Child Snatcher

by Syl Francis

Eight-year-old Danny parked his bicycle right outside Browne's Stop and Go. His excitement was almost palpable. Today was Wednesday, and that meant that Browne's would have a new shipment of comic books. Danny had been waiting all month long for the latest issue of Daredevil!

"Hi, Mister Browne!" Danny said as he walked in. "Are they in?"

Browne smiled distractedly; he was busy with a customer.

"In the back, Danny!" Browne replied, waving his hand towards the rear of the store where the magazines were displayed. Browne liked Danny. He was a regular customer and a nice, well-behaved boy, but Browne didn't have time to chat at the moment.

The hours between 3:00 to 6:00 p.m. were usually the store's busiest period. People rushing home from work stopped to buy what they needed to make it to the end of the week and the next grocery shopping day.

Danny smiled his thanks, impatiently pushed back his dark bangs, which always seemed to fall over his eyes, and hurried towards the back. As he made his way to the comics rack, Danny didn't notice a pair of malevolent eyes following him.

"That'll be ten ninety-six, sir," Browne said. "Sir?"

The customer turned immediately and handed Browne fifteen dollars. Browne took the money.

"Okay, sir, that's ten ninety-six out of fifteen dollars. Your change is--" He stopped, startled. His customer had suddenly grabbed his purchases and was already walking out without waiting for his change.

"Wait! Sir! Your change! Sir!" Browne ran outside. He saw his customer jump into the passenger side of a dark van with tinted windows. Browne tried waving, but soon gave up.

Automatically he checked the license plate. He could just barely make out the first three letters: XLJ. The last three figures were obscured.

"Talk about weird." Browne shook his head then hurried back inside. When he stepped in, Browne saw that Danny was waiting for him.

"This is gonna be the best issue yet, Mister Browne," Danny said, his dark blue eyes lighting up excitedly. "I hope when I grow up that I can be a superhero just like Daredevil!"

"But Danny," Browne said. "Daredevil is only make-believe. Wouldn't you rather be a real superhero like Superman or the Flash?"

"I guess they're okay, too," Danny said shrugging his shoulders. "But DD is way cooler!"

Browne smiled.

"You're the expert, Danny!" Browne said. "I only sell 'em. I don't read 'em!"

Danny shook his head. He just couldn't understand how anyone could work with comic books and never read them. What a waste!

Along with the latest Daredevil, Danny also bought a root beer, a bag of tortilla chips, and Gummi Bears.

"Looks like you're all set for a quiet afternoon of reading and snacks, Danny," Browne said.

Danny smiled.

"Today's my Mom's day to pick up my baby sister at the daycare. I promised her I'd go straight home from school, but I hadda get Daredevil first."

Danny's voice suggested that were some things in life just too important to be put off. He shrugged.

"Mom won't mind... Too much. I hope." Danny gave Browne another bright smile. Noticing another customer standing patiently behind him, Danny hurriedly collected his purchases and headed out. He paused at the door, his back to it, and called out happily.

"See you next week, Mister Browne!" Next week, the latest issue of Captain America would come out. Browne smiled in turn. He really liked Danny and hoped the boy wouldn't get in too much trouble with his mother for not going straight home.

Oh well, what harm could there be in stopping here first? The store was only a half-mile from Danny's neighborhood, Blud Acres. Browne was sure that Danny's mother would understand. He'd hate to lose his favorite customer.

"Take care, Danny!" Browne called, waving goodbye. "What a great kid!" He added as he turned to his next customer. That was the last time anyone saw Danny alive.

The multi-agency task force rivaled that of the Atlanta Child Murders. This was week ten in what had turned into a nightmare for the parents and children of Bludhaven. In those ten weeks there had been four disappearances, all of boys between the ages of six and ten, all in broad daylight, and in each case, no eyewitnesses.

The nude bodies of the victims were later found dumped off the highway near and in the Gotham River Gorge, which ran along the evergreen tree-lined exclusive area of Bludhaven Heights. In each case, the remains were placed in a black plastic garbage bag.

The child kidnappings were what the FBI termed "low-risk victim, high-risk crime." Low-risk victim because the children were too small to put up any real resistance; high-risk crime because the kidnapping occurred in broad daylight and in the child's own neighborhood. In one case, the victim was snatched from his own front yard.

The relative youthfulness of the boys taken indicated an unknown suspect, or UNSUB, in his mid-twenties to late-thirties, white, of above average intelligence, probably unemployed or employed in a menial job. The profile fit that of a male, with a low sense of self-esteem, and problems dealing with relationships with his peers.

Dr. Lauren Winters, the BPD criminal profiler, surmised that what the Bludhaven police department had was an individual who had long fantasized about having sexual relations with little boys. He'd probably molested little boys before, and probably had prior convictions for child molestation. He might have even served time for it; however, it was unlikely that he'd killed before, or at least, he hadn't been caught before.

Something recent in his personal relationships, a recent stressor, perhaps the loss of a job, a divorce or break-up had set him off. Perhaps he'd been serving time in prison and had only recently been released.

The profile suggested that the UNSUB probably cruised the streets for hours on the hunt, looking for likely victims. The children taken were probably targets of opportunity. In each case, if a car had driven by at the moment that the snatch was about to take place, or if someone had just happened to walk by, then in all likelihood, the child would not have been taken. In each case, the victim was probably just at the wrong place at the wrong time.

The UNSUB obviously had a vehicle of some sort, because he had to have some way of approaching his victims and transporting them to wherever he was holding them, and later to wherever he was dumping them.

A dark van, the vehicle of preference for child kidnappings nationwide, had been seen in the vicinity of where the first victim, eight-year-old Danny O'Brien, was taken. The police had a partial tag, but so far, nothing had turned up.

Whoever the UNSUB was, the viciousness of the crimes, the premortem wounds inflicted on the children, bespoke of a monster who enjoyed torturing his victims prior to killing them.

The postmortem disposal of the remains, bathed thoroughly to eliminate forensic evidence, indicated a person who was methodical and had thought long and hard on just how to carry out his reign of terror. By disposing of his victims in garbage bags, the killer was showing that, once they were dead and he'd taken whatever pleasure he could from them, the boys were nothing more than garbage to him. He was still demonstrating his domination and contempt for his victims. Autopsies indicated that the victims were alive for several days after their kidnapping. In at least two instances, the victims had been alive until shortly before their bodies had been found. In one case, the child had been alive as shortly as eighteen hours before.

The knowledge that the victims were alive and suffering horribly in the hands of this monster galvanized the task force to Herculean efforts...

"That's it, Cadets. Do I have any questions?" Captain David MacCauley looked out at the sea of fresh, young faces. A twenty-year veteran with the BPD, MacCauley was Chief of the Violent Crimes Division and officer in charge of the special taskforce investigating the Bludhaven Child Murders, as the case was now being called by the local media.

Was I ever that young, MacCauley wondered.

A few hands went up. MacCauley called on each cadet and tried to answer his or her questions patiently.

"What makes you so certain that the UNSUB is white?" a young African-American police cadet asked.

"It's been our experience that most serial rape/killings are personal, not racist or politically motivated. Also, we've found that the perps tend to stay within their own racial lines. Again, this is a personal action. Therefore, we can expect that the killer or killers would select a type of victim with whom he'd feel most comfortable."

"What makes you so sure that the UNSUB is male?" asked a pretty young female cadet.

"Despite what you may see on television, most serial killers are male. Only on extremely rare occasions do we have a female perpetrator. And then they're usually associated with mysterious deaths in hospitals or nursing homes. Usually what they deem to be mercy killings. If a woman is involved in the murder of a child, it's usually her own."

MacCauley paused, then added almost gently, "Also, the semen samples taken from the bodies are a sort of giveaway." The female cadet blushed furiously at her mistake, and at her fellow cadets' laughter. MacCauley raised his hand for quiet.

"That's okay, cadet. Remember, there's no such thing as a dumb question." The young cadet smiled gratefully, but couldn't bring herself to look him in the eyes again.

MacCauley paused and looked around once more.

"Are there any further questions?"

Another hand went up. MacCauley noticed that it belonged to the only cadet who'd taken notes during his briefing. MacCauley made it clear at the start that the cadets would not be tested on the information they were going to discuss. He'd smiled ruefully as they all immediately closed their notebooks.

All, that is, except this one. He nodded at the cadet to proceed. As the young man spoke, MacCauley had an eerie feeling that he'd seen him or spoken to him before.

"Sir, Cadet Grayson," he said by way of introduction. "Has a DNA analysis been run on the semen samples and do they match a single UNSUB? Also, do we have any matching DNA fingerprints on file?"

MacCauley studied the young cadet admiringly.

"Those are two excellent questions, Cadet Grayson," MacCauley said. "However, there are certain details of the case that we cannot release at this moment. I'm sorry." MacCauley smiled. Then, his eyes hardening, he addressed the assembly again.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it's been my experience during twenty years on the force, with ten of those years serving in the Violent Crimes Division, that there is no bottom, no lowest point, to which an offender can stoop."

MacCauley paused to gauge the effect of his words. He had the cadets' undivided attention. "Good," he said to himself. "It's about time someone kicked them in the teeth with a taste of reality! How many of these kids joined the force for the 'glamour'?" he wondered sardonically.

"When you think you've seen the worst possible example of depravity committed by one human being against another, something worse comes along. This child murder case is the worst I've seen in my career. I'm only sorry to say that tomorrow another case will come along that will top it."

MacCauley could've heard a pin drop in the classroom. The cadets' youthful, wide-eyed stares showed him that many were suddenly reevaluating their career choice.

"Are there any further questions?" He paused for a beat, and when no more hands went up, MacCauley smiled and nodded his head.

"Very well. The purpose of this briefing wasn't just to help you see how the BPD is currently handling this terrible case, or to give you a break from your PAIs' instruction on how to properly conduct a 'routine' traffic stop."

MacCauley's quip broke the tension in the classroom and was met with brief laughter. The Police Academy Instructors were currently trying to impress on the cadets that there was no such thing as a routine traffic stop. Each stop was potentially dangerous.

"I asked your PAIs to allow me to speak to you today, because quite frankly, we're at a dead end. I ask each of you to keep your eyes and ears open. Anything that you see or hear, no matter how insignificant a detail, that you feel might lend some insight into helping us solve this case will be greatly appreciated. Thank you for your time, ladies and gentlemen."

As MacCauley began to gather his notes, Cadet Grayson approached him. MacCauley gave him a questioning look.

"Yes, Cadet Grayson?" he asked. MacCauley scrutinized the young man. Again, he felt that there was something palpably familiar about Grayson.

"I was curious about the possibility of there being two suspects, rather than one," Dick asked as preamble. "It seems that would make sense, especially if the children are being snatched in broad daylight and not far from their own homes. One would do the snatching, while the other drove the getaway vehicle."

"Excellent observation, Grayson," MacCauley said, impressed by the young man's keen insight. "That's something we've already discussed. We feel fairly certain that there are two perpetrators, with one being the dominant, the other one the follower. Some of the guys on the case have dubbed them 'Batman and Robin'. You know, leader and sidekick."

Dick managed not to let his startled reaction to the detective's words show.

"Yes, sir," he said instead, holding onto his temper. "I think I know exactly what you mean. Thank you for answering my question." Dick turned as if to leave, but MacCauley stopped him.

"Wait! Cadet Grayson, have we met before?" he asked curiously.

Dick tensed immediately. Uh-oh, he thought. Take it easy, Grayson. We could've run across each other in the corridors here at the Academy. Play it cool, he told himself.

Dick shrugged his shoulders and shook his head as if trying to place MacCauley.

"I'm not sure, sir," he said, giving MacCauley his most guileless smile. "Maybe we've passed each other here in the hallways?"

MacCauley nodded his head, unconvinced. He'd noted immediately how the young man had tensed suddenly at the question. MacCauley decided to let the matter drop for now.

