***MJ... DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER WITHOUT A GOOD SUPPLY OF OREROS AND KLEENEX!!!***

The Batmobile’s engines came to life, a low, powerful growl that seemed to vibrate through the entire structure. Batman quickly helped Hailey into the passenger seat, gently lifting Richard onto her lap. Hailey held him close, her arms wrapped tightly around his small, trembling body. He buried his face in her chest, the sound of her heartbeat the only comfort in the suffocating dark.

Inside the cockpit, a profound silence had fallen, but Bruce, not the Dark Knight, shattered it with fierce urgency. “Hailey, stay with me! Look at me! Tell me a story. Tell me about the first time you wore that dress to the charity gala—the one that made Alfred nearly faint.”

Hailey managed a weak, cracked laugh. “The… the red one, with the slit? He… he said I was going to give him a coronary.” Her voice was barely a whisper, fading with each word.

Bruce slammed the accelerator and hit the boost. The Batmobile roared, its engines screamed for mercy. Not tonight.

On the dashboard, the temperature gauge was spiking red, and alarms began to scream, flashing critical warnings about engine overload and structural integrity.

“Hold yourself together, girl, just a little longer!” Bruce gritted out, pushing the machine past every safety limit. The car lurched, tearing across the landscape.

“That’s it, Hailey, keep talking!” Bruce demanded, his voice strained, eyes flicking between the road and the rearview mirror. “Tell me about the shelter. What was your favorite moment?”

“The kids…” she gasped, her grip on Richard weakening. “They… the first time they called me… Doctor Hailey… like I was a real person…”

“You are a real person, Hailey. The best of us. And you’re going to stay right here with us.”

He keyed the comm, “Jim…”

“Don’t you dare, Batman!” Jim Gordon’s voice was a bellow, raw with betrayal. “I just got a full report on the attack on Wayne Manor. The Joker’s graffiti, the car—my forensic team confirmed the DNA from the car belonged to Harleen Quinzel! I told you to not take Joker lightly. Instead, you’ve been running some kind of twisted game with the Joker, and it’s gotten a family hurt!”

Batman’s gauntlets gripped the steering wheel tighter. He regretted the lies he had told, not just the lies of his identity, but the lies he’d told to the one man who had trusted him completely—his friend.

He cleared his throat. “Jim… Right now, Mrs. Wayne and Richard need medical attention. The Joker and his goons… they’re also going to need it, they’re at the old Ajax plant.” He paused, the words heavy on his tongue. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it, pal,” Gordon retorted, but his voice had lost some of its initial fury. “What is this?! What’s going on?!”

“Jim… I’m sending you coordinates. I’m asking you to trust me this one last time,” Batman said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Come alone.”

The Batmobile’s on-board systems sent an automated SOS: Hailey was fading.

***

Jim Gordon made a quiet excuse to the officers at the scene, telling them he had a lead to follow on his own. He ignored the perplexed looks and drove his squad car away from the burnt-out shell of Wayne Manor, his mind a whirlwind of questions and betrayal. He gripped the wheel so hard his knuckles ached, the memory of Batman’s raspy voice pounding in his head.

He followed the coordinates Batman had sent, a simple ping on his GPS, which led him to a secluded section of the coastline overlooking Gotham Bay. He parked his car near the edge of the cliff and got out. There was no entrance, nothing but a sheer rock face and the roar of the surf below. Just as he was about to radio for an explanation, a section of the rock slid silently inward, revealing a dark, yawning cave entrance. He drew his pistol, but something in him told him not to. This was not a trap. This was an invitation.

He walked inside, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the damp rock. He followed the winding path, the air growing colder, until he rounded a final bend and stopped dead in his tracks. The sight was beyond belief. He stood at the edge of a massive underground cavern, a futuristic labyrinth of computers, displays, and equipment that defied all logic. In the center of the vast space, suspended in silent, menacing beauty, was a second Batmobile.

Gordon slowly lowered his pistol, the staggering truth slamming into him with the force of a wrecking ball.

