slipped in to grab one of the double chocolate muffins he had made specially to lure her in.
"Samantha?" he began, reaching for her arm. "Is everything…?"
"Fine," Samantha said with her usual smile, dancing out of his reach. She grabbed two muffins, stuffed one in her mouth, and caught Alfred off guard with a one-armed hug. She then vanished for the remainder of the morning.
Alfred sighed and cleaned up. At least she ate the muffins.
Samantha appeared again a full hour after lunchtime. Alfred didn't get a chance to speak; she rushed in the door, rattled off a list of things she had already cleaned, told him what she planned to do next, stuffed a sandwich in her mouth, and left.
Alfred sighed as the door swung shut. "Good to see you, too, Samantha. Yes, I'd love to talk with you about everything that's going on. No, you don't need to work yourself to death on my account. Goodbye, Samantha. Have a nice day."
How was she doing this? She couldn't seriously think this was helpful.
He thought he might have a little more luck at dinner, but she didn't take the time to sit and eat, even though Alfred had spent a lot of time and energy getting everyone to come to the table. Instead, she snuck into the dining room when everyone was done, filled up a plate, and ran off again. Alfred frowned, realizing he only had one more chance to catch her before the day was over.
That night, Alfred waited outside Samantha's bedroom door for an hour, pushing his luck by staying a full five minutes after he was called to the Batcave. But Samantha was either not in her room or refused to come out. Alfred made his way to the secret entrance with a heavy heart. Even after only three days, he missed his meadowlark.
Alfred slipped into Bruce's office and pushed the door halfway closed. He walked up to the grandfather clock; the hands were a full hour past the appointed time.
As Alfred moved to reset the hands, he heard Titus bark. He paused and glanced at the door. It almost felt like someone was watching him. Just to be safe, Alfred pulled out his handkerchief and pretended to scrub the wood of the clock.
After thirty seconds of silence, he decided it was safe. He quickly turned the hands back an hour, to 10:47. He held it there for the count of three; then, almost too quietly to hear, gears began to click and whirr, big gears that weren't common in your typical grandfather clock. It slid away from the wall, revealing a hidden door and an elevator shaft.
With a final wary look at the door, Alfred disappeared behind the clock. The elevator took him all the way down, through the dark into the dim light of the Batcave. As he stepped out, Bruce looked up from pulling on his boots.
"What took you so long?"
"I was waiting to see if I could catch my niece, sir," Alfred said. "She's been avoiding me for three days straight."
"Odd," Bruce said, putting on his cape. "I wouldn't expect someone like Sam to avoid anyone, especially not her family."
"She's probably just busy," Tim suggested. "I've seen her walking around with buckets and brooms all the time. Wayne Manor is cleaner than ever, with two Pennyworths around."
Alfred frowned. "I… haven't been doing much. She doesn't leave anything for me to do."
"She could wear herself out that way," Bruce said with concern. "You should talk to her…"
"What do you think I've been doing?!" Alfred snapped. Then he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry, Master Bruce. I'm just not happy about the way things are between me and her."
"I understand." Bruce pulled up his cowl. "I'm afraid I'll have to cut this conversation short, Alfred. We should get going."
Alfred nodded. "Of course, sir. What do you have planned for tonight?"
/
My new passionate drive to keep my hands busy and my uncle at arm's length led me to a new hobby: hiding. Every time a Wayne or my uncle came tromping around a corner, I'd throw myself into a closet or under a desk and wait for them to pass. This habit produced unexpected results. I noticed the Waynes exhibiting rather strange behavior, like Tim wearing an ankle brace when I knew he hadn't been doing anything physical, or Bruce wandering around rambling to himself. I caught one suspicious conversation, which started out harmless enough, but took an unexpected turn. I heard Tim and Damian arguing over a computer game while I was cleaning one of the bathrooms. They clearly didn't know anyone was eavesdropping, because out of the blue, Damian said something I knew I wasn't supposed to hear.
"I refuse to believe you could be better than me at anything, Drake," Damian said. "I was trained in every conceivable art by my mother, and that includes all areas of technology. What did your mother teach you, other than not to drool on yourself?"
