Post by capeandcowl on Nov 7, 2008 2:10:47 GMT -5
Batman
Issue Thirty-Two: "The Grey Ghost"
Written by Grant LaFleche
Cover by Dr. Dread
Edited by Grant LaFleche
"Aw come on, Bruce.”
Dick Grayson stared hard into the back of his mentor’s head. Bruce Wayne. The Batman.
Bruce didn’t turn his head from the microscope his eye seemed glued to. There was only the harsh gravel of his voice.
“No.”
“Aw, man,” Dick said, looking down at his costume. The red torso was cool. Bruce had to admit that at least. He could see Bruce’s point about the yellow cape. Maybe it was a tad on the bright side. But the trunks?
“Long pants, Dick. That’s it,” Bruce said, still focused on the slide under the lens.
“But, Bruce, this is what I wore in the circus,” Dick said, kicking at the floor with is foot. There was nothing there to actually kick. No dirt. Not even a pebble. But he kicked just the same. “I’m comfortable…”
Bruce lifted his eye from the lens and shot a look at Dick and froze him where he stood.
“Oh ok. Fine….” Dick said. “I’ll go upstairs and change.”
“How many?”
“What?” Dick said turning back to Bruce, who was now standing right behind him. “Ah! Stop doing that!”
“How many?” Bruce said again.
“How many what?” Dick said, suddenly feeling self conscious in the Robin suit. “You know, I bet none of the kids at school has their dad sneak up on them like that….”
The pair just stared at each other for a long, silent heart beat. Orphans. Partners. Family.
“Um, not that you are…you know….I mean, if you were that’d be…I dunno…ok,” Dick stammered. Bruce put a heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“It’s ok, Dick,” he said, the gravel in his voice replaced by a smooth tenor. “How many stairs are you going to go up?”
“How many…huh?” Dick said. “I dunno. A dozen maybe?”
“A dozen,” Bruce said, smiling down at the boy.
“Um….maybe?” Dick said. This was always the way. Bruce had a point to make here, but Dick would be damned if he knew what it was. Figures.
“How many times have you walked up and down these stairs?” Bruce said, sitting down on one of the cold marble steps. Dick sat down beside him, flinching a bit from the cold. Maybe long pants were the way to go.
“Every day….”
“Exactly. And every day you walk up and down 68 steps exactly from the grandfather clock in the living room,” Bruce said. “The difference is that you see the stairs, but you don’t observe.”
Dick stood up and looked up the stone stair case. “Ok…”
“Observe it. Analyze it. Record it in your mind. Do this with everything,” Bruce said, getting up and slowly walking back to this lab. “That’s the difference between finding the evidence that puts a killer in Gordon’s jail and missing the evidence that sets that killer free.”
“Right. Observe. Analyze. Record,” Dick said. But the stairs didn’t seem quite right. Too rough. And what was he doing in this old Robin costume anyway? “Bruce, have we had this conversation before?”
Dick turned around but he was no longer in the cave. He was standing on the catwalk at the Gotham Dam. Bruce was still in his bat suit, sans the cape and cowl, but he looked drawn. Pale. A shell of himself. Dick looked down at himself. He was no longer Robin, but in his Nightwing gear.
“What’s going on here, Bruce.”
“Observe. Analyze. Record.”
Dick looked around. He’d been to the dam with Superman only a day ago, but things were out of place.
“This isn’t right,” he said. “This railing was broken and there was warning tape here, right where you….”
“Where I what?” Bruce said.
“You could have made it. There is any number of ways you could have…”
“Dick,” Bruce said, grinning and leaning against the dam. “Is there any evidence to support any of those ideas. Any at all?”
Dick said nothing. But he knew it was true. The evidence is what the evidence is, not what we want it to be. He could think of a dozen ways Bruce might have been able to escape that fall. A dozen ways and not a shred of evidence for any of them.
“There was warning tape here last night,” Dick said at last.
“So what does that tell you, champ?” Bruce said.
“This isn’t….this isn’t real,” Dick said, staring hard as his mentor. “Hallucination?”
“For the win!” Bruce said, leaping from the ground and landing easily on the catwalk railing.
“Yeah and that really doesn’t seem much like Bruce, but does seem a whole lot like…”
“You? Two points for the boy wonder!,” Bruce said, flipping backward and landing firmly on the balls of his feet on the railing. “And this tells you what?”
“My breathing is a little shallow. I’m a little dizzy frankly,” Dick said. “Ugh. My head hurts too….concussion….”
“See, Dick, you don’t need any help,” Bruce said, his body starting to dissolve into the wind.
“Bruce!” Dick said, trying to run toward him. But a wave of nausea over came him and he dropped to one knee. “I never got…..never got to say goodbye….”
Bruce just smiled before vanishing completely.
“BRUCE!” Dick bolted up. He was in the cave on one Alfred’s medical beds. The butler was gently pushing back on Dick’s shoulder, easing back to the pillow.
“Now, now Master Richard. You’d sustained quiet a concussion. Just lay back now,” Alfred said. “Mr. Fox brought you here. You’re safe….”
Dick tried to speak, but he couldn’t seem to make his mouth work and the cave went dark.