The Death of Bruce Wayne

It should be raining.

Rain has so much emotion associated with it. Sadness, grief, romance, change. When it rained for Noah, it was the death of an old world and the birth of a new. In the Tale of Two Cities, it rained as an omen of unfortunate occurrences. But in the story of a ten-year-old boy who just witnessed the murder of his parents, there isn't a cloud in the night sky.

Rain would have been a nice warning.

I wish it was raining for more practical reasons too. Rain washes away blood- instead it pools at my feet. Rain obscures vision- instead my gaze locks onto my mother's fear-frozen face. Rain would make my face wet- instead the tears refuse to break the dam that my young, broken heart has erected. Rain would be cold- instead my rage burns like the coals of a smith's forge, and hardens like the steel of a claymore. Rain would be a distraction- instead, I notice the piece of cloth that had been left behind by my parents' murderer.

I grabbed the cloth and clenched it in my fist. It was soft and clean, and though I knew it belonged to the mugger who stole my parents from me, it threatened to break down the dam around my tear ducts.

It should be raining.

I looked down at the cloth and the coals that were smoldering in my heart suddenly leapt into flame.

My name is Bruce Wayne. My parents were Martha and Thomas Wayne and they were murdered in cold blood on a rainless night when I was ten years old.

And I know who killed them.

Two years ago, I spent my birthday in the hospital. Nothing serious, but I did have a minor concussion from a fall. You should have seen my mom; she was worried sick. I was playing outside my parents' mansion when I stumbled upon a section of the grounds keeping that was less tended than most. There was an abandoned well that was boarded up, but time had weakened the planks.

I woke up in the bottom of a narrow cave. My head hurt like hell and the dark swallowed everything except the narrow shaft of light from my fall. Like any child, I screamed for my parents, I saw a thousand eyes open down at the end of the tunnel.

My dad told me that the bats were more afraid of me than them, but I never believed him. At least the bats were able to move in the face of danger- I froze in the face of the cloud of flapping wings and rodent screams. Later, in the hospital, I was able to put on a strong face for my mother, but the sight of bats continues to make me clam up and petrify.

The police station was much like a swarm of bats the day my parents died. The swirl of officers and the flapping of coats turned the GCPD into a veritable hell swarm. Aside from being incredibly wealthy, my parents were also very influential in Gotham's sociopolitical groundwork. My father had even been in the race for mayor before his murder.

The police were nowhere near as graceful as the bats. Bats use sonar to avoid each other mid-flight and their formations ebb and flow with the wind. The GCPD clumsily floundered as each department fought for the chance to be on the case, or desperately passed off this career nightmare.

But, like the swarm of bats, little Bruce Wayne was caught in the middle and largely ignored. I was questioned briefly, but by keeping quiet and still, I was soon left alone. I overheard the overzealous officers when new information from the murder surfaced. A gun had been found- a custom model with no discernable serial number. Fingerprints were nonexistent. The murderer had either worn gloves or wiped down the weapon. I finally heard what I was looking for when the Commissioner- a man named Loeb- came to me.

"Bruce? Bruce, right?" he was a portly, bald man with a cloud of cigarette smoke obscuring most of his face. His voice was gruff and unsympathetic. I nodded meekly at him. "Good. A man named Pennyworth's here for you. Your butler, I think."

Alfred. Alfred had been with my family since before I was born. His was a face that I knew as well as any family member. I stood up and sulked towards the door. When we came outside, dawn was peeking over the horizon, and a sleek black car was waiting by the sidewalk. Alfred stood by in his impeccably tailored suit, holding the passenger door open. His face was grave and he looked at me with pity.

"Get home safely," Loeb called, half to me and half to Alfred. "Don't worry! We'll find the man who did this!"

He was wrong. I knew who the murderer was and I knew he would never be caught.

I sullenly entered the car without looking at Alfred. He looked at me with a pained expression then shut the door and walked around the car. The car was on the road for several minutes before Alfred spoke.

"Master Bruce, I- I don't know what to say, but I promised your parents that I would take care of you should anything happen to them. I cannot replace them, but I will do what I can to be there for you."