"You're probably right, Grayson. Keep your eyes and ears open!" MacCauley gathered his materials and left the room.

The wall in the Cadet Lounge was decorated with the smiling faces of Bludhaven's missing and murdered children. Bright eyes and gap-toothed smiles looked down on Cadet Grayson. Daniel Patrick O'Brien and three other boys smiled innocently at the world.

In each case the child had been taken less than a mile from his own home. Danny's bicycle and the purchases he'd bought were found in a ditch less than 500 yards from Browne's Stop and Go.

The eight-year-old smiled down with lively blue eyes. Dick noted a light smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose and wavy almost blue-black hair that flopped carelessly over his eyes. Danny had been a top student in his third grade class at Saints Peter and Paul. He was an altar server and wanted to grow up to be a superhero.

Studying the wall, Dick felt an icy hand grip the pit of his stomach. He looked into each boy's eyes. Four sets of piercing dark blue eyes stared back, almost accusingly. Dick stepped back and took in all four photos at once. He looked from to another, slowly at first, then faster. He walked to Danny, then to Jimmy. Nicky. Ryan. It couldn't be true.

But it was.

The boys were dead ringers for each other!

"He's looking for a particular type," Dick murmured, awed at his discovery. "He's looking for the same boy, over and over again."

Dick realized that this was another little piece of information that Captain MacCauley had held back during his briefing.

Dick scrutinized the four photographs closer. There was something else, right here in front of him, but he couldn't place it. He finally shook his head in frustration. He decided to let it go for now. Whatever it was, it would come to him. Sooner or later.

"I'll find him," Dick silently promised the smiling faces. "Whatever it takes. I'll find whoever hurt you and took you from your families."

"Oh, man, Mikey, I don't like this!" Tommy whined. "I don't think this is such a good idea, man!"

Bludhaven was crawling with cops. BPD, Feds, County, and State cops were everywhere! The TV news guy said that the task force assembled was the second largest in US history.

"Shut up, Tommy!" Mikey said.

He was scanning the school bus stop for his next prize. It had been almost eight days since the last one, and Mikey was beginning to feel what he called the itch . The itch came on slowly. It usually began in the middle of the night and worked up to fever pitch by midday. With his need almost ready to explode, Mikey knew that it was time...

Time for another houseguest. The last one hadn't lasted long, and that made Mikey unhappy. He'd done everything for the ungrateful brat! He'd fed him, made sure he had enough water to drink, clean sheets to sleep in. But had he shown the least bit of gratitude? No!

He'd cried every time Mikey tried to show him how much he loved him. Mikey was forced to hit him! He hadn't wanted to, but the brat made him! Mikey tried to make it up to him. He'd even helped him go the bathroom just to show him how much he loved him.

But in the end, Mikey was forced to take him to the punishment room, just like all the others...

"There!" Mikey said. Tommy looked in the direction Mikey was pointing. He saw a small, dark haired boy, about five or six, holding something carefully in one hand, as if afraid it might break, and lugging a heavy backpack in the other. The boy crossed the street at the crosswalk, and Tommy and Mikey followed him with their eyes. When the little boy turned the corner, Tommy started the van and Mikey jumped out to follow on foot.

Mikey felt the familiar adrenaline rush. In just a few more moments, he'd have his newest pet. Mikey walked with single-mindedness. He hurried to turn the corner and immediately caught sight of his prey. He was about to run up behind him and blitz him when a woman called, waving.

"Billy! Billy!"

The little boy waved back.

"Mommy!" Billy called excitedly, crossing the street and running up to his mother. "Guess what? My front tooth fell out during recess!" He held out the object that he'd been carefully holding in his right hand.

Billy's mother gently took the prize in her hand and inspected her son's gap-toothed smile. She leaned down and kissed him on the forehead, giving him a big hug.

"Oh, my! Look at that," she said smiling. "I guess we'll have to expect a visit from the tooth fairy tonight!" Laughing, mother and son turned to walk home together. They lived in a nice, well-manicured apartment complex.

Mikey witnessed the whole episode from behind a tree across the street. He could feel his rage growing. He wanted to kill the whore. How dare she interfere with his prize! The boy belonged to him! Mikey owned him, heart and soul. Mikey had half a mind to walk up to them, grab Billy, and kill the bitch who'd stolen his prize.

He'd be rescuing Billy wouldn't he? After all, all women were whores. They hurt little boys with electric cords and locked them in dark closets without food or water, didn't they? They made little boys wash in their own pee if they wet their beds, didn't they?

Mikey was about to go after them and rescue Billy, when Tommy drove up to him in the van.

"Come on, Mikey," Tommy said. "Get in! We've gotta blow!" Tommy was looking around nervously, expecting any one of those cops to suddenly turn the corner and stop them on suspicion.

Mikey nodded and reluctantly climbed in the van.

"Okay, Tommy," Mikey conceded. "We won't take him today. But we'll be back."

I'll be back, Billy, he promised silently.

As they drove back to the abandoned building they'd converted into their living quarters, Mikey remembered Dicky, the first and only prize that ever got away. Dicky was the most beautiful boy that Mikey had ever laid eyes on, then or since.

From the first moment he'd seen him, Dicky's raven hair and dark, piercing blue eyes were forever seared in Mikey's psyche. Mikey knew then that he'd never rest until he possessed him.

He'd had him, too. Mikey was about to show Dicky how much he loved him, when the Batman stole him, probably to take him for himself. Mikey remembered that soon afterwards, Batman had a partner that he called "Robin." Mikey saw immediately how much Robin resembled Dicky, and more importantly, he noticed how Robin's acrobatic moves were exactly the same as the ones that Dicky had executed in his presence.

Yes, Mikey knew. Dicky, the one who got away, became Robin, the Boy Wonder. Mikey swore that he'd get his prize back.

Sooner or later.

That's all Mikey fantasized about in the ensuing years while serving time in Blackgate Prison. He'd dreamed about what he'd do to Dicky once he got out of prison, in order to show the boy how much he still loved him and forgave him for leaving.

Of course, Mikey had to punish Dicky for what he did. But Dicky would understand. After all, you only hurt the ones you loved. Isn't that what Mommy always used to say?

Mikey grinned happily. He wondered if Dicky could hear him calling to him. He was practically sending him a telegram. If he knew Dicky, he'd catch on eventually.

Then he'll come looking for me, Mikey told himself. Dicky will return to me of his own free will. All I have to do is sit back and wait.

And keep sending him human telegrams.

He finds himself barefoot and naked in a place he doesn't know. Everything is so big and dark. He looks down at his feet. They're both so small. On impulse, he holds out hands that are now child-sized. He turns them slowly, inspecting them in silent awe.

He feels cold and wet and hurt and tired.

Where am I, he wonders, perplexed? His keen, analytical mind tries to fight through the childlike confusion.

I'm dreaming, he decides.

The scene shifts.

Suddenly, he can't move! His arms are tied behind him! He tries jerking them free, but it only makes him hurt more.

Where am I? Why am I here?

"Mom? Dad?" he calls, but no one answers. "Mom! Dad!"

"They're not heeerreere, Dicky," the Voice in Dark says. "Just me."

He breaks out in a cold sweat. He's frozen in terror. He remembers the Voice. It belongs to a demon from the past. The Voice is enough to make him lose self-control.

"Aw, did widdle Dicky wet his widdle pants?" the Voice mocks.

He starts to cry. He's ashamed of himself for losing control.

"It's just you and me, Dicky. They didn't love you like I do. That's why they left you. Tonight, I'm going to show you how much I love you... "

The scene changes. He finds himself flying across space. Suddenly, he feels the reassuring grasp of his father. The audience explodes into applause.

"Nice work, son! Your Mom and I are very proud of you!"

"That's right, little Robin," his Mom says. He looks up startled. She's sitting on the swing with his Dad. She wasn't there a second ago.

"We're both so proud of you... And we love you... Remember that, sweetheart. We'll love you always!"

They wave happily as they plunge to their deaths.

"NO-OOO-OO!" he yells helplessly...

"DON'T SCREAM!" The Voice rages at him. He can feel the demon's hot breath on his neck. His entire body is in searing, white-hot pain! His screams go up another octave.

As the brutal violation continues, the Voice changes tactics, and starts talking in more soothing tones, a mother's crooning with loving words of endearment. He tries to claw his way free, but he's being pinned in place by strong arms and large callused hands. The pain continues unabated, his sobs become the whimpers of a wounded puppy.

He looks down and sees one of the monstrous hands clasped across his exposed abdomen. The other is obscenely fondling him where no one is allowed to touch him. No! That's not allowed! His Mom and Dad told him so!

"NO-OOO-OO!"

He squeezes his eyes shut to make it all go away, but before he can block out the horror, an attacking cobra slithering out of a skull's empty eye socket suddenly seems to leap out at him. He feels another scream of terror form in his throat.

"NO-OOO-OO! Help me, Bruu-uu-ucce--!"

"--BRUCE! HELP ME!"

"Grayson! Wake up!"

Dick jerked awake, his cries cutting off at mid-shout. Abruptly, he sat up in his bunk, soaking wet, entangled in his sheets. He felt his heart thumping rapidly in his chest, his breathing in short, ragged gasps. Tonight was the fourth night in row that he'd awakened from a nightmare; however, this one had been the most terrifying.

Dick ran a shaky hand through his dark hair. It felt dank and matted from sweat. He could actually feel rivulets of perspiration trickling down his temples, his chest, and his back.

"Oh, God," Dick whispered. What a nightmare! It was so real. He could still feel his whole body trembling from the remembered terror.

"Hey, buddy, are you okay?" Cadet O'Hara asked concernedly. Dick nodded, unable to speak. "Are you sure?"

Dick finally found his voice.

"Yeah," he managed to croak. "Thanks, I'll be all right." O'Hara looked at him a moment longer, then seemingly satisfied, returned to his own bunk.

Dick sat in his bunk a moment longer, then got up and went to the latrine. What a nightmare! He could recall being terrified and crying for his mother and father, and for Bruce. But the dream was fading quickly with each passing moment. He splashed water in his face to clear his head.

"Okay, Grayson, take it by the numbers. The way you've been taught." He spoke calmly in order to slow down his rapidly beating heart.

"It was only a dream. It can't hurt you. Cadet, report!"

Dick stared at his multiple reflections in the wall of mirrors that lined the Men's latrine. There were four mirrors hung at exactly eye level. Dick could see his reflection in all four. Four sets of pain-filled, piercing dark blue eyes stared back at him. Dark, tousled, matted hair hung carelessly over his eyes.

A cold fear began to grip him slowly. Something half-remembered, hidden in his subconscious was sending warning bells. But what? He took a deep, calming breath, closed his eyes, and began to resurrect the dream from the darker recesses of his mind, the secret place where memories that were best forgotten often lay in wait...

He remembered the Voice in his head.

"DON'T SCREAM!"

It was chilling and full of rage at the same time.

He'd being paralyzed with terror. His cries choking in his throat. Eventually, he'd found his own voice and screamed out his outrage at the overwhelming pain and violation.

"DON'T SCREAM!"

He felt huge, rough hands closing around his throat and over his mouth, choking back his cries, suffocating him. He felt himself thrashing in desperation, clawing at the hands on his face. He couldn't breathe!

Dick closed his eyes, feeling the tears start to well.

"This didn't happen," he whispered. "This never happened!"

Dick stood leaning forward, straight-armed, hands on either side of the mirror facing him. He was shaking his head in violent denial of the scene playing in his head.

The Voice became endearing, crooning, almost a singsong.

"I only want to show you how much I love you, Dicky. You're mine now. We're one heart and soul--"

"--Grayson?"

Dick spun at the sound of his name, his heart racing. The sergeant on night duty was standing at the door.

"Grayson, are you all right?" he asked. "I thought I heard voices in here."

Dick nodded and quickly splashed water on his face again.

"Uh, yes, Sergeant... I was just having trouble sleeping," he said, grabbing a towel to dry his face. "I'm all right."