I had never heard anything about "the Mother." I knew better than to ask, but I couldn't help being curious. I listened closer.
"I will point out that your mother had other motives than giving you the upper hand in a video game," Tim said.
"I thought we promised not to discuss this."
"You brought her up."
"You won't let it go."
"Fine, I'll stop." Tim paused. "I am better than you, though. I won, fair and square."
"You cheated."
"Yeah, right. I cheated."
"You did. I simply haven't figured out how yet."
"You work on that."
They moved out of my hearing range, leaving me sitting in a dark bathroom with a wet rag in my hand and about fifty questions buzzing in my head. The Mother didn't sound much like the elegant lady with kind eyes and gentle hands I had envisioned. In fact, Damian sounded desperate to avoid talking about her.
Something was off. But that single snippet of conversation proved little. There were other signs that led me to believe the secret went much deeper than Damian's parentage.
The next unexpected clue found me on Thursday, when I was picking up Damian's laundry. As I opened the door to walk out, I heard Tim's voice next door. I knew for a fact that that was Dick's room, not his, so what was he doing in there? I set the laundry aside and put my ear to the wall of Damian's room. It was hard to hear anything, but I managed to catch a few important phrases.
"...would've thought he'd double back?"
"Well, at least he's branching out from engagement rings…"
"...this time?"
"Acid. Hydrofluoric, too… wealthy benefactor."
"...choosing other kinds of… more dangerous."
"Yeah… should go."
I heard Dick's door open and Tim leave. I sat down at Damian's desk, trying to make sense of what I had heard. They were talking about someone, and apparently someone dangerous. Someone using acid, who was supposed to "double back," and had a wealthy benefactor? It sounded an awful lot like a conversation about one of Gotham's signature maniacs. That didn't sound like the sort of thing a couple billionaire kids would hold secret conversations about.
Still, this was Gotham. Everybody talked about maniacs, in secret and in public. I still knew there was more to the puzzle, so I kept my head down and my ears open.
Then, a little later in the afternoon, I got my best clue yet. I went into Dick's room to clean the windows. By accident, I dropped a soaking wet rag on his computer. I grabbed it up in a hurry, toggling the mouse to make sure it was alright.
The first thing that appeared on the screen was some sort of fancy looking word program. At the top, there was a list of letters, and below it those letters were arranged into a million different combinations. I glanced at the five letters typed into the boxes at the top: S, N, N, M, A. It didn't look like there were many coherent results.
Okay, so Dick had super fancy decoding software on his computer. Could it be for some school project? And if not, what on earth would he want to decode stuff for? Fun?
Maybe the Waynes were undercover agents or detectives. Maybe they were working with the GCPD. What if they were working with Batman?! Nightwing had shown up in the kitchen…
Or maybe Dick just had a weird hobby. As I realized how far-fetched these solutions were, I made a face and turned back to my work. This wasn't some undercover cop kind of thing, it was just for fun. Why exactly this would be fun for Dick, or where he got those five letters specifically, I had no idea. But I couldn't let my wild imagination blow him up into some crazy character.
I washed the windows and left, five little letters swimming around my head. I couldn't stop thinking about them, and I lay in bed that night playing with different combinations and sequences. Nothing much came of it. There was only one vowel. Manns? Snamn? Mnasn? As my attempts got more and more ridiculous, I reminded myself that I didn't care about the code, and rolled over to try to go to sleep, still mouthing to myself over and over, "Samnn? Smann…"
That got me to Friday night. It was the third night in a row I had eaten dinner in my room. I ate out on the balcony and stared at the gardens, forcing myself to make up new mental games to keep myself from stressing over my inevitable next attack. The more stressed I looked, the more Alfred would worry. The more stressed I felt, the harder I would have to work to stick that slap-happy grin on my face whenever I passed my uncle or the Waynes in the halls. It was best to just not think about it. I let the sunset fill my eyes and drown my mind.
Just as I finished my dinner and was getting up to take my dishes to the kitchen, I heard a quiet knock on my door. I knew that knock; it was one of those dainty, polite, but firm little knocks Alfred always used.