I said nothing. I didn't even look at him. Alfred coughed uncomfortably.

"Master Bruce," Alfred stopped midsentence. He opened his mouth again and closed it. Finally, after two minutes of silence, he continued. "Master Bruce, do you need to talk? I know you've been through so much in the past few hours."

I continued my stoic non-response until Alfred took the hint. Alfred locked his eyes on the road and remained silent. As soon as I knew he had given up, I sneezed- loudly, but not so much to sound forced. Alfred reacted immediately.

"Oh, Master Bruce! Let me get you my-"

Before Alfred could reach his breast pocket, I threw the strip of cloth that I had hidden in my pocket onto the dashboard. It was a clean, white handkerchief. The fabric was a creaseless silk weave that was embroidered on the bottom corner with two violet letters: A. P.

Alfred looked briefly at the handkerchief and his face blanched. Without looking me in the eye, he said, "Ah."

That monosyllable suddenly confirmed every dark suspicion that I had stored in my heart for the past hours. I hadn't realized that I was holding onto a sliver of hope that I was wrong- that Alfred had not betrayed my family.

"Master Bruce, you need to understand-"

"YOU KILLED MY PARENTS!" The floodgates of emotion broke inside me and my voice thundered in the small confines of the vehicle. My face was wet and hot as the words flew from my mouth. I don't know when I had started crying.

Alfred never raised his voice. "You need to understand Master Br-"

"MURDERER!" My throat was already raw. I was not controlling myself and I had no intention of doing so.

"Bruce," Alfred, for the first time in my life, neglected to say 'Master Bruce.' "You need to understand. There is more that is at stake than you. You know your father was running for mayor?"

I ignored him and turned to the window to watch the scenery roll past. I was done with him. I was done with everything. I wanted to stop existing. We were exiting the city and reaching the less developed sections. Guardrails passed by interrupted only by short patches of untidy fields. Alfred continued talking, but I couldn't care less.

"Your father was gaining a great deal of popularity, but his decisions were dangerous to the city. He was pouring money into non-profit organizations that were going to irreparably impair the economy. If his competitor doesn't win the race, Gotham could fall apart."

Grass. Guardrail. Grass. Guardrail. Grass. A train sounded in the distance.

"Bruce, I did what I did for the city! Will you listen to me?" Alfred sounded more desperate, his voice pitched higher, but I was too busy watching the flock of birds overhead.

Alfred sighed and his demeanor seemed to drop by several degrees. It was as though he were slouching into a pit.

"Did you know I have a daughter, Bruce? Mayor Kane knew. He found her at her apartment in London, and showed me pictures of- Oh God, he had my daughter, Bruce! He knew people. He could have killed her if I didn't- if I hadn't-"

Guardrail. Grass. Guardrail. Grass. Choo Choo. Guardrail.

"We can get her, now," Alfred was grasping at straws now- his end of the conversation was coming in quick bursts. Grass. "Kane gave me an address. You'll like her, she is quite a dear." Guardrail. "We'll find a place away from Gotham, away from all this mess." Grass. "I'll be able to keep you safe from danger." Guardrail. "You won't have your fortune, but when you come of age-"

I didn't hear the finish to that sentence over the sound of the wind rushing through the open car door. I rolled as best as I could into the stretch of field outside the car. My shoulders stung and my knees nearly locked up when I tried to stand, but I forced myself to my feet and ran. I heard Alfred calling my name, but I didn't look back. I just ran straight into the trees in front of me.

Branches raked my face and leaves obscured my vision. I kept running. Roots grabbed at my feet. I kept running. I was so focused on that single task that I nearly ran into the train that was passing along its tracks.

I was hoping I would find it.

I ran with the train even though it was faster than my short legs would keep up. As soon as the first open door passed me, I jumped sideways onto my sore shoulders. With groans of pain, I looked around me and saw that the car was empty. I relaxed and let my body rock with the sobs that had waited patiently for me to give up.

I looked at the ceiling of the car and thought back to the previous night. My parents were dead. Alfred betrayed them. I lost my home. The skies darkened.

It began to rain.