"Well, get some sleep, Cadet," the sergeant ordered. "You've got a full day tomorrow."

"Yes, sergeant," Dick replied. "I will."

As soon as the sergeant left, Dick splashed some more cold water on his face. His hands were shaking.

"Get a grip, Grayson," he muttered. "It was just a dream." Dick stared in silent rage at his reflection and pointed an accusatory finger at him.

"You were never raped! You hear me? NEVER!!"

When there was no response from his mirror-self, Dick grasped the lavatory with a white-knuckled grip and leaned forward until he was nose to nose with his reflection.

"You escaped, Grayson! Remember? Batman saved you! You were never raped!"

His face stared back at him.

"But how I be sure?" Dick asked himself. "It all happened so long ago. So much that happened immediately following Mom and Dad's deaths is just a blur now."

Dick knew that he'd probably suppressed the greater part of what had occurred to him during this time period. There'd been so much pain and terror and grief that it was only natural that his subconscious had finally locked it away until he was ready to face it.

"Is that what's happening? Is my subconscious telling me that I'm ready to face a childhood trauma that I found so personally violating I've been unable to come to terms with it before now?"

His kidnappers had drugged him, Dick reminded himself.

"Can most of these images be some kind of false, drug-induced memory?" Dick couldn't be sure, but he knew with a growing urgency that sleep was the last thing he wanted at the moment.

What Dick wanted was to talk to Bruce. More than anything else at the moment, Dick Grayson needed to talk to his father. He quietly climbed out of the second story window, and easily made his way to the rooftop eaves of the Bludhaven Police Academy men's dormitory.

Dick found the bundle he'd hidden there several weeks ago at the start of what he ruefully called the Great Experiment. He quickly took out a special light weave Nomex/Kevlar suit, black with a stylized, midnight blue wing across the chest.

Dick dressed rapidly in the moonless night. He performed a few stretching exercises and deep knee bends, and satisfied that the fit was comfortable, he ran to the edge of the roof, and dove off into the emptiness. Dick closed his eyes momentarily, enjoying the rushing air during free fall. Instinctively, he tucked, rolled, straightened and reached out with his right hand.

At that exact moment, he made contact with the flagpole immediately outside the academy's main entrance. Dick grinned slightly, then did a fireman's slide down the flagpole. He hit the ground running. Wouldn't do to be caught on the academy grounds dressed like this.

Nightwing had too many enemies in the BPD.

"Oh well, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em!" Dick quipped.

Dick quietly entered his apartment through his bedroom window. He moved quickly through the room, crossed into the living room, and made his way over to his computer console. He turned on his system, waited for it to boot up, and then promptly went online. He checked his triple security measures, keyed in his secret password and waited.

"Boy Wonder, it's one-thirty in the morning! Can't you ever contact me at a decent hour?" Barbara's annoyed face stared at him from his monitor.

Dick smiled, removing his mask.

"Yeah, but who ever said I was decent?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Barbara snorted in response.

"So, what I can do for you, Nightwing?" Oracle asked, becoming all business; then smiling impishly, she added, "And why aren't you asleep in your bunk like a good little police cadet?"

Dick ran his hand through his dark hair, an unconscious habit he'd had since he was a small boy. He gave her a tired grin.

"I wanted you to help me contact Bruce. I've been out of the net for a few days, and you know how he's always changing his protocols." He looked at her guiltily. "I'm sorry to get you out of bed just for this, Babs, but it's really important."

Barbara was about to say something biting, but held her tongue at his look of utter exhaustion. His demeanor bespoke of pain, desperation, and profound sadness.

"I'm on it, Dick," she said. "This'll take a few minutes. Why don't you catch some z's while you wait. I'll call you when I've made contact."

"Thanks, Babs," Dick said gratefully. "You're the best."

"That's what I keep telling the JLA," she shot back, "but they won't raise my salary, the cheap bums!" Dick laughed at her weak attempt at humor.

"I'll talk to Bruce about it, okay? I hear he's in real tight with the money men."

Barbara smiled in turn. Abruptly, her beautiful face was replaced with her Oracle icon. A banner line scrolled steadily across the screen: "I am the Oracle: All seeing, all knowing. What is your question?"

"What happened to me, Bruce?" Dick murmured, as he fell back exhausted. "What happened to me all those years ago?"

"I'm so sorry, Master Dick, but Master Bruce is currently out," Alfred said. Despite the primitiveness of their post-quake living conditions, Alfred still managed to maintain his urbane aplomb.

"The Penguin has been up to his old tricks again. Trading fresh fruit for ammunition. It's almost caused a riot in his area. I'm afraid I don't know when the Master will return."

Dick's face fell at his words. Alfred looked worriedly at his younger charge.

"And what of you, Master Dick?" he scolded gently. "You're looking a mite peaked, young man. When is the last time you had a full night's sleep? Even a superhero has to recharge his batteries every now and then."

Dick smiled at the "looking a mite peaked" comment. Only Alfred could get away with such a quaint expression.

"I'm all right, Alfred," Dick said unconvincingly. "I just need to talk to Bruce." He stopped, choking on his words, unable to continue.

"Can you please get him to give me a call?" Dick finally managed.

His simple request sounded more like a cry for help, even to Dick. He tried to camouflage the naked agony in his voice by giving Alfred his best boyish grin. He knew he was failing miserably, though.

"I shall most certainly endeavor do exactly that, Master Dick," Alfred said comfortingly. "You have my word."

"Thanks, Alfred," Dick said raggedly, barely holding on to his emotions. He covered his eyes quickly, feeling a well of anguish building inside him. Just seeing Alfred's face made Dick want to be held in his arms again, just like when he was nine, before Dick deemed that he'd grown too old for "little kid stuff" like that.

Dick broke the connection at his end and quickly shut down his system. He didn't want Babs trying to call him back. He couldn't face any member of his family at the moment. He looked at the time. If he allowed himself three hours sleep, he'd be able to make it back to the dormitory in plenty of time for morning calisthenics.

He remembered the nightmares that were plaguing his dreams and opted instead to patrol the Bludhaven night...

Nightwing looked down from the shadows cast by the higher buildings on either side of him. He'd observed the nightly promenade of Bludhaven's evening denizens for the greater part of an hour. So far he hadn't spotted the one he was looking for.

The Strip, as this particularly sleazy six-block stretch was known, was illuminated by the garishly bright neon lights of the many adults-only bars and theaters that lined it. The Strip's low-life residents blended in with their own outrageous clothing and over-the-top behavior.

"Yo mama!" a girlish, shrill voice called out.

Nightwing turned quickly to the sound. Bingo! Just the friendly neighborhood transvestite he was looking for. Damon Carter, also known as Sable on the street, was a transvestite male hooker who could usually be found working this corner of the Strip. 'She' was gesticulating wildly at the driver of a late model Lincoln Mercury.

"Who d'you think you talkin' to? Some cheap trash from Kylie's stable? I'm a businesswoman, Mister John. You want some of this--"

She grabbed her crotch obscenely; Nightwing cringed in disgust, then grinned ruefully.

"--You fork over the Ben Franklins!"

The car screeched as it drove off. The flamboyantly dressed transvestite yelled obscene taunts at the cheap John who'd balked at her asking price.

"Think I'm doing this for my health? I got expenses, man!"

"I just bet you do, Sable." Sable spun at the quiet voice in the shadows. "And may I add that the pink boa looks absolutely fetching on you?"

Sable stood, hands on hips, under the blazing green and pink neon sign of the Pink Flamingo Nightclub. She sighed, as if extremely put out, then smiled broadly and walked suggestively towards the dark recesses afforded by the alleyways.

"You don't think the boa is too much?" Sable asked.

Grinning, Nightwing shook his head emphatically.

"I took it off some bitch that was trying to hustle on my corner," Sable explained. "A girl's gotta protect her territory."

"Oh, absolutely," Nightwing agreed, straight-faced.

"So, Wingster, sugah, what brings you here to The Strip? Lookin' for some action? If so, I'm just the girl to come to." As Sable spoke, 'she' kept walking closer to Nightwing, until 'she' had her hand on his chest, and her lips near his ear.

Nightwing felt himself blushing.

Sable always threw him off balance. She was so outrageously dressed and made up, that only the most naive could possibly mistake her for a woman. Yet, even though her gender was obvious to just about everyone, she was still the most popular hooker on The Strip.

Tonight Sable was dressed in a midriff exposing white leather number with matching white leather short shorts. She'd accessorized with black fishnet stockings and garters, three-inch high stiletto heels, and capped it all off with the ostentatious pink boa around her neck.

As much as Nightwing hated to admit it to himself, Sable looked pretty good. He cringed at the thought.

"I've gotta get Babs to go out a date!" Nightwing said to himself. "The circus, maybe."

He looked nervously at Sable who was smiling meaningfully, and slowly tracing her hand down his chest.

"And soon." Very firmly, he caught her wrist and determinedly pushed her away.

"This is strictly business, Damon," Nightwing said, addressing the transvestite by his real name in his best Dark Knight imitation. "I'm not here for your idea of fun and games."

Sable puckered her lips at him and smiled from under heavily mascara'd false eyelashes.

"Fun 'n games is my business, Wingster," she said huskily. Nightwing glared at her silently. Sable pouted prettily, her disappointment obvious, but didn't protest.

"I need information on anyone hustling for kids. Young boys mostly. Can you help me?" Nightwing waited.

Sable stepped back and exploded in anger.

"You think because I dress like this and hustle on the streets that I'm some kind of pervert, Wingster? I know I'm not exactly the girl next door, but I don't do kids, and I don't do business with any short eyes, neither!"

"Short eyes?" Nightwing asked.

"Man, you don't know nothing do you?" Sable asked in disgust. "Look at you! The big, bad super-hero! You're no more than a kid yourself. What do you know about living on the streets? You observe the world from the rooftops, man, but you don't know nothing about us!"

"You're breaking my heart, Damon!" Nightwing growled, grabbing the transvestite by the boa. "What do you know about Johns peddling little boys?"

Sable glared at Dick for a long second, then pulled away angrily. She paced around the alley, fuming in silence. She finally turned, and looked accusingly at Nightwing.

"'Short eyes' is street slang for creeps who do kids. Pedophiles," Sable explained, exasperatedly. "Man, you are new at this. What'sa matter, kid, Batman never teach you about the seamier side of life?"

Sable sighed, not really expecting an answer.

"Wingster, this whole business is bad, man. Child killers are bad news. They're bad for business. Scare the Johns away. I mean, any pervert who'd do in a kid the way these monsters are doing, no telling who else they'd be willing to kill, right?"

Sable gave Dick a sad stare.

"Wingster, I chose my life, okay? I felt I had no choice really, but I made my own decision. My old man used to... well, let's just say I finally had enough by the time I was twelve, so I left home. I've been on the streets ever since."

Sable's face twisted into an angry grimace.

"It's not a life I'd wish on a dog, much less another kid, so whenever I see some runaway out here, I try to help 'em out, see? Give 'em enough money to get off the streets, but it never works."

"Yeah, Damon, you're a real social worker," Nightwing jeered. "You help them all right. You help them straight into Kylie's stable, and get a percentage per head! Try that fairytale on your parole officer!"

Sable gave Nightwing a cold, calculating look, then grinning broadly, shrugged.

"Hey, it's business, man! I got expenses!"

Nightwing took slow measured steps towards her. When he was about four inches away, he leaned in closer. Sable took an involuntary step back.

"Are you going to help me?" Nightwing asked, quietly threatening. "Or am I going to have to run your Johns in for soliciting sex for money? Is that what you want, Damon? You want me to dry up your source of income? You know that I can turn this Strip into a desert in just a few days."

Nightwing glared menacingly at the transvestite.

"I'm getting these slimeballs off the street before they hurt another kid, Damon. Now, are you going to help me, or am I going to have to run you out of business?"

