Epilogue

The crowd of people ebbed and flowed as people moved to their seats on benches placed upon the lawn. They sat shoulder to shoulder, so little room between them that the size of the person made a huge difference to the amount of seat a person was allotted. Like sardines, or seats on an airplane, thousands of parents, friends, and VIPs settled in next to each other. Many children, dark numbers marring their arms, were held closely in their parents' arms, sat on parents' or family's laps, or were surrounded by siblings who were afraid to look too far away. Even more children sat together, no family yet found to but refusing to miss a chance to remember the unofficial family who had been less fortunate, who succumbed to the fate they had narrowly escaped.

All attendees were garbed almost entirely in black and white or as close to black and white as they could get in the heat of summer: black dresses, black shirts, or white shirts under a black jacket, black pants, black or white socks, black tights, black veils, black yamachas, white hijabs, black schmatas, black gloves, black and white ribbons, black heels, black dress shoes, and even some black sneakers. Circles lay under many different pairs of eyes, and no one was smiling, not a real smile anyway. It didn't matter who they were or where they came from. Everyone was there for the same reason. Everyone wished that that reason had not come so early, so soon.

As the crowd settled down into their seats and waited for the service to begin, a lone man mounted the stage, and took a position at the podium. His demeanor slouched and his blue eyes were downcast. Dark circles lay under his eyes as well as he lifted them to view the crowd. It was by this man's efforts that everyone was gathered here specifically on the ironically sunny, hot August day. The man straightened in front of the podium and waited as everyone focused their attention on him.

"Hello." Bruce Wayne spoke to the crowd. "You all know why we are here today. To mourn and honor the children who had been taken from the world too young and too early. To honor brothers and sisters, daughters and sons," His voice almost broke on the last word. "To honor cousins, nieces, and nephews. To honor friends. All precious people now lost to us. Victims to a plot they should have never been even considered for.

"Two hundred and eighty six of these victims were returned home or to foster homes. Fifty two of that number were rescued on route. However, nearly one hundred and three known victims and an estimate of two hundred more unknown, were slaughtered by these beasts. The numbers alone are astronomical, but they don't tell the whole story. They don't tell of the fear that gripped a parent's heart when they turned around and their child was gone or the way that fear increased as more time went by.

"The numbers don't tell of the way your heart sinks when you realize you may never get your child back, or the way that turns into near certainty. They don't tell as the possibilities bounce around in your mind and begin to cement until you have trouble even thinking of your son or daughter, your family or your friend, without thinking of tortures they're going through. Until you can't think of good memories without pain.

"Most of all, the numbers don't tell you of the effect the ordeal will have on your child, how, even if you do get them back alive, your family, both official and unofficial, will be forever changed. How any information of what happened to your child can bring an ounce of comfort, even if it's not the information you want to hear, because at least you know."

Bruce paused here, obviously taking a moment to calm himself. A couple tears had slipped out of his eyes and he needed to keep them in for now. "At least you know. And none of us may have ever known or ever seen our children again if some of those children hadn't been incredibly brave and acted as heroes, both seen and unseen. 65 children made it to a Belgian embassy. As we later learned, more than that escaped but were recaptured before they had gotten far. Many have heard in the last few months of Charlie Destin and Francine Nichols, the two leaders who organized the escapees to reduce the number of people lost with a council to keep things equal between groups.

"Some have heard about how my son Richard Grayson-Wayne deactivated six bombs in less than ten minutes with the help of Daniel "Dibble" Smith to create a safe zone underground when the Bluemen decided to destroy the building including the children still trapped inside, saving the lives of twenty seven kids, but unfortunately not his own life or that of his youngest brother Damian as they were trapped when part of the ceiling collapsed.

"Who people have not heard of is Alexander Anderson, who managed to hide a journal that he had every victim he could find sign for proof that they had been there. A journal that allowed us to know who was still missing, and many who were confirmed deceased. People have not heard of a young Roy Harper, who masterminded the escape plot with the aid of Richard, Charlie, and Alexander, and provided the distraction that allowed Richard to take down the security with little Damian as a lookout while Alexander and Charlie got everyone out and gathered necessary supplies to survive.

"And there are more, Anastasia Jennings rescued three children from a bear on the hike to civilization. Alby Tennyson started a food fight at one point so that Nichi Li could get ahold of cough syrup to soothe a younger peer's cold. Nicole Reed stabbed a Blueman to stop him from hurting one of her roommates that she barely knew. Many more are remembered, but their names are unknown.

"In this time of grief and sorrow, it is our job to remember the many who suffered and the many who still do. It is our job to see that justice is given and that the victims receive the proper help. It is our job to remember the heroes amongst them, the children who stood up when they could, and the ones who were could not, the ones who focused their energy on surviving their trials, as hard as they were.

Bruce stepped back and pulled the cloth off the memorial, revealing a beautiful obsidian memorial with all the names of the known victims and room to put in any that they found later carved into the sides. In large letters, it proclaimed 'Andoxly Memorial'. Right below that, it stated in slightly smaller letters, 'For The Children Saved And The Children Lost To Stay Whelmed In An Overwhelming World.' Surrounding the memorial were the names of other children lost to related and unrelated human trafficking.

"This memorial is dedicated to the children and families affected by the experiments and human trafficking. The ones we've found, and the ones we haven't.

"Thank you."

With those words, Bruce stepped aside for other parents, starting with planned speakers, to take the stage and address the crowd. He ignored the applause as he slipped off the stage and into the front row where Jason and Alfred had saved him a seat. He wrapped an arm around his remaining son and allowed the rest of his tears to fall now that he was no longer in the spotlight.

Thank you for reading The Medium Between.

The jury is in and Inky and I have decided to post the first chapter of the sequel, currently known as The Wrong Batcave, unless a better name is found, on OCTOBER 31st, 2016! So keep an eye out. :D