Rats. Don't answer; maybe he'll go away.
"Samantha, dear, if I could come in for a moment…?"
I pressed my lips together, my hands shaking as I tried to keep my fork from clinking against the plate. Go away, go away…
But he stayed for a while. And he kept talking. "Samantha, I know we had a bit of a row; I want to make amends. I don't enjoy being constantly estranged from my own family." A pause; I bit my lip. "Dear, please, I just want to talk to you. I miss seeing you. Samantha, won't you please let me in?"
He stayed out there for a whole hour, and I had to sit on my balcony in the chilly night breeze, trying to keep my silverware from clanking together. Finally, after an eternity, I heard the telltale ding of a phone notification. Alfred sighed.
"Samantha…? Love… look, I have to go now, but I want to speak with you soon, alright? … Alright, then… Goodnight, Samantha."
I frowned at my dirty dishes. Where did he have to go at this time of night? It was almost nine o'clock. I realized I had rather enjoyed listening to him. No matter how much I wanted to protect him from whatever was going on with me, I couldn't stop myself from missing him.
I stared down at my half-eaten dinner; I couldn't finish it for the pit that was growing in my stomach. After three days alone, I really wanted to be with people again. I was lonely. I could go after Alfred. I could tell him I missed him, and we could hang out, maybe have some tea.
Only he said he needed to go. Where was he going? And why did he have to go without me?
Was he on his way to a Wayne family movie night?
That did it. I got up, leaving my dishes behind and rushing to the door. Whatever they did behind my back while I slept, be it a movie night or… I don't know, a book club or late night cross country runs, I would be there with them this time.
And Alfred would lead me to them.
I let myself silently out of my room. One of the perks of living in a fancy mansion, all the hinges were state of the art and never squeaked. Alfred was just getting to the bottom of the stairs, so I quietly ran after him. He didn't go down to the main hall, however, instead entering the door to Bruce's study. I stopped in my tracks, frowning. So, what, the Waynes threw office parties when I was asleep? I really knew nothing about billionaires.
Or Alfred was just doing his job. Maybe Alfred was the only one allowed to clean Mr. Wayne's private office. Maybe Bruce was more eccentric than I had first thought. But the shiver up my spine said otherwise. Bruce didn't want me in that room for a reason, and tonight, I was going to find out what that reason was. I crept up to the door and peeked inside.
Of course, Titus chose that moment to be social.
I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and turned to find the great dane trotting toward me. He locked eyes with me, came right up and sniffed at my face. To my horror, he then gave a loud bark. He was probably just saying hello, but the sound sent shockwaves of panic through me. I crouched frozen in place, my eyes turning to the doorway. Had he noticed?
Alfred was standing in front of the grandfather clock. He looked around the room suspiciously, his eyes falling on the slightly open door. They almost met mine, and I felt my breath catch in my throat. Then he reached for the clock. He took out a handkerchief and started dusting it.
My muscles relaxed. So he was just cleaning. Once again I'd gotten worked up over nothing. I was about to turn away, give Titus a pet, and try to find the others a different way, when Alfred stopped dusting and did something very strange indeed. He did exactly what I had been planning to do before Bruce surprised me: he moved the hands.
Alfred held down the hour hand for a couple seconds. Then, I heard a click, not like any click that usually comes from a clock. And then, before my eyes… the clock started to move.
It rumbled and creaked slowly to the side, leaving an opening just wide enough for a very buff and fairly tall man-such as Bruce Wayne-to fit through. Alfred slipped through easily; as soon as he did, the clock moved back into place.
I stood there blinking for a moment. What had I just seen? There was an actual factual secret passageway in Bruce Wayne's office! This went way beyond eccentric. Maybe there was a whole network of them inside the walls that Alfred used to get around the house. And he hadn't told me? How rude.
I realized that this was possibly the greatest discovery I had made in my time here. After all the suspicious things I had caught from the boys, this seemed like a beacon, leading me toward the final clue that would tie all of it together. The shivery feeling down my spine went from mildly nagging to excitingly urgent. I had to know what was behind that clock.