Sable returned Nightwing's glare for glare, but eventually began to feel her resolve start melting under the young vigilante's scrutiny. Finally, she nodded slowly.

"What do I have to do?" Sable asked resignedly.

"Just keep your eyes and ears open," Nightwing said, hurriedly giving her the same instructions that MacCauley gave the Cadets.

"If you hear anything... anything at all about someone trying to buy or sell kids, or kiddy porn... even if you hear something that sounds totally innocent, like someone who's suddenly buying up stuff that appeals to kids... any information like that could prove useful."

Nightwing walked up to Sable and handed her a business card.

"If you hear anything, call this number day or night and leave a message." Nightwing turned to go. "And Sable... thanks."

Nightwing quickly disappeared into the shadows.

Sable nodded, and grinned ruefully.

"Down girl," she said. "The Wingster's not your type. Too straight. Too law and order. He'd probably try to reform you or something. Oh well, nobody's perfect!"

Sable sauntered back to her street corner under the garish lights of the Pink Flamingo sign. One of Kylie's girls was already working her spot.

"Yo, bitch!" Sable screeched. "If you know what's go for you, you'll hustle your bony little tail out of my corner!"

"Oh, yeah?" the hooker taunted. "Who says?"

"I says!" Sable replied, and immediately launched herself at the interloper.

Nightwing looked down from the rooftops and grinned, shaking his head. He checked his wrist chronometer, which was hidden in his gauntlet. Another two hours to go before he had to return to the academy. Nightwing looked up, found a likely spot on a ledge, fired off a jump-line, and swung off into the endless night...

"Cadet Grayson!"

Dick turned bleary eyes at the sound of his name. An attractive woman was approaching him. Dick thought she looked familiar, but couldn't place her at first. Suddenly he remembered.

"Doctor Winters," he acknowledged, smiling his greeting. Dr. Lauren Winters smiled in return. She offered him her hand.

"It's a pleasure to see you again, Cadet," Winters said. "It's not often a damsel gets to thank her knight twice for saving her from the dragon."

Dick smiled.

"I was just doing my job, ma'am," he said self-effacingly. "You don't have to thank me every time you see me. I mean, I thought cops were supposed to help each other."

"You're right, Cadet," Winters admitted. "But frankly I never thought that as a police psychologist I'd ever need help!"

Dick laughed softly.

"I'm on my way to the cafeteria to grab a bite," Winters said. "Would you care to join me?" Dick nodded and they began walking in the direction of the crowded lunchroom.

"So how are your studies going, Cadet?" Winters asked politely. "How much longer till graduation?"

"My studies are going fine, ma'am. And we should be graduating in another five weeks."

"Hmmmmm," Winters said. "That 'ma'am' stuff is making me feel like I'm about a hundred years old. How about if you call me 'Lauren'?"

"Only if you call me 'Dick'," he replied. "Deal?"

"Deal!" Winters agreed, sealing it with a handshake.

Unconsciously, Dick gave her what Babs called his "Lady Killer" smile. Winters felt herself momentarily taken aback by the sudden flush and weakness at the back of the knees.

Whoa, girl, she chastised herself. He's a good ten years younger and a police cadet! Abruptly, she gave Dick a clinical once over. After a brief moment, she decided that he was definitely not coming on to her. She observed how the women they passed on the corridor pulled double takes when they caught sight of him.

Most of them looked like they'd just been offered a free piece of eye candy, and immediately ate it up! Even some of the veteran female cops gave him a second look. A couple of women, believing they were out of earshot, made what could only be termed as sexist remarks.

Through it all, Dick seemed oblivious to the women around him, concentrating solely on Winters' conversation. Whatever else Cadet Grayson might be, Winters silently assessed, he was totally unaware of the effect he had on the members of the opposite sex.

Or, he blocked it out as an auto reaction. Or, he was a hell of an actor!

What an interesting young man, Winters thought!

They'd no sooner sat down, when a third party, Captain MacCauley, joined them.

"Lauren, Cadet Grayson!" MacCauley said, coming up to their table. "Mind if I join you?"

"David! What a pleasure!" Winters said. "Please, join us." Dick leaned over and pulled out a chair for MacCauley. MacCauley smiled his thanks.

"So, Lauren, what could possibly drag you away from your nice, cozy air-conditioned office over at Bludhaven General?" MacCauley teased.

Winters smiled easily. In addition to being a police psychologist and criminal behavioral profiler in the BPD, Winters also worked part-time on the staff of Bludhaven General Hospital. Dick saw that she and MacCauley were obviously good friends.

"I've been asked to give the cadets a short presentation on criminal profiling. Apparently, they were given quite a shoddy briefing yesterday from some know-nothing Captain who left a trail of confusion and misrepresentation."

"Ouch!" MacCauley said, holding his hands over his heart in mock pain. "Woman, you cut me to the quick!"

"Oh, was that you that the PAIs were bad mouthing so vociferously?" she asked.

"If I knew what 'vociferously' meant, maybe I could tell you one way or the other," MacCauley answered. "As it is, I'll have to settle for your unsubstantiated claim that the good sergeants were 'bad mouthing' me."

MacCauley shook his head in mock consternation.

"Slanderous lies! And here I gave them my best fifty-cent lecture. I even brought overhead slides."

MacCauley looked over towards Dick, who despite his exhaustion was thoroughly enjoying the exchange between the two senior officers.

"Didn't I, Cadet? Bring in teaching aids, I mean?"

Dick nodded, grinning.

"Yes, sir, you certainly did."

"Not that same moth-eaten slide you've been carrying with you to briefings for the past five years?" Winters scoffed.

"What's wrong with my slide?" MacCauley asked, hurt. "It's a great slide!"

"Yeah, it's great all right," Winters said. "The top ten reasons why convicted criminals say they're not guilty!"

"It's still funny!" MacCauley insisted.

"It was funny," Winters said. "About a hundred years ago!"

"Oh yeah?" MacCauley challenged. "I'll prove to you that it's still funny." "Oh, come on, David. Those jokes were old before your grandfather told them to you!"

"I tell you what," MacCauley replied. "We'll ask Cadet Grayson here what he thought! Grayson?" They both turned to Dick and immediately stopped.

Cadet Richard Grayson, BPD, was sitting quietly, chin in hand, between the two veteran police officers, and sleeping soundly. Winters' eyes met MacCauley's and she carefully placed her finger on her lips. MacCauley nodded in acquiescence. It hadn't been that long ago that they'd been cadets. They each remembered that it had been a grueling six-month existence with little or no sleep.

"So how did you meet Cadet Grayson?" MacCauley asked curiously.

"He saved my life," Winters told him. Then quietly, so as not to disturb the sleeping Cadet, she gave MacCauley the story. After she finished, he looked over at Dick, impressed.

"Wow. Three thugs, and all by his lonesome? Either he's the gutsiest kid to have come along in quite some time, or the craziest!"

"Whatever he is, I owe him my life," Winters said. "I only hope that I'll be able to repay him sometime." Changing the subject, Winters inquired about his current case. MacCauley grimaced.

"It's bad, Lauren. I swear, when I look at little Davey, I just want to handcuff him to me until he's thirty." He gave Winters a chagrinned look. "But what can you do? You can't lock up your own kid in order to protect him."

"No, but you can show him how to avoid becoming a victim," Winters said quietly. "You've done a terrific job with Davey. He's a great kid, David. You should be proud." MacCauley smiled.

"Thanks," he said. "I am." MacCauley checked his watch.

"Time for all good little cadets to report to Criminal Profiling One-Oh-One," he quipped. He raised a single brow at Winters.

"Shall we, Doctor?" he asked.

"I suppose we must," Winters said regretfully. "But I hate to wake him. Poor kid looks like he hasn't slept in about a month."

As Winters was about to reach over and wake him, Dick began stirring in his sleep. Suddenly, as Winters and MacCauley watched, Dick's face appeared to regress into that of a young child. Tears formed suddenly and began spilling unchecked.

"No," Dick whimpered in a little boy voice. "No, please, don't!"

He quickly became agitated by whatever monsters were invading his sleep. Winters realized that if they didn't wake him now, the young cadet would cause a scene in the cafeteria and undoubtedly embarrass himself.

"David! Wake him, now!" Winters ordered sharply. MacCauley nodded curtly and quickly reached across the table, shaking the younger man's shoulder. Dick jerked violently awake.

Dick looked around momentarily confused. Where was he? He saw Winters and MacCauley closely observing him. Winters' eyes showed obvious concern, while MacCauley's countenance was almost as inscrutable as Bruce's.

Dick swallowed suddenly. He felt trapped.

Winters quietly handed him a napkin. He took it gratefully and wiped his face.

"Thank you, ma'am," Dick whispered. What had just happened, he wondered?

MacCauley sat in his office staring into space, hands behind his head, feet on his desk. Gradually, his eyes focused on the four smiling faces hanging on his bulletin board. Four smiling, dark haired, blue-eyed faces.

As MacCauley casually studied each of the serial killer's victims, Cadet Grayson's face suddenly seemed to superimpose itself over each of the boys. The same boyish-looking, childlike face that MacCauley had observed in the cafeteria during lunch appeared in his mind.

The same confused, pain-filled countenance that MacCauley saw on the face of each victim when the remains were first recovered.

"It couldn't be," MacCauley said to himself. "But it is! Same dark blue eyes, same hair color, same features. Even has the same light smattering of freckles... which probably stood out more when he was a kid. What if... ?"

MacCauley hurried to his computer and quickly began running a search on past, similarly featured child kidnapping victims. He paused to estimate Cadet Grayson's age.

"Hmmmm... Grayson's about twenty-two. Okay, I'll start my search twelve years ago, when he was about ten. That should fit the victim profile. Let's see, Grayson's home of record is Gotham City... "

"Dick, a word, please," Winters said, once the PAIs dismissed the cadets. Dick paused, his back to her. He turned slowly, focusing at a point behind her shoulder.

"Dick, I'd like to have a talk with you," she said. Dick knew immediately that Winters didn't mean a social visit.

"Dick, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to insist," Winters said regretfully. She hated sessions where the patient felt coerced. Exasperatedly, she walked up to him, forcing him to look her in the eye.

"Dick, you know that there's something wrong. You weren't just having a nightmare in the cafeteria. My professional guess is that you were experiencing repressed memories coming forward. Is that why you haven't been sleeping?"

At Dick's surprised look, Winters smiled.

"I don't have to be a trained clinical psychologist to notice the circles under your eyes. How long have you been having trouble sleeping?"

Dick looked down at his feet, ashamed of his weakness.

"About a week," he replied.

"And you haven't thought about seeking help?" Winters scolded. "Oh, never mind. I forgot. All you Police Cadet types think you're indestructible. Well, let me tell you a secret, Dick. You're not. That's why the BPD pays me all the big bucks. To make sure that its officers and officer cadets are of sound mind and body. And to help them, if and when they're having problems that could affect their work on the street."

Winters paused for effect, studying Dick's response.

"Now, will you come quietly, Cadet Grayson, or will I have to get rough?"

Dick had to laugh at her mock threat.

"I guess I'll come quietly, Officer," he replied smiling.

"Good, 'cause I don't know if I'm capable of carrying you!" she said.

"Perhaps not, but I am." Startled, Dick turned at the sound of the stern voice coming from the exit.

"Bruce!"

"You came!" Dick's eyes said silently.

Winters watched the interplay between the two men. Dick looked eager and pleased at the sight of "Bruce." Bruce appeared cold and distant at first glance, but on closer observation, Winters detected a slightly pleased look flash across his eyes.

Dick walked quickly up to Bruce and stopped. Both men stood stiffly apart, looking uncomfortably at each other.

"Dick," Bruce said quietly. He reached up tentatively and placed his hand comfortingly on the younger man's shoulder. Dick's whole demeanor changed to that of a drowning man who'd just been tossed a lifeline.

