Batman: Spirit Of Vengeance

“We are here, Master Dick.” The second I laid my eyes on the mansion, I could not dream of taking them off. It was not loud and flashy like in those old movies, it was rich but not in appearance, maybe in history. Maybe in legacy. However, when Alfred opened the doors to welcome me, and the creak of the door echoed through the deserted halls, I stumbled upon the word I had been trying so desperately to find. “Lonely”.

Three days have passed. I have not shared a look with my supposed father. Alfred is nice but worried and disconnected. I caught him talking to himself next to the fireplace last night. He urged me to sleep, in his ever so caring voice but I could not help but notice his obsession with putting me to sleep before nightfall. “It’s addictive.” He says. “Your father would know.” If I get to meet him someday that is. I do reflect upon the incident and draw a conclusion. He was praying. For what? He has a roof over his head, food on his table, clothes on his body and love in his heart. What, or rather who, is he praying for?

Day 17, I noticed my father, the renowned Bruce Wayne, step awkwardly into the frame of the television set. Alfred loved his speech about reviving Gotham, but he used a word that stuck with me to describe the speech, “performance.”

Day 28, Alfred took me to the pier. It was wonderful but I feel like I ruined the experience. The carnival air reminded me of things I need to forget, things that bury me right next to my parents. I ran away from the pier, sketch book in hand as I started to rip the pages apart and tossing them into Gotham harbour. “Wonderful thing this.” Alfred found me, he was holding one of my sketches, smiling at it. “That silly, is it?” “Silly? No. God no. This…” he held the page high up over my head, illuminated by the moon light as he wiped the tears off my cheeks. “This is a dream. There’s nothing wrong with dreaming, my boy.” “I feel like I’m running away from my problems instead of standing up to them whenever I open this book.” Alfred seemed concerned. “No. You’re not running away. You’re just taking a detour that’s all.” He held me close as he looked up, his eyes fixated on the edge of the deck. Had my tears not painted a hazy picture, I could swear I saw the ears of a giant bat, sliding away from sight.

Day 74, I think I saw something I shouldn’t have. A gateway in the graveyard. Mister Wayne seems to visit it a lot. Before the passage was closed off forever to me, I swear I saw a different man inside. In some weird way, I feel like……I feel like I saw myself.

Day 90, My father……he is the Batman, and I have no idea how to describe what I’m feeling right now. This will be my last entry, and for good reason I hope. Alfred seems displeased but I think……no. That’s ungrateful. Alfred is a better father to me. He understands me, he loves me, he listens. But, Bruce Wayne unlocked something in me. A sense of thrill, I think. An ability to look past the black and the white. This inexplicable light is spreading through me like a wildfire. Maybe, just maybe, Dick Grayson is not alone.

“Open journal. Continue. Day 90, The child seems to have found a way into the bat-cave. I fear I may have ignited a wildfire within him. I fear……vengeance may get ahold of him as it did me. One thing is for certain though, I must protect him from this discovery.” Bruce picks up a drawing sitting on his desk. “Even if it is by embracing his dream. Denying him this won’t work. It will eat him inside out. I need to let him choose his path, but I will need to choose his motives for him. Whether I like it or not….” Bruce set down the drawing as it was, a depiction of a boy dressed in red and gold, an R embedded into his chest plate. “…Bruce Wayne is not alone. End entry.”