He saw two figures standing near a medical bay: a man in a crisp suit, his white hair a stark contrast to the darkness of the cave, and a man in a white coat, his expression one of focused concern. They were looking at the entrance tunnel, their bodies rigid with anticipation. Gordon knew Alfred and the man in the white coat, Dr. Gaines, and with an unshakable certainty, that they were waiting for Batman to arrive.

And then he heard it. The roar of the engines, growing louder and closer. The Batmobile slammed into the cliff face entrance, the rock sliding inward just a moment too late. The car rattled violently, its frame groaning in protest. Bruce pushed the pedal one last time.

The Batmobile came screaming into the tunnel, its headlights illuminating the vast cavern. It slammed to a smoking, sputtering stop, the scent of burning oil and scorching metal filling the air. Its engines died instantly, leaving only the deafening hiss of steam rising from its fractured casing.

Batman vaulted out, a single-minded fury in his movements. He scooped Richard from Hailey’s lap, his hands gentle despite the urgency, and strode directly to Jim Gordon, thrusting the boy into the Commissioner’s arms. “Jim. Take him,” he commanded, his voice raw.

Gordon, still reeling from the shock of the Batcave, accepted the boy on instinct. He held Richard, the small, trembling body in his arms an anchor in the swirling chaos. He buried his face in Gordon’s shoulder, his quiet sobs a raw, heartbreaking sound. Jim Gordon could only stand there, a bewildered statue, a silent observer to the grand, terrible theater of this life.

Batman didn’t wait for a response. He grabbed the waiting gurney, raced back to the car, and wheeled it to Hailey’s side. He carefully lifted her out, his touch soft against her bruised body. She winced, but her eyes never left Richard’s face as her body was laid on the gurney. Her stomach, a visible swell under the torn fabric of her dress, was showing the unmistakable signs of late pregnancy.

As he, Alfred, and the doctor began to wheel the gurney toward the medical bay, the doctor’s eyes were fixed on the diagnostics from a quick scan. “It’s not good, Bruce,” he said, his voice grim. “Internal bleeding, blunt force trauma… We need to deliver the baby now! Or we’re going to lose both of them!”

The words hung in the air, a new, cold terror settling over the cave. The Joker’s final, cruel joke was not on Batman, but on his family.

Jim Gordon, holding a child in his arms, heard it. The doctor’s voice, clear as a bell, spoke a single, devastating word: “Bruce.” The missing heir. The playboy who had always been a step ahead. Bruce Wayne. Batman. One in the same. He had to sit down. His legs gave out, and he found the nearest chair, a strange, high-tech piece of equipment. He kept holding Richard, the boy’s small, shaking body the only real thing in this insane new world.

***

A flurry of urgent motion. A curtain was pulled, hiding the scene from view. The sounds of frantic activity bled through the fabric.

Beep… beep… beep… beep… beep… beep...

Then, the sudden, powerful sound of a baby’s cry. Loud and angry, a welcome sound that sliced through the tension like a knife. The baby was healthy, unharmed.

Beep…. beep…. beep…. beep…. beep….

Bruce stood at Hailey’s side, his massive frame shaking. He looked down at her, his face a mask of profound grief and relief. Hailey’s eyes fluttered open, weak but lucid.

Beep…… beep…… beep…… beep……

“…Bruce?” she whispered, her voice barely a breath. He took her hand, squeezing it gently.

Beep……… beep………. beep………

“She’s fading!” The doctor worked faster.

“Tell… tell them…” she managed to get out, her breath fading with each word.

Beep………… beep………….

“Tell… our… children…” She smiled weakly. “I… tried… and… I… lov…”

“Don’t give up!” The doctor worked frantically. “Stay with me!”

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee….

Her hand went limp in his as her eyes fluttered closed.

Alfred put his hand on Bruce’s shoulder. There was nothing he could say.