Bruce looked at Winters as if noticing her for the first time, and quirked an eyebrow in her direction. Winters couldn't be certain, but she had the distinct impression that there was very little that escaped this Bruce-guy's attention.

"I'm sorry," Dick apologized. "Let me introduce you. Doctor Lauren Winters, may I present my foster-father, Mister Bruce Wayne. Bruce, Doctor Winters is a police psychologist and criminal profiler. Lauren, Bruce is... well, he's my... my father."

Winters noticed Dick's look of uncertainty when he introduced his foster father, and the unsure glance he gave Bruce during the exchange. The younger man finally finished the introductions with a lame shrug. He was momentarily followed by an awkward silence.

Winters shook her head. She was obviously in the presence of two men who had trouble relating their feelings for each other. "Time to spread a soothing balm over troubled waters," she said to herself.

"How sharper than a serpent's tooth, eh, Mister Wayne?" Winters asked. At Bruce's raised eyebrow, she laughed. "Dick sort of left out that you're the Bruce Wayne of Gotham City. Head of Wayne Enterprises." She tsked. "Kids today! They just don't appreciate their parents' accomplishments."

Bruce's mouth quirked in a half-smile, but his eyes burned intensely. He didn't have time for pleasantries.

"Doctor Winters, it's a pleasure, but if you will excuse us, I'd like to talk to Dick in private."

Winters had been dismissed before by her superiors, but in her entire professional life, she'd never felt quite so dismissed before. It was almost as if she wasn't even there.

Humph. I know when I've been insulted, Winters thought huffily. She was about to gather her materials and head out, when MacCauley walked in.

"Lauren, I'm glad I caught you," MacCauley said without preamble. "Cadet Grayson, I'd like a word with you. With the both of you, in fact!"

"It will have to wait, I'm afraid."

MacCauley turned to the source of the words. He looked at Bruce as if studying a specimen under a microscope. Finally, he grinned in recognition.

"Mister Bruce Wayne, I presume," he said. "Okay, you're invited, too. In my office. Now!" Bruce and Dick both blinked. MacCauley's invitation came in the form of an order and not a request.

Bruce and Dick sat cooling their heels in MacCauley's office. Dick could see Bruce rapidly losing patience. His mentor was sitting stiffly, legs crossed, hands steepled in front of him. Dick could see Bruce's thumbs beating an erratic tattoo while his dark forbidding eyes took in every detail in the office. Finally, those brooding eyes came to rest on him.

Dick swallowed, nervously. Bruce could somehow always reduce him to adolescence with a single glance. Where the hell was MacCauley?

MacCauley had led them to his office, then at the last moment pulled Winters aside and told Bruce and Dick to wait. Dick wished that he'd hurry up and return. He desperately wanted to talk to Bruce and couldn't do it here in MacCauley's office.

Dick anxiously drummed his fingers as he waited. Becoming aware of the photos of the murdered children staring down at him, Dick suddenly felt the room closing in. An annoying trickle of perspiration began to wend its way slowly and inexorably down his back.

Where the hell was MacCauley?

Dick jumped up and started pacing. At Bruce's steady, pointed glare, Dick sat back down again. In desperation, he showed the pictures of the four boys to Bruce.

"MacCauley's the OIC of the Bludhaven Child Murders case," Dick explained. "He told my class that he keeps the pictures of the murdered children in his office so that he can remind himself each day of why he's coming to work. We've even posted the pictures in the Cadet Lounge. Sort of to remind us why we're joining the force."

Bruce stood up and walked over to the wall to study each photo carefully.

"As you can see," Dick continued, not looking at the pictures, "the boys are all approximately the same age, have the same dark hair, fair complexion, and dark blue eyes. It looks like the perp's hunting for the same kid over and over. I've started putting out feelers on the street, see if I can scare anything up."

By this time, Bruce had gone completely still. Dick didn't notice at first, but soon he looked up at his mentor and foster father.

"Bruce? What is it?" he asked perplexed. "Bruce?"

Bruce removed the photo of the first murdered boy, Danny O'Brien, from the bulletin board, and stared at it. He looked like he'd seen a ghost.

"Where the hell's MacCauley?" Bruce demanded icily.

"Bruce, what's the matter?" Dick asked worriedly.

"Yes, Mister Wayne," MacCauley said quietly. Both he and Winters were standing in the open doorway. "Tell us what the matter is."

Bruce glared intently at MacCauley, a rage growing in his burning eyes.

"How long have you known?" he asked accusingly.

"Not long," MacCauley admitted. "I just figured it out, in fact, but I couldn't be certain. Not until this very moment, in fact. That's why I left you two alone in my office."

MacCauley shrugged and gave Bruce a chagrinned look, mixed with more than a little guilt. He walked behind his desk and sat down. Looking up at Bruce, MacCauley spread out his hands as if to say, "So sue me!"

Bruce tossed Danny O'Brien's photo on the desk in disgust. He moved as far from MacCauley as the small space in the office would allow, and leaned against the wall, waiting, his eyes blazing cold blue fire.

Dick had seen the Batman angry before, of course, but it was a rare occasion that Bruce Wayne allowed himself to show such an openly raw emotion in public.

"When I saw you in the classroom," MacCauley explained, "I decided it was the break I needed. I figured that if I left the two of you alone in here long enough, that just maybe you'd provide the final clue."

Dick looked at Bruce and MacCauley in consternation.

"The kid hasn't figured it out, yet, by the way," MacCauley continued. "At least, not consciously."

"Figured what out?" Dick asked angrily. "Bruce, what are you two talking about?"

Bruce sighed heavily, as if a great weight were suddenly on his shoulders.

"I'd like to talk to my son in private, Captain MacCauley," he requested.

"I'm sorry, Mister Wayne," MacCauley said, shaking his head regretfully, "but this is police business. I hope you understand." Bruce studied MacCauley a moment longer, then reluctantly nodded his head.

"Captain MacCauley, may I?" Bruce looked questioningly at MacCauley, asking if he could take down all of the photos. MacCauley nodded. Bruce removed each photo carefully, then placed them side by side on MacCauley's desk.

"Dick, come over here. Study them closely, son. Tell me. What do you see?"

"Tell me, Tommy," Mikey said excitedly pointing at the children playing in the park. "What do you see?"

Tommy sighed. Lambs for the slaughter, he thought. Spying a dark head running happily after a larger group of children, Tommy closed his eyes in fear.

He wanted to tell Mikey that it was time they left Bludhaven. Time that they got on the road and started looking for greener pastures, but each time Tommy so much as mentioned leaving this god forsaken dump of a town, Mikey exploded into a wild frenzy.

Tommy had lived in fear of his older brother for more than half his life. Before that, he'd lived in mortal fear of their mother. Now he lived in fear for his life...

The Gunther brothers' childhood had been one of nightly beatings and daily humiliations. They'd lived with a psycho mother who took pleasure in bringing pain and anguish to the two boys who reminded her so much of her drunken no-good husband.

"How many times must I tell you to pick up after yourselves?" Mommy's shrill screeching could be heard throughout the low-rent apartment complex. "You're no good. Neither one of you! You're just like your father! I'm putting you both in the closet!"

"No! Mommy! Please!" the boys pleaded. "We'll be good! Please!" Mikey stood protectively in front of Tommy, taking the brunt of their mother's punishment.

"Don't hurt my brother!" Mikey cried out defiantly. The electric cord came down on them harder and faster, with a fury unmatched in its ferocity.

"How DARE you talk back to me! I'm your MOTHER!" Mommy screamed. "I COOK!" (WHIP!) "I CLEAN!" (WHIP!) "I do EVERYTHING for you!" (WHIP!) "And what does it GET ME!" (WHIP!) "Two ungrateful PUPS who do nothing but wet their beds and talk back to me!"

Mommy stood, hair disheveled and wild-eyed, over her boys. Suddenly, she dropped the electric cord as if from nerveless fingers, and brought her hand up to her head. Tears spilling unchecked, Mommy fell on her knees and she hugged both Tommy and Mikey to her breast. She began rocking them back forth, crooning endearments.

"Mommy loves you... Mommy loves you both so much... Why are you so bad? You know I have to punish you when you're bad... I hate it when you make me punish you. Mommy loves you so much... Why do you always hurt the ones you love..."

Tommy, sobbing and frightened, hugged his Mommy's neck.

"I love you, too, Mommy," Tommy insisted. "I love you, too. I'm sorry I was bad. I'll try to be good. I promise."

Mommy had on her favorite perfume, the one she always wore on nights she was going to have one of their "uncles" over. The nights their father usually drank himself to oblivion. The nights she locked them up in the closet.

Tommy felt himself losing self-control... he was terrified of the closet.

Mommy stopped rocking and looked down at the dark stain forming around Tommy's seat. Mommy sat back very still. Tommy and Mikey held their breaths. Mommy suddenly smiled softly, almost kindly.

"Aw-www-ww. Did widdle Tommy wet his widdle pants?" she asked, wagging her finger at him. Tommy shook his head fearfully. Mommy's smile turned ugly, terrifying. Snake fast, her hand whipped out across his mouth. Tommy fell backwards, tasting blood.

"Don't you hurt my brother!" Mikey yelled.

He launched himself at Mommy, fists flailing. Mommy's hand reached desperately towards the kitchen sink. Her fingers closed around a heavy pan, and she swung it up and around. Mikey ducked at the last instant, and Mommy was only able to give him a glancing blow, but it was enough to bring him to his knees.

"MIKEY!" Tommy screamed. He ran to his brother and hugged him protectively. "Mikey... Mikey," Tommy sobbed. "You killed him... you killed him!" Mommy stood holding the frying pan looking foolish.

"He shouldn't've tried to hit me," she said sullenly. "I'm your mother... I deserve respect."

Mikey began stirring, but before he could fully regain consciousness, Mommy had Tommy help her drag him to the storage closet. When Tommy realized that he was being locked in the dark, dank closet again, he began screaming in terror! In a fit of anger Mommy put her hand on his face and shoved him inside. Tommy fell backwards, screaming.

"NO-OOO-OO! Mommy, NO-OOO-OO!" Tommy scrambled to the door feeling his way in the dark, and banged in desperation. "Please, Mommy, I'll be good! I promise! Mommy!" Sobbing brokenheartedly, Tommy heard the bolt being thrown in place as Mommy locked the door from the outside.

Tommy huddled, sobbing, in a corner of their prison, a rat-infested storage space below the stairs in the basement. The place smelled of urine and human excrement. When Mikey, the older of the two, finally woke up, he crouched next to Tommy and held him close.

Sometimes Mommy would make them stay there for days at a time without food or water. Tommy thought that it was because she was punishing them for being bad, but Mikey knew that Mommy just didn't love them enough to need to punish them. When Mommy started drinking with whichever "uncle" she was entertaining, she promptly forgot about her two sons. "Mikey, I was good. Honest," Tommy whimpered, crying.

"Shhhhh, Tommy," Mikey said. "I'll take care of you. I promise."

On the few occasions that their father wasn't in a drunken stupor, he'd sexually abuse one or the other of the boys with impunity. Sometimes in the presence of his wife, who'd either look on in drunken disinterest, or laugh at their screams of pain.

"DON'T SCREAM!!" Daddy would roar in a rage. "I'm trying to show you how much I love you, you ungrateful brats! No one loves you like Daddy! No one ever will!"

A closed fist would suddenly come hurling down as punishment for crying. If the screams continued, then the thrashing became even more virulent. There'd been many a time that the boys had awakened, naked, bleeding, and bruised from one of their "loving" sessions with their father.

Invariably, like wounded puppies, they'd help each other crawl to bed from wherever they'd been carelessly tossed, like garbage, once Daddy had finished showing them how much he loved them.

"Why do they hurt us, Mikey?" Tommy asked. "They say they love us. Why do they have to hurt us?" Mikey held his brother closer.

"Because, Tommy, you always hurt the ones you love," Mikey replied.