I pushed the door open and moved in. Titus followed hot on my heels. We crossed the room, and I couldn't help but picture the massive windows as giant eyes, like the house was watching me sneak around. I felt a twinge of guilt, but I couldn't let it control me. I had to know.
Okay. The hands on the clock face were pointing to 10:48. I had probably stood outside the door for about a minute after Alfred went through. So, the time that unlocked whatever secret passage was behind the clock had to be… 10:47? I moved the minute hand back one space and waited.
Click.
A roguish grin spread across my face as the gears began to turn, and the grandfather clock moved aside.
"Titus," I said, "we're super spies now. We've got moving clocks and secret passageways."
Titus gave a small bark, probably in agreement.
Behind the clock, there was a small space to stand in, big enough for about two people. To one side of the space was a narrow elevator shaft, with no elevator. Alfred had probably taken that. On the other side was a staircase, so narrow I could reach out and touch both walls with my hands flat. It travelled down into darkness, just begging me to follow.
I did.
There were a lot of stairs. The long descent gave me time to think. The grandfather clock was a door. It opened at 10:47. What was so special about 10:47? It seemed pretty random. Then, behind the secret door, there were two ways to get down… down. As in, under Wayne Manor. As far as I knew, the farthest under the manor you could get was the space beneath the main stairs, where the game room and gym were, and I'd already been there. That meant there was something even further down. Like what? A cave? It looked like a cave. This far down, the stairs were made of rock.
What would the Waynes hide in a cave under their house? Lamborghinis? A private jet? A secret underground party room they'd forgotten to tell me about where they held cave raves?
Or worse… what if they were hiding something bad? Maybe big, destructive weapons or a death ray machine. Maybe this cave was the evil doppelganger of Wayne Enterprises. What if the Waynes were working for a gang, like the ones that loved Gotham City so much? What if they were suppliers for supervillains?
I didn't want to think badly of the Waynes. I couldn't think badly of Alfred. But the further down I went, and the darker it got, the more I worried.
I looked at Titus, who seemed intent on following me. "This is bad, buddy," I said. "I could be getting into a lot more trouble than I bargained for."
And then… I saw a light. I was almost at the bottom.
Keeping to the shadows, I inched to the edge of the doorway. I sucked in my breath and let it out. Here we go. I peeked around the edge.
My jaw dropped.
That was not a Lamborghini.
There was a car, not ten feet from me, parked on the edge of a cliff. And I knew what it was. I had seen it, on the news, in the papers. That was the Batmobile!
No. Way. The Waynes were working for Batman.
"Of course, sir. What do you have planned for tonight?"
Alfred. I grabbed Titus' collar and pressed us both to the wall, watching him walk across the cave. He was walking toward a raised platform. And there was a computer up there. If it could even be called a computer; it was huge! It had three screens that wrapped around a ginormous dashboard. It looked like the control pad for a rocket launcher. And someone was sitting at the computer.
Batman.
Even from this far away, I knew. The dark cape draped over the side of the chair. The cowl with the pointed ears. Even the way he sat, how he carried himself. That was Gotham's own, genuine superhero-the Batman. Here, in this cave, talking to my uncle. Like, twenty yards from me. I hoped I wasn't dreaming. This was too incredible to wake up from.
And then, it got better.
"Hopefully, something more productive than last night's encounter," said another voice. And out of nowhere, a kid walked up to the computer. That was Robin! The Robin! Batman's sidekick, the unkillable, the ultimately awesome, the Boy Wonder!
Then three more people showed up. And all of a sudden, that night in the kitchen made so much more sense.
Nightwing. He was here. Nightwing and… oh, I could never remember these guys' names. I'd only seen them here and there… they were both "Red Something." Red Helmet? Red Helmet and Red Wings.
"Last night was unexpected," Nightwing said. "We need to be prepared this time."
"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Red Helmet said. That really didn't sound right. Maybe it was Redhead. "Do you have a plan to go with that confident attitude?"
