“What’s the big roller coaster called again?” the boy asked, yawning so widely his jaw popped.
“The Space Rocket,” Bruce said, although that didn’t sound right. Not that it mattered. The kid wasn’t going to tell anyone.
“I’m tired,” the boy said. “Why am I so tired? I sleep all the time when I’m with you.”
“I guess it’s still not enough,” he said. “I guess you need more sleep.”
And the boy would be getting it soon.
The boy sat next to him on the bed. He’d been good so far, aside from a few moments of sniveling, and he’d been pretty self-contained. But now, unexpectedly, the boy leaned against him. “Are you telling the truth? About mom and dad waiting for us at Disney World?”
Bruce bristled. “Are you calling me a liar?”
The boy, oblivious to nonverbal cues, placed both hands on the man’s arm and stared up at him. He was the perfect child, the Gerber baby at nine years old, except his hair was getting lank from going without washing. “You’re not lying because something happened to mom and dad, are you?”
Bruce was struck dumb, but his mouth remained set and his gaze firm as a tear bled from the corner of the boy’s eye.
“Are you?” the boy repeated.
Before he could stop himself, Bruce rested his hand on the crown of the boy’s head, and he pulled him securely against his side. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“Promise?” The boy’s voice buzzed against his side, but he was fading. The boy’s head grew heavy and his face slid down, leaving lip slobber on the man’s shirt.
“Time to go to sleep, buddy,” he said, placing the child’s head to rest on the pillow. “You know, I’m going to go with you, because I want to ride the Space Rocket, too.”
It was true, the part about wanting to ride the roller coaster. He’d never ridden one, and it wasn’t exactly the kind of thing you did for the first time as an adult. Not unless you were with a child. The closest he’d ever come to a roller coaster was probably the rope swing over the river at the park when they were kids. He hadn’t thought of that in years—what made him think of it now?—but he could still remember that exhilarating rush when you let go of the rope and gravity took you, the sound of laughing voices calling out from the bank. He could even smell the funky tang of the river, a little like rotten vegetables.
Bruce shook himself free of the vivid memory, almost surprised by the sight of the semiconscious boy next to him.
“We’ll sit in the front car of the roller coaster,” he continued, “because that’s the scariest one. That’s where grown men scream like little girls.”
The boy mumbled, “—not gonna scream like a girl…”
“I know you wouldn’t,” he said. “You’re just about the bravest kid I know.”
The boy was lying on his belly, so Bruce rolled him over gently. The boy sighed, but his eyes stayed closed. The man found himself stroking the boy’s greasy hair. Goddammit. But it had to be done. His hand slid to the boy’s forehead, and he stopped, short of breath. It has to be done.
The man gasped when the boy opened his eyes and asked, “Do you really look like Bruce Wayne?”
He’d gotten so used to the feel of a mask, he’d nearly forgotten it was there. And it didn’t matter. In the end, none of it mattered. He slid the Batman face up over his own. The plastic chin caught on his lip, making a soft popping noise, before he set the mask aside. The boy reached up and touched the brown scruff on his face, smiling dazedly before closing his eyes again.
Bruce put his hand on the crown of the boy’s head one last time, then slowly slid it down his forehead… the rest of his face… until it covered the boy’s nose and mouth. And he pressed gently. So gently. Part of him hoped the boy would struggle, thinking that would make it easier to press harder, hold longer if he had something to fight against. But the boy didn’t struggle, and his eyes didn’t open. Has it been long enough yet? He didn’t think so.
And then the boy spoke.
Danny, no…
And his words ripped through Bruce’s mind.