Tommy and Mikey's abuse at the hands of their parents ended suddenly when twelve-year-old Mikey took a butcher knife and in a murderous rage killed first their mother, then their father. Mommy and Daddy were both passed out on the living room couch after a twenty-hour drinking binge.

"Yeah, Mommy and Daddy," Mikey said, standing over their bodies. "I guess I just wanted to show you how much I love you!"

Mikey then set fire to the entire apartment complex. Five people died later of smoke inhalation. Child Welfare Services determined Mikey to be incorrigible and unadoptable and placed him in the Juvenile Detention Center.

Tommy was placed in a series of foster homes, but the abuse at his parents' hands severely affected his emotional development. He was therefore unable to adjust to any normal home environment, and at the age of fifteen, Tommy raped and sodomized his forty-year old foster mother.

The woman's perfume reminded him of his own much feared and beloved Mommy's favorite scent. When arrested, Tommy kept mumbling that no one would ever lock him up in a closet again.

Tommy was placed in the Juvenile Detention Center where he was reunited with his older brother, Mikey.

"Don't worry, Tommy," Mikey said, hugging his cowering brother. "I promised you that I'd take care of you, didn't I?"

That was when Tommy's nightmare really started.

"I see your latest pet," Tommy intoned distractedly, pointing at the dark head that was suddenly swallowed up in the crowd of children. Tommy felt a severe headache coming on. The headaches were coming more often lately.

"You betcha!" Mikey agreed. Tommy looked around nervously. The children were several meters inside the park's green. They were too far off the park's motor vehicle path in order to drive the van in without arousing suspicion.

Suddenly, a horse-mounted police officer rode up to the playing children. He dismounted and gave the children a friendly greeting. The children gathered excitedly around him, pleading to pet his horse.

"Oh please! Let me pet him! Please?" Tommy could hear the children's voices all the way back to where they were parked. He glanced over at Mikey. His brother had gone suddenly still. Tommy saw that Mikey was flexing and unflexing a fist in a slow-burning anger. Tommy knew that Mikey was about to explode. Quickly, he put the van in gear, started the motor, and began pulling out.

"I've already told you," Dick said shrugging his shoulders. "It's the same kid, almost. The guy's obsessed with this kid, whoever he is, and keeps hunting him. I don't know, maybe the victims didn't perform the way the perp's fantasy kid is supposed to perform. Maybe they cried, instead of telling him how much they loved him."

Dick paused, his eyes pain-filled as he pictured the horrors these children must have gone through at the hands of their killer.

"Whatever the reason, in addition to raping and sodomizing his victims, he ended up torturing them, before his rage was finally spent. Then he threw them out with the morning garbage."

"Cadet Grayson," MacCauley said quietly. "There's another picture that I haven't hung on the wall. The fifth victim."

"There's been a fifth victim?" Dick asked incredulously. He slammed both hands on MacCauley's desk in blazing anger. Leaning forward he demanded vehemently, "When? Why hasn't anything been said about it?"

"Dick," Bruce's curt voice cut through Dick's anger. "Look at the picture."

Dick turned surprised eyes at Bruce. The look on his guardian's face sent him warning bells. Dick felt the room growing unbearably hot.

"Look at the picture," Bruce repeated, quietly. His eyes signaled MacCauley.

MacCauley pulled the photo out of an old file, and not taking his eyes off Dick, carefully laid it on the desk. Dick forced himself to look down at the picture. He squinted trying to clear his blurring vision. He had to concentrate to focus on the face staring back at him.

Dick felt suddenly cold inside. The others were beginning to move in slow motion. Dick felt the room beginning to spin. He heard a roaring in his ears. In a flash, the images of his four-way reflection in the Men's latrine came rushing back, and he saw his face morphing onto those of the victims. Because smiling up at him, from out of the past, was the last picture ever taken of him while at Haly Circus.

It was the same photo circulated by the police when he disappeared from the Juvenile Detention Center all those years ago, when he was later believed to have been kidnapped by Michael Gunther, a known pedophile suspected in a string of murders of young boys.

"Bruce, what is this?" Dick whispered in denial. He turned to MacCauley. "What are you trying to pull, Captain MacCauley?" The detective didn't say anything, just looked pointedly at the five photographs spread below.

Little Dicky Grayson was a twin to the four murdered boys.

Dicky Grayson had been all of nine years old when he'd disappeared, and no one, except for one man, had held out any hope that the boy would be returned alive. That man eventually rescued little Dicky from the very jaws of death, and today was standing next to him, offering his unwavering support.

"Bruce," Dick looked at his foster father, pleading. "It can't be. You promised! You said they'd be in prison for the rest of their lives! You promised!"

Dick grabbed Bruce by his lapels, staring at him accusingly for failing him once again. Then, overwhelmed by this unexpected turn of events, Dick collapsed in the nearest chair. Winters quickly moved to stand next to him. She heard him saying something, but had to lean down to make out the words.

"Mikey and Tommy," Dick whispered in a frightened little boy voice. "They're back!"

"NO! NO! NO!" Mikey screamed enraged! "He's MINE! MINE!" Tommy was terrified. Mikey was slamming his fists on the van's dashboard, in time to his screams. Unable to control his growing frenzy, Mikey fumbled with his seatbelt and stood up. He stumbled to the back of the van, bumping into the gearbox in the process, almost causing Tommy to lose control of the vehicle.

As the van careened erratically around the doublewide highway, Tommy swerved to avoid oncoming traffic. Mikey meanwhile was roaring out his fury in the back, kicking supplies, the van's bulkheads, anything to assuage the tempest swirling in his mind.

Tommy had to get them back to their safe house before Mikey did something that would get them both arrested.

"I WANT HIM!" Mikey screamed, foam spewing out of his mouth. "He's MINE! Stop the van, Tommy! Stop the van now! I'm going back there, and I'm bringing him home, and I'm going to punish him for being bad!" Mikey rushed to the front, and started struggling with Tommy for control of the van.

"Do you hear me, you little ungrateful PUP? I'm coming for you! And when I get my hands on you, you're gonna wish that you were dead!"

"Mikey! MIKEY!" Tommy screamed in desperation, trying to wrest control from his incensed brother. "Let go of the steering wheel! You'll kill us both! Mikey! You're gonna kill us both!"

At this moment Tommy's heart almost stopped. Barreling towards them at 55 mph was a Mack truck pulling two trailers! Tommy turned to his brother, and punched him with as much force as he could muster with his closed fist. Mikey staggered backwards, giving Tommy the opening he needed.

At the last possible second, Tommy and the driver of the oncoming truck managed to swerve and avoid a head-on collision.

"Oh, God! Oh, God!" Tommy began chanting. "Ohgod, Ohgod, ohgodohgod... "

MacCauley's voice intoned the list of charges and convictions against the Gunther brothers.

"Thomas and Michael Gunther, tried and convicted of kidnapping a minor child, one Richard John Grayson, with intent to commit rape, and intent to commit lewd acts with said minor child."

MacCauley paused for a reaction from the others. Dick ran his hand surreptitiously across his eyes, and looked away, anywhere except where Bruce was standing. Bruce stood leaning against the wall, his dark eyes boring a hole into Dick as if willing the younger man to look at him. Winters stood behind Dick, her hands on his shoulders, trying to offer comfort and support through her close presence.

MacCauley continued his litany.

"The State didn't have enough evidence to try the Gunthers for murder, although they were suspected in several child kidnappings/murders similar to the current ones. Therefore, the brothers were only tried on the two counts of kidnapping with intent, and they were sentenced to nonconcurring double life sentences with no chance of parole."

MacCauley looked up at Bruce.

"It says here, Mister Wayne, that you would not allow the lead witness for the prosecution, Richard Grayson, to testify?"

Bruce nodded.

"That's correct, Captain MacCauley, and I'd make the same decision today. Dick was only nine years old. He'd watched his parents fall to their deaths only a few weeks prior, and then was placed in the Gotham Juvenile Detention Center to wait for a foster family. While there, Dick was severely beaten and had his life threatened."

Bruce's eyes burned into MacCauley's.

"Can you blame me for wanting to protect him?"

Bruce glanced over at Dick, who was determinedly looking away.

"Dick had already been through so much, MacCauley. So much had been taken from him. So much had been done to him. I couldn't bear to see him suffer any further. The DA at the time, Harvey Dent, was a personal friend. He said he could effectively prosecute the Gunthers without the boy's testimony."

Bruce looked sadly in Dick's direction, then setting his jaw grimly, he turned back to MacCauley.

"And he did! I was just grateful that we got Dick back alive!"

"Yes, alive," Dick whispered.

These were the first words he'd spoken in almost ten minutes. Bruce and MacCauley turned to him. His eyes bright with unshed tears, Dick turned an accusing stare at Bruce.

"Alive, yes," Dick said louder. He quickly wiped tears that just seemed to have started falling of their own accord.

"And what else, Bruce? What else?" Dick stood up suddenly. "Why didn't you want me to testify, Bruce? Were you afraid I'd remember what they did to me? Is that it?"

Bruce looked at Dick with genuine confusion. He shook his head.

"Dick, I don't have any idea what you're talking about?" Bruce made it into a question, rather than a statement.

"Don't you? Was I raped, Bruce?" The ragged question was torn out of Dick. Abruptly, Dick sat down again, his legs unable to support him.

"Was I raped?" he repeated softly.

Dick's question hung in the air like a seemingly malodorous presence. It was met with stunned looks from the others, but no more so than from Bruce. He crossed over quickly to Dick and knelt in front of him.

"Dick... " Bruce said in quiet desperation. "Son, listen to me. I don't know where you got this idea, but I swear... there was no physical evidence of any sexual abuse."

Dick turned away, refusing to look his adoptive father in the eyes. Bruce looked helplessly at Winters, shaking his head as if to say, "What do I do now?" Winters spoke quietly to Dick.

"Dick... Dick, can you tell us why you think that you were raped when you were kidnapped?" Dick violently shook his head, unable to articulate the visions that were haunting his dreams.

"No," he whispered in the same little boy voice he'd used earlier. Suddenly, his whole body became racked with deep, heartfelt sobs. "No!" he said louder.

"NO-OOO-OO!" Dick cried out in agony, his soul in pain. Needing his father, Dick turned to Bruce, who immediately welcomed him protectively into his strong arms. Bruce held Dick, allowing him to expend his emotions before he spoke again.

"Dick, Doctor Leslie checked you out as soon as you came to us... remember?"

Dick nodded.

"I asked her to check for any signs of sexual assault. Dick, you had so many cuts and bruises on you, that Alfred and I were both terrified of what they'd obviously done to you and what they might've done."

Bruce stopped and took Dick's stricken face between his hands, forcing Dick to look at him.

"Dick, son, listen to me. Doctor Leslie found no physical signs of sexual abuse. Just to be sure she hadn't missed anything, she even talked to you... using questions specifically designed for children to describe sexual contact."

"But I felt him, Bruce!" Dick protested. "In my dreams. I saw Mikey." He choked unable to continue. "He... he... he had his hands all over me!" Dick suddenly wrapped his arms around himself, and began rocking.

"He was TOUCHING ME!" Dick cried out his voice ragged. "I could feel him... his hot breath on the back of my neck... And he kept yelling at me! DON'T SCREAM! DON'T SCREAM! Over and over again!"

Unable to continue, Dick clawed his way to Bruce and held him for dear life. He was nine years old again, and he'd just lost his parents. Bruce was the only grownup who showed any real sympathy, who offered any real hope. It was Bruce who took his hand and offered him a home and a place to belong and who became his new father.

Dick clung to Bruce now the same way he'd clung to Batman when the Dark Knight swooped in from the skylights, like a man-sized bat, and pulled him out of the Gunther brothers' house of horrors. He now clung to Bruce for the sake of his sanity.

"Mikey, I promise you, I'll find him for you!" Tommy called from the driver's seat. "But you gotta sit back there and be good. D'you hear me, bro? If you're good, I promise, I'll find Dicky for you!"

