Part Eight
He was sitting there in civilian clothing so Clark, also in his civvies, smiled and said a friendly "Hello, Dick, good to see you again. Is everything all right?" as he sat on the other end of the bench.
"You called me Dick."
Odd. "Are you going by Richard now?"
"No, no, that's not what I mean; you know my name."
"And you know mine. Some of your friends have been worried about you, you haven't been answering you calls, is there a problem?"
Dick, Richard, whatever he was using now stared out towards the open filed of the park, kids playing, couples walking. "But you know me, right? I mean, you know who I am, where I live—all of that stuff?"
Clark nodded and noticed that the man's hands were shaking and his eyes were close to watering. Something, the simple fact that Clark knew him and could identify him was hitting him hard. "What's going on?" Clark's voice was quiet and kind.
"I..." He paused. "I, I don't know." Another pause while he swallowed. "I don;t know who I am or where I came from, what I do for a living, who my family is or where I live. I don't know any of it."
Clark realized that, whatever it was that happened to Dick, he was barely holding on by his fingernails and that he needed to go slow with him, follow his lead and let him set the pace. "Tell me what you can. We'll work on this together, all right?"
"You'll help?" He looked like drowning man seeing a ship approach, hopeful but afraid of being passed by and left to die.
"You know I will. I've always been there for you, ever since you were—(something told him that he couldn't go where he wanted to just yet)—since you were a youngster. Start with the beginning; how did you know how to contact me?"
Dick gave him a frightened look. "Are you mad I called?"
"You did the right thing, I want to help you just like I've always wanted but I need to know what's going on. Will you tell me?"
He seemed to take a long, deep mental breath and started speaking, soft and quiet but without pause or hesitation. "Two and a half weeks ago I woke up in the hospital. I didn't know my name—I still don't. I don't know how I got there or how I got hurt, but I was hit in the head or fell or something and whatever happened caused a bad concussion. I have amnesia, the doctors say I do, but yesterday I had a dream—the social worker at the rehab told me to pay attention to my dreams—and I remembered your face and that I called you 'Clark'. Then I saw your face in a magazine with your name in the caption and googled you, that's how I knew who you were and I remembered that your wife's name in my dream was 'Lois'. I called a couple of times but your secretary wouldn't put me through so I called your wife at her work."
Clark let him talk, didn't interrupt and slowly the story of the last few weeks came out. Beyond the actual events, Clark saw over and over, how terrified the man was, how adrift and how much he desperately needed to find his way back.
* * *
"Master Bruce, come quickly, Master Superman wishes to speak with you, he's found Master Richard!"
Batman pressed a button on his computer console, speaking without preamble. "Where is he and is he all right?"
"Hello, Bruce. I just spoke with him, he's in Bludhaven and no, he's not all right. He suffered a head injury and has severe amnesia. He's confused, frightened and needs to let his memory come back naturally, without pressure."
"I'll get him, is he in his apartment?"
"He's in a rehab center, working with social workers and a psychologist and I think that would be a mistake. He needs to be introduced gently to people and places he used to know or he'll become upset."
There was a minimal pause. "How much does he know about his 'other' life?"
"Nothing. He has no recall of his name, his profession, his background; none of it. He's like he's in a void right now."
"I see. Thank you. Out."
"Bruce, I think it would be better if..." The line was dead. "Idiot."
* * *
Clark stayed with him through the afternoon, listening to what he said, trying to empathize with how terrifying it was not to know the most basic details of your own life. Finally, as dusk was falling, he escorted Dick back to the rehab, asking for and receiving a meeting with the head of the facility.
They shook hands and the man offered Clark the guest chair on the near side of the desk."First of all, Mr. Kent, I want to thank you for identifying our patient. With that basic stumbling block out of the way, he should, with any luck, be able to piece things back together—with help, of course." He sipped his coffee. "Do you have any questions I may be able to help you with?"
"Do you feel that Richard could be safely released to the care of his family at this point?"
"You don't beat around the bush, do you? May I ask how you know him and are you a member of his family?"
"I'm a friend of the family and I've known him since he was a child. I flatter myself that he thinks of me as something of an uncle to him." If it would help get the man to open up he'd use anything he had.
"But you're not an actual family member?"
"Well, no."
"I'm afraid that, by law, I'm unable to discuss the particulars of his case. It's to protect his privacy, I'm sure you understand." He shuffled some papers on his desk. "But I'd appreciate any help you could give us about our patient. You know his real name and have contact information for his family?"
Clark hesitated but then didn't feel like he had a choice; Dick did have a family who were worried about him, besides, Bruce was probably on his way over right now. "His name is Richard John Grayson and he's the adopted son of Bruce Wayne. He's been tending bar here in Bludhaven while he waits to take the tests for BPD."
"Bruce Wayne?" Clark nodded. "Would you have his contact information?"
"May I? I've already informed him that I thought I knew where his son is and I'm sure he's waiting for my call." He gestured towards the man's phone,picked up the receiver and dialed the Manor. "Alfred? It's Clark Kent. Is he available? I have more information about Dick." There was a wait while the phone was transferred. "Mr. Wayne? Clark Kent here, I've seen your son and have his doctor with me. Just a moment."
"Mr. Wayne?..."
The arrangements were made in less than a minute; Wayne would be there to pick up his son within the hour, no press, please.
* * *
The initial meeting was tense. Dick was nervous, Bruce was strained, though he wouldn't admit it and Alfred was anxious about his charge's condition. To his credit Bruce was quiet with Dick, non-threatening and kind. Though his manner seemed to reassure him, Dick didn't recognize any of the men as people he knew and when told he could be released into their care seemed to accept it with reservations.
"If I want, would it be possible for me to come back here?" In a real way the rehab facility was the only home he knew and he seemed to have a fear of the unknown.
"It's been almost four weeks, Richard and you know that's the limit for any of our clients to stay here. I'm sorry. I think it would be good for you to go with them now, give it time, continue to see your doctors and then, if you want I can arrange another home for you." The social worker held out his hand to Dick. Who took it with what may have been some sadness.
"Can Mr. Kent come, too?"
"I'll visit whenever you want, but you're going home, Dick, it's for the best but if you want me, I'm always there for you. You know you can call me whenever you want; I promise."
The young man ignored the pressed lips and hidden anger in Wayne's face as he turned to the social worker with a small smile. "Thank you for, you know, for everything."
"Good luck, son. You'll be fine, you'll see."
TBC