Funny… I could've sworn I'd heard that voice before.
"We split up again," Batman said. "But we're going to be stretched a little thin."
"We could call in Batgirl again," Nightwing said.
"I did. She's already in position. The rest of us should move out. Nightwing, you'll take Clarence Street, from Fifth to Hawthorne."
"You got it."
He turned… toward me.
Oh, no. All the vehicles were over here.
My heart started to pound as he sprinted closer and closer. In seconds, he would see me. Why was I afraid of being caught?
Suddenly, I felt a surge of deja vous. I was back in the gym, playing basketball with the boys. And watching Dick sprint toward me, dribbling hard and fast, coming in for a shot…
Nightwing ran like Dick. In fact, stride for stride, they looked exactly the same. And the hair, too, and the shape of the face… and when he talked, he sounded just like…
Okay, whoa. Mask or no mask, I knew who that was.
Nightwing… was Dick Grayson.
And in that instant, it all fell into place. Dick was Nightwing. That voice I recognized… I had recognized it before, in John, the family friend. John was the Red Helmet. Which meant the other two had to be Tim and Damian. Yes, that was definitely Damian, standing with that distinct posture. And Batman… holy cow, Batman was Bruce Wayne!
The Waynes weren't just working for the Batfam. They were the Batfam.
As this hit home, I realized that I had let go of Titus' collar. The dog was bounding toward Nightwing, barking his head off. I could feel the moment Nightwing's eyes found me. And then he had slowed to a halt, his jaw hanging to his chest. And the whole Bat family was staring at me, Alfred included. And my heart was pounding, really hard. Ka-doom, ka-doom, ka-doom...
Too hard. This wasn't normal heart pounding. Every beat took my breath away, like I was standing in front of a sub-woofer at a rock concert. Something was wrong, way wrong.
I was having an attack. In front of everyone.
I couldn't do anything. I had no choice, no ability to hide it. My heart was going too fast. And all of a sudden, it didn't matter that I was standing in the Batcave, face to face with Nightwing who was Dick Grayson. I was scared.
I felt my knees hit the cave floor. Nightwing-Dick, Dick was running toward me. He caught me before I fell to the floor, and I could feel my heartbeat slamming against my ribs, vibrating through my whole body like a warning signal. He was carrying me somewhere, but I had closed my eyes, trying to calm myself, trying to get my heart to slow. It wouldn't work. I was losing control of my body. I was scared, I was so scared…
I felt a hand on my arm. I blinked open my eyes, just for a second. I saw a man standing over me.
Alfred.
I was fading out. My eyelids drooped. But even in my terror, I felt safe. Alfred was here. He would keep me safe. He always would.
Why hadn't I told him sooner?
/
Alfred put the syringe aside, finally allowing his fingers to shake as he let it go. "She's stable."
Dick stood stiffly next to the medical bed, one hand still clenched around Samantha's arm. "What the heck just happened?"
"Supraventricular tachycardia," Bruce said, his fingers testing Samantha's pulse. "Likely caused by physical fatigue, possibly caffeine."
"She never drinks coffee," Alfred said weakly. He lifted a hand to his mouth, staring in shock at his little girl. When Tim offered him a seat, Alfred took it.
"Anxiety is sometimes a factor, too," Bruce said.
"Grief?" Tim asked.
"Not likely. She could have been overstimulated by…" Bruce frowned. "Alfred, how did she get down here?"
Alfred shrugged. Bruce's face softened as he noticed Alfred's state.
"She'll be fine," Bruce said quickly. "We've got her stable; now that we know, we can keep her monitored. Has she shown signs of heart problems before?"
Alfred looked up. "Bruce… I don't think that's it."
"What… oh."
Bruce looked down at Samantha, and Alfred could see him start to understand.
"Her parents," Bruce said softly. "This is what killed them."
"Wait, wait, wait." Tim stared at Bruce. "What are you talking about? How did they die?"
"You said they got sick," Dick said. "That's not all, is it? Why didn't you tell us?"
"Because it was personal information that it wasn't my place to tell," Bruce said. "But I suppose… since it's our problem now… Alfred?"