Tommy chanced a backward glance toward the interior of the van. Mikey was curled in a fetal position in the corner. He was whimpering like a wounded puppy. Tommy felt his own tears begin to form.

"That stupid cop had no right!" Tommy said out loud. "He had no right to show up just at that moment! Mikey, I swear I'll make it up to you. Just like you've always taken care of me, I'll take care of you. Whatever it takes, bro. Whatever it takes."

"Tommy... I only want to show him how much I love him," Mikey said in a little boy voice. "Why won't he let me show him how much I love him?"

"Because he's an ungrateful pup, Mikey, just like you said," Tommy said soothingly. "Don't worry, bro. Once we find him, you can show him then. I'll help you show him. I won't let him hurt you anymore, Mikey. I promise."

Tommy looked back again and saw that his big brother had fallen asleep in exhaustion.

"I promise... "

"The Gunthers probably escaped from Blackgate shortly after the earthquake," MacCauley mused. "In the ensuing confusion, they probably walked right out without being challenged."

Bruce looked apologetically at Dick. He'd failed to protect him... again!

It's not your fault, Bruce, Dick's eyes pleaded.

Winters observed the interplay between Bruce and Dick from the sidelines. There was a large amount of unspoken pain between them, but there was also genuine love. Whatever brought them together in the first place, in the ensuing years a true bond had obviously been forged. They might not be biological father and son, but their emotional ties were as strong as if they were.

"Mister Wayne, Dick," Winters said tentatively. They both looked up at her. "I may be of help, if Dick is willing." Bruce looked at her as one would an intruder.

"You mean hypnosis, Doctor?" he asked. Dick looked up, startled at Winters. She nodded.

"Yes, that's exactly what I mean," she replied, unperturbed. "I know that it sounds like a frightening proposition, Dick, but it's not as bad as the movies make it, I promise." She smiled slightly.

"We psychologists get a bad rap in the media, I'm afraid. Practicing mind control over our unwitting patients."

Winters pulled a chair over and sat down next to Dick. She took his hand and gave him a frank, open look.

"Dick, I promise that it's nothing like that. Under hypnosis, a patient may or may not be able to recall incidents clearer than if he's awake and conscious. When you're under, you're relaxed, and most of your natural inhibitions and any daily distracters that would normally cause you to forget or block something out, are removed."

Winters saw immediately that neither Dick nor Bruce liked the sound of that.

"Don't worry. Under hypnosis there are still certain programmed auto responses that cannot be removed. That's why people say that a subject under hypnosis can't be made to kill. Most of us are programmed from infancy that killing is wrong; aversion to killing becomes so strongly ingrained in most of us, that a subject under hypnosis will refuse to kill."

Winters grinned suddenly.

"Otherwise, can you imagine the armies of trained zombies we psychologists could have out there right now, ready to do our bidding at a moment's notice if we gave them just the right post-hypnotic command?"

She laughed at the absurdity of such an occurrence, looking first at one then the other. When Winters realized that neither one was laughing, she promptly swallowed her chuckles and stopped, embarrassed.

Of course, Winters had never run afoul of such villains as Brother Blood or Hugo Strange or the Mad Hatter; however, both Dick and Bruce had, and neither one ever wished to repeat the experience of losing his identity at the hands of another.

"Hmm-mmm-mm. I can see that this is going to be harder than I thought," she said.

"No, you're right, Lauren," Dick said quietly. "Bruce, she's right. I'll always wonder what happened to me otherwise."

"Dick, do you realize what you'll be submitting yourself to? You'll be wide open, unprotected," Bruce said. Two pairs of piercing blue eyes bored into each other, neither side willing to back down.

Winters looked on wonderingly. If it weren't for the fact that she knew Bruce and Dick weren't related biologically, she would've taken them for father and son. They not only act like father and son, Winters realized, they look like father and son.

"I won't be there for you," Bruce insisted.

"That's not exactly true, Mister Wayne," Winters interrupted. "It isn't the usual procedure, but I can have a close family member in the room at the time a patient goes under. Rather than it being just my voice the subject listens to, the family member can make his supportive presence known. It usually works best with children, or with adults undergoing age regression. It's always good to have a parent there to provide added comfort."

"Bruce? If you say no, I'll understand," Dick said, eyes downcast. Bruce studied Dick a moment longer, noting the dark circles under his eyes, the hunched-in self-defeated look that was so unlike the confident young man he knew so well.

"When do we start, Doctor?" Bruce asked.

"Absolutely not! I will not allow my son's session with a psychologist to be witnessed by anyone except myself!" Bruce's booming voice could be heard three corridors down. He and MacCauley were alone in MacCauley's office.

Dick had to report to the indoor pistol range for qualification with his .38 Police Special, while Winters had an afternoon session at a free clinic where she volunteered. They'd agreed to meet the next day in Winters' private office at Bludhaven General.

Once alone with Bruce, MacCauley revealed his plans to be present during Dick's session with Winters the next day. Bruce promptly exploded. Allowing Dick to submit to hypnosis was risky enough with Dr. Winters, a practicing psychologist, bound by her oath of doctor/patient privilege; however, when that psychologist was also a sworn police officer, then anything she deemed pertinent to the current case could be considered evidence.

To have MacCauley, the officer in charge of the investigation, also present was untenable.

"You have little choice, Mister Wayne," MacCauley said coolly. "Your son is a police officer, sworn to serve and protect, and Doctor Winters is a police psychologist. This is not a private therapy session. I'm investigating a child serial killer, and any knowledge Cadet Grayson may have relevant to this case is considered police business."

"Dick is my son, and I intend to do everything in my power to protect him," Bruce said quietly. "I can make one phone call, MacCauley, and bring so much fire on you, you'll need a flak jacket to survive the fallout!"

"Wayne, I have a son, too," MacCauley said. "Davey turned ten just two weeks ago. Don't you think that I want to protect him? Don't you think that each day when I come into work I don't pray that I'll catch these monsters before they can hurt another child just like him?"

MacCauley stood toe to toe with Bruce.

"I love my son, too, Wayne!" he declared. "But I also know that I can't protect him from all of life's bumps and scrapes. I just pray to God that I've been able to teach him enough about the dangers out there that he'll be able to avoid the worst. And each night, before I go to bed, I kiss my boy, thankful that he's the greatest kid in the world and that we've made it through another day!"

MacCauley paused and studied Bruce for a few seconds.

"We're a lot alike, you know that? We're both driven by our jobs, obsessed with being the best at what we do. You... CEO of the largest corporation on the East Coast. Me... head of the Violent Crimes Division in one of the most crime-ridden cities in the Mid-Atlantic states."

MacCauley walked towards his small window, which overlooked the Police Academy's parade grounds.

"But in the end, we're both just a couple of Dads worried about our boys and trying to protect them from life's worst dilemmas."

There was silence between the two men for several seconds. Finally, Bruce broke it, his tentative voice telling MacCauley more than the words themselves.

"When I saw Dick's parents plunge to their death, I knew that I wouldn't rest until their killer was brought to justice. I dogged the GCPD on a daily basis, demanding information, making sure that the case was not being shoved aside and forgotten. Unfortunately, in my zeal to see justice done, I, along with just about every other adult involved, forgot about the boy."

Bruce walked over to the desk and picked up Dick's photo.

"When he first disappeared, almost no one in authority knew about it. He'd been placed in the Juvenile Detention Center... supposedly to wait for a suitable foster home... and was promptly forgotten. To make a long story short, he was helped by a bunch of kids to escape. Within a day or so, he vanished without a trace."

Bruce snapped his fingers.

"Just like that!" He turned angry, outraged eyes at MacCauley. "Can you believe that? A nine-year-old boy disappears, like he's never even existed, and no one's the wiser!"

Bruce grimaced bitterly.

"I may be the CEO of the largest corporation in the East Coast, MacCauley, but it means little when you're trying to cut through a mountain of red-tape and a deliberate institutional cover-up designed to hide the disappearance of one small boy. When it was finally over, when I had Dick back, tucked and safely asleep in his bed, there were a lot of heads that rolled. I made sure of it!"

Recalling the days of raw numbing fear that he and Alfred lived through during that whole period, Bruce absentmindedly traced the outline of Dick's sunny smile with his index finger.

"I tried playing by the rules, MacCauley. I tried talking to the people in Child Welfare Services. All I wanted was to make sure that Dick got the best foster home possible. I wasn't even looking to adopt him at the time. I was only concerned for a lonely little boy who had no one left in the world, who in a split second saw his whole life seemingly come to an end."

Bruce looked up, his remembered feeling of near defeat obvious on his face.

"They wouldn't even return my phone calls! Frustrated with all of the doors that were being slammed in my face, I finally went to an... unorthodox source," he said.

"The Batman?" MacCauley asked. At Bruce's raised eyebrow, MacCauley snorted. "Even here in Bludhaven we've heard of Gotham City's protector." His mouth quirked up sardonically.

"In fact, I hear that Bludhaven has its own protector now. Hardly more than a kid from all the reports I've been able to garner, but he seems to be in tight with the Batman. Calls himself Nightwing. You wouldn't know about him, would you, Mister Wayne?"

Bruce looked up from Dick's photo.

"What? Nightwing?" he asked vaguely. "No, I don't know of any vigilante by that name. Although, I've heard that Batman has been known to recruit assistants in the past."

"So, did the Batman find young Grayson?" MacCauley asked, bringing the conversation back to the original topic. Bruce's eyes bored intently into MacCauley's.

"Yes, MacCauley, he did. When all of the GCPD's assets failed, when my own army of lawyers and private investigators failed, one lone man succeeded. Do I believe the Batman is necessary, Captain MacCauley? What do you think?"

Bruce paused.

"Maybe you should make an effort to meet this young vigilante, Nightwing. You never know, MacCauley. He may be the lone man who succeeds when everyone else's hands have been tied with red tape."

"Mii-keeey!" called Tommy. "Mikey? You awake, bro?" Tommy stood in the middle of their converted family room in the abandoned apartment complex they'd turned into a home. The room had an impressive array of weightlifting and other exercise equipment. Both Mikey and Tommy were health fanatics and couldn't go for more than a single day without working out.

In addition, there was a wide-screen, 36-inch television set, with a game converter box attached. They had a brightly colored box full of toys that would appeal to young boys: Transformers, the latest of the Star Wars action toys, Hot Wheels, high-powered water rifles, and several more games and toys.

Experience taught the Gunther brothers that their pets would remain cooperative longer if provided with the means to amuse themselves.

Tommy was holding a relatively small, squirming bundle tossed carelessly over his shoulder. Every now and then it would slip, and he'd have to readjust his purchase on it.

"Now where could that guy have gone off to?" Tommy asked the empty room.

"Tommy? Is that you, bro?" Tommy whipped around, his heart racing.

Mikey stood at the door in his shorts. He was rubbing his eyes blearily. His coarse, light brown hair stood straight out. Both brothers were forced to grow their hair out to hide the identifying matching tattoos of attacking cobras that started at the base of their necks and ended on the crown of their heads.

Mikey's pectorals stood out prominently; he'd been middle weightlifting champ at Blackgate. That earned him a forced respect from the other prisoners who normally held child molesters in contempt. Tommy lived under Mikey's protective umbrella during their stay there.

Now it was Tommy's turn to take care of Mikey. Mikey was growing increasingly confused about his surroundings. It was scaring Tommy to death. He'd always depended on his older brother's strength and protection. Tommy didn't know what he'd do if he ever lost Mikey. He had to do everything in his power to help his brother.

That's why he'd brought him a present.

"Yeah, Mikey, it's me," Tommy said smiling. "Guess what, bro? I brought you a surprise." Tommy held out the bundle for his brother's inspection.

"A surprise? For me?" Mikey asked, obviously pleased at his brother's thoughtfulness. "What's the occasion? My birthday's still months away, bro!"