The only sound in the cave was the monitor’s steady tone and a low, pained sound that came from deep within the man in the bat suit. Tears flowed freely down his cowl, a raw, human display of grief that felt alien in the high-tech, sterile environment. He stood up, his massive frame shaking. The rage that blazed in his eyes, a cold, burning fury, that scared even Alfred.

He moved with a single, brutal purpose, the heavy footfalls of his boots echoing on the concrete floor. He was going to the secondary Batmobile. No more lies, no more lines, no more holding back. This ends NOW! Joker took them from me. First Jason and now Hailey. They WILL BE his last victims.

The Batmobile’s engines burst to life, the sound a promise of violence.

Suddenly, a figure stepped between him and the vehicle. It was Gordon, still clutching Richard. Jim pressed one arm against Batman’s armored chest, his face etched with a mix of fear, sadness, and stern resolve.

“Bruce,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “This isn’t the way.”

Hearing Jim call him Bruce was like a splash of cold water. It snapped him out of the red haze of his rage. The fury in his eyes dimmed for a moment, and he looked down at the man who was both his ally and his friend.

“Dad…?” a small voice asked, cutting through the silence. It was Richard, his face still buried in Gordon’s shoulder. He pushed Richard into Bruce’s arms.

Bruce collapsed to his knees as he hugged him. Desperately holding on while trying to deal with the chaos of emotions burning his gut.

Gordon placed a hand on Bruce’s heaving shoulder. The weight of his friend’s grief, of his own shock, was immense, but he knew this wasn’t the time nor the place. He had a million questions, a million things to say, but all of them could wait. He turned and walked away, leaving the two remaining parts of a broken family to mourn in the silence of the cave. He would deal with the fallout later.

***

Three days passed. The Batcave was silent, filled only with the low hum of machinery and the quiet sounds of Alfred tending to a new life, and tending to the other two he had left. The city was in a collective state of mourning. Dr. Hailey Anne Wayne, the beautiful, kind-hearted woman who had captured the heart of Gotham and Gotham’s most beloved son, was gone.

Her funeral was attended by what seemed like all of Gotham and Metropolis. The skies were a somber gray, matching the mood of the crowd that lined the streets. The procession moved at a funeral pace, the only sound a low, collective whisper of grief. A glass-cased caisson, draped in black silk and garlanded with white roses, carried her casket. It was drawn by a snow white horse that walked with its head down as if it too was feeling the loss of such a blessed soul. As it passed, onlookers threw flowers on the ground before it, a carpet of color that was a fleeting tribute to a life cut short. The air was thick with unspoken grief and a shared sense of loss.

Behind the caisson, at the head of the mourners, walked a single, devastatingly silent family. Bruce carried his newborn daughter, Hailey, a small bundle of white blankets cradled close to his chest. To his left, Richard walked, his small hand lost in his father’s. To his right, Alfred kept pace, a silent pillar of strength.

***

Six months have passed since the funeral.

The grand procession, the city’s collective mourning, and the public tributes had faded into memory, replaced by a deep and suffocating quiet in the luxurious penthouse that now served as the Wayne’s temporary home. Wayne Manor, burned to the ground by the Joker, was under reconstruction, a slow and silent process.

Bruce was a shadow in his own temporary residence, a hollow echo of the man he once was. He had buried the love of his life and the mother of their children next to his parents, sealing away a piece of his heart in the same cold earth.

He was there for them, but not present. Richard, now approaching nine, would often find his father staring into space, a mug of cold coffee in his hand. Little Hailey, now six months old, would coo and smile in her crib, her bright blue eyes and round face a perfect mirror of her mother’s, and Bruce would watch her, a silent, heartbroken vigil.

While he isolated himself, Gotham’s streets were quiet. The Justice League, respecting his absence, had taken on the responsibility of keeping the city safe. They patrolled in shifts, a silent understanding passing between them that Gotham was in mourning, and so was its protector. The city itself, however, had noticed its silent guardian was gone. On the newsstands and in hushed conversations, people wondered where Batman had went. Some thought he had retired, others feared the worst, but no one knew the truth.

© Copyright 2025 J.R. Geiger. All rights reserved.