Luckily, there will be more time for updates this week. Be on the lookout…

Disclaimer: I don't own The Dark Knight, or a certain singing someone. I do own this plot and The Station.

Chapter Forty-Four: Bruce? Batman? Batsy?


I open my eyes, and a long white hallway greets me.

I look around, trying to figure out where I am, but there's nothing telling about this place—all I can do is move forward. There isn't even a way to turn around.

So I carefully step forward, feeling hard, lukewarm marble tiles under my bare feet. I stop and look around once again—just in case I activated some kind of trap—but there is only silence.

Until I look ahead and see someone waiting for me some distance away.

He looks strangely familiar, from what I can see of him—tall, with light brown hair, and dark brown eyes. His friendly grin automatically puts me at ease as he turns around and walks down the hall, long slender hands in his pockets.

Having no other choice, I follow him, noticing that the hallway is slowly growing bigger, with cool fresh air beckoning us forward.

The man is singing softly, his deep husky voice echoing around us: "Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda, you'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me…"

"Excuse me," I call, trying to keep up. "Where are we going?"

The man turns to look at me, expression curious. "Did you have a particular place in mind?"

I'm about to answer him when the hallway is suddenly enveloped in light—and I'm at a railway station.

The chrome train is stopped on the tracks, smoke belching from its stack solemnly. All around on the wooden platform—as white as bone—are round tables covered in white linen.

The man moves gracefully over to the platform and waves as he steps on board and out of sight.

All of the tables appear to be empty…except one.

My mouth drops open in shock. It can't be them.

"…Rachel? Harvey?"

"In the flesh…well, sort of," Harvey says, grinning easily at me as he gestures to their table. "Have a seat. We've got a lot to go over."

They look exactly the way I remember them—both of them are dressed for success in their business suits (how Harvey can make a pink and brown striped tie look cool is unknown to me), and Harvey's face is whole again. Rachel has no scars either—nothing to tell of how she met her end.

I try to stay calm. I need to stay calm.

I carefully sit across from Rachel, marveling at how comfortable the chairs are. I can't figure out what they're made of—only that they're soft and easy to sink into. "Where arewe, exactly?"

Rachel smiles. "We're wherever you want to be." She points to the train. "And the train there will take you wherever you want to go."

"Oh." I clear my throat. "Have you…met Mom and Dad yet?"

"Yes, Bruce," Rachel says softly. "They're fine. They felt it might be better for Harvey and I to meet you here, since—well, we've seen Joker firsthand, like you."

The name Bruce stirs nothing in me. It feels like the name of a character I've been playing in a production. It leaves me cold.

I decide to ignore the feeling.

I nod, still uneasy. "…Does that mean I'm still alive?"

Harvey looks sheepish. "…Unfortunately we can't answer that one. That may sound ridiculous, but this is…'between'…places. You aren't 'alive' or 'dead' until you either board the train or go back the way you came."

I get the feeling I'm running on borrowed time, and decide not to ask too many questions.

I break the silence. "So…what do you want to talk about?"

Rachel gives me that sad smile I grew so familiar with in those last days of her life.

"Your masks."

"My masks…you mean, as in Batman?"

"Not exactly," Harvey says, leaning an elbow on the table. "You've noticed, haven't you?"

"Noticed what?" I feel uneasy.

"You're changing, Bruce." Rachel's sad smile makes me shiver. "You aren't Bruce anymore, but you aren't Batman either—you're almost getting too big for Batman, as if you're growing up all over again in some other way."

"No I'm not." I swallow dryly. "I'm still—I am Batman!"

"No, Bruce," Harvey replies, his voice gentle yet stern at the same time. "Don't lie to yourself. Not again."

"Bruce…" Rachel reaches across the table and puts her hand on mine. "Please try to understand. You've been wearing masks for a long time. I think—we think—that it's high time you take them off and show the world who you really are."

I suddenly feel very tired. "…What if 'who I really am' isn't…well…"

Harvey laughs softly. "That's up to you."

There's a companionable silence for a moment. Then another question rises to my mind, one that I hate to ask:

"…What about Joker?"

Rachel and Harvey glance at each other. They remind me of my parents, when they weren't sure if they wanted to tell me something. It's the "Do You Think He's Ready?" look that everyone encounters sooner or later.

Rachel looks out at the train, away from me. "…That's also up to you."

"Why can't you give me a solid answer?" I'm feeling more irritated by the second. "Why are you giving me advice and then telling me it's my job?"

Rachel turns and gives me an exasperated look. "Because we aren't part of your life anymore. We don't know what'll happen to you when you make the choices you're going to make. All we can do is give you our thoughts now, and let you decide what to do with yourself."

She smiles. "And there's at least one thing we know you'll choose without our prompting."

I look at her. I've missed her terribly these past years—I've felt guilt over her death, and guilt over Harvey's subsequent turn to madness. They say I have a choice—but I'm not sure I want to make that choice.

"I'm staying."

Rachel shakes her head sadly. "No, Bruce. You aren't ready yet. You know you're not ready yet."

"I have nobody left—"

"Oh, yes you do," Harvey says sternly, taking a familiar coin out of his pocket. "You know you do. And he's being oddly patient. You should repay him."

"I'm not going, Harvey," I growl, bracing myself. Despite my determined tone, another, bigger part of me is becoming anxious, needing something.

Harvey just grins that cocky grin of his and flips the coin. "Heads you go."

I already know what the outcome is going to be. It's written all over Rachel's pained expression.

"That's mean, Harvey," Rachel says with a sigh before taking my hand. "Listen, you'll come back here sooner than you think. And when you do, we'll be waiting for you. All of us."

It's then that I notice an all-too-familiar old man waving from the train at me. I bolt and try to get to the railway platform, my throat constricting as I try to scream his name—

But I'm already being pulled back, flying backwards like a piece of lint in a vacuum, sliding away from Rachel and Harvey…

"I'll come back," I roar, as darkness overtakes me. "So help me, I'll come back!"

I'm going backward through the long hallway, as if I'm on rewind, with a small boy in a black Bat mask next to me.

"Who are you?" I ask, feeling my voice echo in the room.

The boy looks at me, the mask slipping over his eyes. He pushes it back up and smiles a plastic smile, his black t-shirt and pants fluttering on the non-existent air. His skin is pale, but his fingers are bandaged and bruised.

"You know who I am. The real question is…who are you?" The boy's voice startles me in its familiar dark growl.

I begin to answer, but stop. The name Bruce dies in my throat and my heart. I try Batman, but that name falters as well.

"…I'm not quite sure yet." I turn my head to look behind me. We're almost to the end.

The Batman-Child snorts, folding his arms across his chest. "That clown was right about something—we were always terrible at lying."

"And now?"

The Batman-Child shrugs his shoulders. "What's to lie about anymore?"

In a flash, he's gone.

The world grows dark again.