“So damn noble,” she managed to say, the ghost of a smile appearing on her lips. They were stained red.
Bruce’s arms tightened as he pulled her closer. “Save your breath,” he replied. Madeleine trembled, and it took him a moment to realize that his vision was blurring from unshed tears. “But keep breathing. You got that? Keep breathing.”
“It’s…too bad,” she said, her voice quieting so that Bruce had to lean closer in order to hear her, “that we met like this.”
She was saying her goodbyes. Bruce started to reply, but she shook her head. “You’re fighting for the wrong side,” she said.
As Bruce crouched over her, he found himself wishing that he could convince her, that there was some magic word he could say to her that would show her the sideways view of her world, that perhaps what she had been taught all her life wasn’t true, that therewastrue justice out there. He wished there was a magic word he could say to keep her alive. But instead, he found himself staring back into her eyes as the light slowly faded from them.
“I’m so sorry,” he finally said.
She tried to focus on him. “Me too.”
He put a hand gently against her face, then leaned down and touched her lips with his. Somehow, he thought that perhaps he would feel her kiss him back, that this gesture could keep the breath in her body long enough to save her. But when he pulled back to look again at her face, her eyes were closed.
The sounds of the helicopter still roared above them, and the spotlight was sweeping in their direction. Bruce could hear police kicking at the locked stairwell door, ready to burst onto the rooftop.
He kept his head down and buried his face against Madeleine’s, letting himself linger for a final second. Then he forced himself to step away from her body. He pulled his helmet back on and, shrouded in shadows by the concrete wall, ran toward the edge of the rooftop. He hooked a cable to the ledge, flung himself over, and dropped out of view before the light could reach him. The line blurred by in his hands. As he reached the ground, he could hear the police finally break through the stairwell door above. He pictured them flooding the roof. Their attention was fixed on thetwo bodies. Bruce could hear them shouting Madeleine’s name. He forced himself to unclip the cable and blend in with the night.
There was absolutely no reason to weep, Bruce thought as heran. Madeleine had been a criminal, a thief, a fugitive, and a liar. He told himself this over and over again.
And yet, the tears still came.
Streaks of light. The sound of a camera crew and the rush of uniforms. The roar of the helicopter still hovering over the hall. Bruce heard everything happen around him in a daze, but there was no time to let any of it sink in. He hid his black suit and changed into his own clothing. He found his way through the tunnels, where he came face to face with the police. They took him to the crowd of cars that made up the barricade, where Alfred and Harvey were waiting for him.
Alfred had made up a story about how the Nightwalkers had broken Bruce out of the precinct in order to force his accounts’ passwords from him. Bruce explained how he’d used his accounts to disable the drones remotely. Harvey backed up their statements.
If anyone suspected Bruce as the figure in black on the rooftop, no one acted on it.
Dianne was sitting upright, wrapped in a blanket, on a gurney beside one of the barricade’s ambulances. When Bruce and Harvey reached her, she stretched her trembling arms out to both of them, hugging them tight. Bruce closed his eyes, taking in the embrace. At least they were all here. At least his friends were all alive. That was all that mattered.
When he opened his eyes, he thought, for a moment, that he saw a girl with dark eyes walking through the crowd. He thought he could hear her voice. Maybe if he blinked, he would find himself inside the halls of Arkham again, staring through a glass window at a girl who tilted her head at him and wove her hair into a shining black braid.
But when he looked again, she was gone, replaced with crowds of police and reporters, like she’d never been there at all.
—
The next morning, Bruce woke up back in his mansion and limped his way down to the courtyard. His body felt bruised and sore in a hundred places, but for the first time in a while, he’d slept through the night. No dreams. No haunted halls. It was a surreal feeling, watching the sunlight cut through the windows of his home and cast bright patterns on the floor. As if the previous night had never happened.
Out on the courtyard patio, Alfred had already set out a tray of coffee, eggs, and toast. Bruce gingerly took a seat in a chair, then looked around at the soothing greenery. The morning was so strangely quiet. Only the sound of birds and a distant fountain could be heard. Had it only been last night that the hostage standoff had taken place at the concert hall, that the roar of helicopter blades and gunfire had filled his ears?
“Morning, Master Wayne.”
Bruce turned in his seat to see his guardian come outside with an armful of envelopes. “Glad to see it, Alfred,” he replied as Alfred took a seat beside him.
“Lucius stopped by. He wanted to pass along his gratitude to you,” Alfred said. “If the police ever come sniffing around WayneTech, he’ll make sure to cover for you.”
“Does anyone suspect…?”
Alfred shook his head. “Police still have a warrant out for the arrest of anunidentified assailant in black.They won’t find you, not if Lucius has anything to do with it.”
Bruce tried to smile at Alfred. “Did you apologize to Lucius for me, for breaking into his labs?”
“Lucius is quite fine with your thievery, all things considered,” Alfred said with a single chuckle, “and would like to see you later today to give his thanks in person, if you’re up for it. He says the team at WayneTech will be busy working out the drone security loophole that Madeleine was able to exploit. Quite a loophole, I’d say.” Alfred took the stack of envelopes under his arm and tossed them onto the table. “Some cards were dropped off at the front gate for you.”
Bruce ran a hand through the stack, recognizing the names and some of the addresses. They were from classmates and friends, teachers, and Wayne Industries employees. His hand paused on one. It was addressed from Richard. He glanced up at Alfred, who simply nodded, and then carefully tore the seal. Inside was a get-well card. When Bruce opened the card, he saw a brief, handwritten message.
Thank you.