Alfred sighed heavily, sagging into his chair.
"Several years ago, Samantha's parents went on an overseas trip to travel the world for one month. Everything seemed fine when they came back, but after a while… things started happening. Odd medical issues that nobody could explain. None of them could be linked to another, and none seemed caused by anything we could pinpoint - at least, until the year before her father passed. That was when the researchers finally discovered that every event, every attack, was preceded by a surge in brain activity. A surge that could not be predicted or prevented."
"This one makes sense, though," Tim cut in. "Like Bruce said, she's been physically fatigued, and probably anxious because of her parents. This could be a singular, isolated event."
"It's too much of a stretch," Alfred said. "She's never had heart problems before. In fact, when they did tests on her to see if they could find anything wrong that they could connect back to her parents, they found her in perfect health, and with a heart stronger than many people her age. It's an impossible disease, and so far as records show, her parents were the only two people on earth to ever contract it. Until… now."
He stared at the still and silent face of his beloved niece and tried to imagine her going through years of tests and experiments, lying in a hospital bed with wires attached, weak and quiet… lifeless. He couldn't do it. He couldn't see her that way, not in a million years.
"That explains it," Tim said gently.
"What?" Alfred asked, turned on him. "Are you saying you knew?"
Tim held up his hands. "No! No. I just… had some concerns. There were two days that she seemed a little… off. Like on Sunday. I met her in the hallway, and she was going to do laundry, and a little while later I walked down the same hallway and the laundry basket was just sitting there. She was nowhere in sight. I went looking for her and found her asleep. It didn't connect. Why would she abandon her work and just go to bed?" He nodded at her. "Now I know. She must have had another… experience, or whatever this is. And she seemed more down than usual two days later, on Tuesday-"
"The same day she seemed to vanish into her work," Alfred said. "How could she have hidden this from me? Why would she?"
"I can't claim to know," Dick said. "But something tells me she doesn't want to upset you, Alfred. She's constantly working, like she's trying to do your job for you."
"She asked me if I thought you were overworking yourself the other day," Damian piped up. "I could tell she was afraid of what the answer might be."
"And you're telling me all of this now?!"
"Alfred," Bruce said softly. "No one could have anticipated this. We just have to adjust. I have the resources to help her, as both Bruce Wayne and Batman. We can save her."
Alfred pushed back against a wave of despair. "I don't know if you can. The best doctors and physicians in the country were brought in to work on her parents, and they found nothing. I don't know how much more we can do than they did."
Bruce pulled his cowl on. "We will save her. That's a promise. I'll track down the files from her parents' cases. For now, stay with her. We'll use the coms to stay connected."
Alfred didn't have the heart to disagree. He nodded, and Bruce left, the boys all following in silence. All but one.
Tim put a hand on Alfred's shoulder. "If it's any consolation, the reason Sam didn't tell you sooner is because she cares about you. A lot. I can see it when she looks at you; you're all she has left. She was probably more afraid of causing you pain than she was of her condition."
"I'm afraid that's not terribly consoling, Master Timothy," Alfred said stiffly.
"It's motivation," Tim said. "Motivation to keep her alive-one of the purest hearts in Gotham. I promise, I'll do everything I can to help once I get back."
As Tim chased after his brothers, Alfred reached out and brushed a strand of hair out of Samantha's face. She looked so peaceful. But he knew that under that serene expression lay unfathomable pain and suffering, most of it barely glimpsed.
Titus walked to the bed and laid his head down, whining deep in his throat. Alfred reached out and patted him with a shaky hand.
"Thank you for alerting us, Titus," Alfred said.
Titus whined again, turning sad eyes to Samantha.
"I know. I'm worried, too. But Master Bruce promised to help, so if there's a way to save her, we will find it."
Alfred slipped a hand over Samantha's. He had to admit, some weight had been lifted from his shoulders. She had found her own way into the Batcave. He had discovered the truth behind her strange behavior. That put an end to keeping secrets. From now on, however long they had, they would know everything and share everything.
Alfred wouldn't waste a second with his little girl.