Bruce stilled. “What?”
“We tracked her to the airport, where we learned that she had already managed to take a flight out of the country.”
Madeleine hadn’t died. Not even close.
She wasalive.
She had fooled the medical teams into taking her to the hospital, and in the chaos she had slipped away. Bruce thought back to her pale face, her tears, her farewells. Another, final con.
He couldn’t help lowering his head and letting out a single laugh.Of course she found a way to free herself.
“Well,” Bruce said, after a long pause. “She must have found a way to wire all that money to herself, wherever she is now.”
Gordon cleared his throat, and Bruce looked at him. “What?” he asked.
“Madeleine didn’t take the money from the Nightwalkers’ accounts,” he replied.
Bruce paused at that. “She didn’t?”
“No,” said Gordon. “She funneled everything into a charity. TheGotham City Legal Protection Fund just received a donation in her mother’s name, in the millions.”
At that, Bruce looked back and forth between the detectives. The Gotham City Legal Protection Fund—that was the charity his mother had always contributed to with her benefits, the group that defended those who couldn’t afford to defend themselves in court. And Madeleine had just given away the Nightwalkers’ money to it. As the detectives fell into conversation, Bruce found himself looking out the windows and wondering what had gone through her mind as she did it, what had prompted the move.
Perhaps she no longer believed that they were fighting for opposite sides. Perhaps he had changed her just as she had changed him. Perhaps it was a final gesture of goodwill, whether they’d been friends, or enemies, or more.
Or, perhaps, after all the lies between them, this was her way of telling him the truth of who she really was.
A full moon illuminated the streets of Gotham City tonight, painting its corners black and white and silver.
Bruce tore down the freeway in a new car, lost in thought. Earlier in the day, he had joined Harvey at the airport to see Dianne off as she flew to England; later in the week, he would do the same with Harvey as his friend headed off to college. And soon, Bruce would step into university life himself, right here in Gotham City, and into the shoes of his parents as Lucius and Alfred continued to groom him for Wayne Industries.
It seemed like life had organized itself again, that all the blocks of his future had aligned in the appropriate order and that he knew exactly what he needed to do. Everything was back to normal.
And yet, as Bruce drove, he still felt like he didn’t quite know where he was going. The GPS in his car kept dinging, reminding him that he needed to make a turn eventually if he was going to head back home. But he kept driving forward, passing one intersection after another. His thoughts lingered on the pockets of his life that still, after everything, seemed unfulfilled. Waiting.
A half hour later, he realized that he had ended up right in front of the Gotham City Concert Hall.
Bruce parked his car in the empty lot, then pulled on his long coat and walked toward the building. The streets here that had once teemed with police and flashing lights were now empty, and the concert hall itself sat shrouded in shadows, instead of illuminated by floodlights. A cold breeze blew about him, and he hiked up the collar of his dark coat so that only the upper half of his face could be seen. There was no event at the hall tonight, but the outer stairwell doors were unlocked, and so he went in, taking the stairs all the way up to the hall’s roof.
Once there, he headed to the ledge, where he could see the glittering lights of the entire city.
It seemed strange that only a few months ago, he had set foot inside Arkham Asylum and found himself face to face with a girl who seemed to exist in a realm between black and white, who seemed a force of evil, then of good, and then everything in between. He could still remember their first meeting—her, seated against the wall with her eyes glancing briefly in his direction, her expression unreadable, her thoughts hidden behind the dark wall of her gaze. What had gone through her mind during that first moment? What had she seen in him? Just another billionaire mark, her ticket to escaping from Arkham? Or had she seen someone worth talking to?
Bruce reached into his pocket and pulled out the letter that Madeleine had left him before her escape from Arkham. He had folded and refolded it—first into a flower, then into the diamond, then back again—so many times now, following the lines that she’d originally made, that the creases were starting to fray, leaving fine tears in the paper. He read the words again.
Dear Bruce,
We’re not a very smart match, are we? I can’t think of a story where the billionaire and the murderer end up happily ever after. So let’s call us even: thank you for helping me get out of this place, and you’re welcome for the months of entertainment. I hope you’ll remember me.
xo,
MW
Bruce studied her words for a moment. When he’d first read it, he had found her note mocking, taunting him for being so foolish as to allow her to escape; now the words sounded wistful, even nostalgic, a letter yearning for something that would never be. A final note to him, in case their paths never crossed again. Maybe she had even done that on purpose. It was difficult to tell, with her.
In spite of himself, he could feel a small smile turning his lips up at the memory of their conversations together, the knowledge that she was still out there, somewhere, no doubt carving a new path for herself.
Maybe they weren’t a smart match, but fate had matched them anyway. And someday, in some future, perhaps they would be matched again. He wondered what he would say if he ever saw her again. He would tell her that he wished they could have met in a different world, without glass between them.