The tightly wrapped package began to move. Mikey heard what sounded like mewling sounds coming from within. That was Mikey's first indication that whatever was wrapped in the bundle was alive.

He smiled delightedly.

Mikey was thrilled! It wasn't even Christmas or his birthday. No one had ever given him a present just because! Smiling broadly, Mikey eagerly uncovered one end of the bundle. His excitement escalated an additional ten points.

Struggling futilely in Tommy's arms was a beautiful boy, about five or six years old. He had bright blue eyes, which were currently wide as saucers from fright, dark hair the color of the night, a fair complexion with a light smattering of freckles across the tiny bridge of his nose.

After a few moments, Mikey recognized the boy as the one they'd followed from the bus stop all those days ago. The one who'd proudly shown his Mommy his lost tooth.

"Mikey, if your smile gets any wider," Tommy teased, "your face is gonna break!"

Mikey looked gratefully at his brother. Not quite believing that the boy was actually there, he traced his fingers tenderly along the boy's soft cheek and dark hair. Mikey could see twin trails on either cheek made by tears and felt the still wet spots.

"Look at what the Tooth Fairy brought me, eh, Tommy?" Mikey whispered lovingly. The boy's eyes widened further, and he began struggling all the harder in Tommy's arms. He was making tiny, high-pitched mewling sounds. But no one would be able to hear him, Mikey thought, because Tommy had considerately gagged the boy with duct tape to keep him from crying out.

"Dicky," Mikey whispered, overcome with emotion, his own eyes bright with unshed tears. "Tommy, you brought him home to me. Thank you, bro. You're the best brother ever!"

Tommy smiled happily, glad that he'd cheered his older brother.

Mikey lovingly took the bundle from Tommy.

"Dicky, you've been naughty," he crooned. "But you're home now, and Mikey just can't stay mad at you for long. Mikey forgives you because he loves you sooo-ooo much. And soon, very soon, he's going to show you just how much he loves you."

Mikey stopped and turned slowly towards Tommy, his confused eyes happy but slightly unfocused.

"Tommy, do you want to show Dicky how much you love him, too?"

Tommy shook his head no.

"Naw, Mikey. He's all yours... I got him just for you." Mikey smiled again. He inhaled deeply, filling himself with the unconditional love of his little brother. One day he'd show Tommy just how much he loved him, too...

"You said you had information?"

Sable whirled at the menacing tone coming from the shadows. She visibly straightened herself, then slinked in the direction of the voice.

"Wingster, baby," she said huskily. "We've got to stop meeting like this."

"Nightwing couldn't make it. He sent me, instead." The Dark Knight emerged from the gloom of the shadows into the weak light afforded by the quarter moon.

"Eeeeep!" Sable squeaked in real fright. The color rushed from underneath her heavily made-up face. Sable swallowed several times, before she was finally able to find her voice. Recovering her composure, she moved in closer to the menacing newcomer.

"Well, well, well, well, well!" Sable said admiringly. "Mmmm-mmm-mm. Baby, leave it to the Wingster to send the first stringer in his place... When you care enough to send the very best!"

She laughed throatily.

"My, my, my! If it isn't the Dark Knight himself! Wait'll I tell the girls over at Kylie's stable. Those bitches will be so green with envy, the Docs will have to check 'em over for VD!"

Batman cleared his throat.

"Yes, well, Ms. Sable, is it? Nightwing said you had information--?"

"All in good time, baby," Sable whispered in a throaty voice, running her hands admiringly up Batman's chest. "All in good time." She leaned closely and inhaled the slightest trace of soap.

"Mmmm-mm-m. Clean and straight!" she said dreamily. "How lucky can one girl get?"

Batman could feel her hot breath along his cheek. The next thing he felt was her hot, wet tongue running along his exposed jawline!

That did it! Batman didn't like to hit women, but this one was a bit too bold and brassy for his taste. Even the Catwoman wouldn't dare to do such a thing.

Batman grabbed Sable by her pink boa and spun her around, holding her at an arm's length.

"Okay, lady, one last time... do you or do you not have information for Nightwing?" he asked threateningly. Sable pouted disappointedly.

"Oh, all right," she said rolling her eyes disgustedly. "You spandex heroes are all alike. All work and no play."

Batman released her, shoving her away slightly, as if afraid she might throw herself at him again. Sable crossed her arms and gave Batman a chagrinned look. She shook her head in disbelief.

"You must be that boy's father," she said after awhile. "You act just like him, only more so!"

Abruptly, Sable pulled off her wig and rummaged underneath the sweatband until she found what she was looking for. Without his wig, it was obvious to even the most myopic that Sable was in fact a man. Nonplussed, Batman blinked from behind his cowl and stood mouth gaping.

That... person... had run his tongue along his cheek!

Dick, when I get my hands on you--! Batman fumed silently.

When Nightwing informed Batman about Sable, a hooker who might have some information for him tonight, he'd laughed to himself as if at a private joke. Batman now knew that he had been the butt of his protege's little gag.

Locating what he needed, Damon turned his back to Batman and carefully replaced his wig, transforming himself back into Sable. Then, straightening her boa and running nervous fingers through her wig, Sable turned once more to face the Dark Knight. She walked tentatively over to Batman and handed him a slip of paper.

"I overheard a couple of Johns talking about these two bad dudes who've been ripping off electronics stores for games 'n such. Same dudes heisted a truck from Toys R Us. I didn't catch the names of the guys doing the heists, but these are the names of the Johns that were talking. Couple of high up muckity-ups... part of Blockbuster's Organization."

Sable paused, her eyes blazing in anger.

"All they care about is that someone's ripping off Blockbuster, man. They don't give a rat's ass if these may be the same dudes involved in the child killings."

Sable shook her head. The men's callousness affected even her hardened shell.

"Batman, give my regards to the Wingster. Tell 'im any time, any place, any way he wants it. I'm ready, willing, and able." She smiled wickedly. "And that, of course, goes double for you!"

With that Sable swung around and ambled back to her street corner, hawking her wares to all who passed within close proximity.

"Okay, Nightwing, you had your little joke at the old man's expense; however, two can play at this game," Batman said. His mouth quirked at having been caught unawares by both Nightwing and Sable.

"Young man, you are in so much trouble!"

The call came just a few minutes before they were scheduled to go off shift. Sgt. Jennings sighed. It looked like he'd be getting home late again. He glanced over at his partner, Officer Kelp, who was writing down the specifics in his neat shorthand.

Kelp picked up the mike and acknowledged the information.

"This is Lincoln Oscar Five, ETA four minutes. Out." Kelp flipped on the emergency lights and sirens. Jennings and Kelp looked resignedly at each other. Another child reported missing. At the moment, they didn't know if this was another victim in the growing list of child murders.

Either way, it looked like a late shift for them...

"What do you have?" MacCauley asked Jennings. He was glad Jennings and Kelp had caught the call. They were both experienced patrolmen and knew better than to walk all over the crime scene.

"William Theodore Grady, called Billy by his family, six years old, disappeared from his bedroom some time last night. Mrs. Deana Grady, the mother, says that she put her son to bed at approximately eight p.m. She waited up for her husband, Theodore Grady, who was working late and didn't come home until ten p.m."

Jennings paused, checking his notes closely, and then continued.

"Mister Grady says that after his wife went to bed, he stayed up about another half-hour having a nightcap. At approximately eleven-thirty p.m., Grady walked around the apartment and checked all of the windows and doors, something his wife says he does every night, looked in on his son, and went to bed."

Jennings shrugged his shoulders and shook his head tiredly.

"This morning when the Gradys woke up, they discovered their son missing. Billy's bedroom window shows signs of forced entry, and there's heavy footprint activity right outside. The magnesium security lights immediately outside the Gradys' apartment building were out of order. I had Kelp check 'em... looks like they've been deliberately broken... shot out. There were more footprints around the light pole, and these--"

Jennings held up a plastic baggy containing two spent .22 shells.

"How about the neighbors? Anybody see or hear anything?" MacCauley asked, not really expecting anything, but hopeful nevertheless.

"Yeah, at about four, four-fifteen a.m., one of the neighbors, a woman, Brianna Moore, says she was awakened by what sounded like glass breaking. She says she didn't really think much of it at the time, but now she realizes that her bedroom was really dark."

At MacCauley's questioning look, Jennings explained.

"She says that the outside security light usually shines right into her bedroom, making it hard to fall asleep at nights sometimes. She usually has her blinds pulled as tightly as possible, but last night, because it was such a cool night, she decided to turn off the apartment's central air, and instead, slept with her bedroom windows open and the blinds slightly drawn in order to let in the cool breeze. The sound that woke her could've been the security light being broken by the perp."

MacCauley nodded in agreement.

"That would put the snatch at about four, four-fifteen. Good job, Jennings. Look, why don't you and Kelp go home and get some sleep? Thanks for sticking around until I had a chance to talk to you."

"No need to thank me, Captain MacCauley, sir. That's why the City of Bludhaven pays me and my partner such a generous overtime salary... Just so's we can stand around and watch the sun rise while awaiting your esteemed arrival and the privilege of observing your legendary investigative skills."

MacCauley laughed.

"Get outta here, Jennings, before I forget that you gave me my first break when I was a rookie."

"Don't remind me!" Jennings said, slapping his forehead with the palm of his hand. "If I'd'a told you to go left instead of right, I'd be the big shot head of Violent Crimes today and not some lowly patrol officer!"

"Don't give me that, Jennings," MacCauley said. "They'll have to pry you out of your squad car when it's time for you to retire. All you've ever wanted is the streets. You've turned down a gold shield more times than the pansies down at Personnel can count. And I know I've personally asked you several times to join my little division."

"Yeah, but would you respect me in the morning?" Jennings asked facetiously. At this moment, Kelp came walking up, leading a sullen looking teenager. "Besides, if I came to work for you, Mac, who'd watch out for Kelp? He'd be totally lost without me."

"Huh?" Kelp asked. Jennings gave MacCauley a "See what I mean?" look. MacCauley grinned.

"What do you have, Kelp?" MacCauley asked.

"Tony Davila, sixteen years old, member of the Arlington Heights' neighborhood street gang known as 'Los Muchachos'." Kelp grabbed Davila roughly by the collar and pushed him forward. "Tell the gentlemen where you were at around four, four-fifteen this morning, Tony."

"Hey, I don't gotta tell you nothing, man!" Davila said belligerently. "I know my rights, man! I don't say nothing without a lawyer!"

"You haven't been charged with anything, yet, punk!" Kelp said, getting in the boy's face. "I don't gotta get you nothing, except a slap across your mouth! We have a missing six-year-old boy, you hear me? You know what they do to child molesters in prison, punk? Keep up that attitude, and we'll have you on child kidnapping charges as an accessory after the fact!"

"Hey, man! I ain't no pervert, man! What'chu sayin' that for, man? I din't takeno kid! Man, I had nuthin' t'do wit' no kidnapping!"

"Hey, kid, no one's saying you did," Jennings interjected soothingly. He stepped forward and placed his arm around Davila. "Hey, I'm sorry about my partner, Tony. He gets a little high strung sometimes. Look, I know you ain't no pervert, kid. Once you've been on the force as long as I have, you get a sort of sixth sense for these things. But my partner, well, he's still new. He gets excited. Look, why don't you just tell us what you saw, and we'll call it even, okay?"

Davila nodded, looking aggrieved, as Jennings spoke, interjecting, "Man, he ain't got no right to call me no pervert!" over and over.

"Okay," Davila agreed, "but only 'cause I don't like no one to heist no little kid, see?"

"Of course, Tony. Absolutely," Jennings said, nodding sagely. MacCauley and Kelp, who'd observed the whole exchange between Jennings and Davila, turned and hid their smirks.

"So what were you doing outside of your turf last night, Tony?" Jennings asked.

"I overheard these two punks from a rival gang dissing our neighborhood, so me and a couple of my home boys followed them here to this apartment complex. We was gonna do a drive-by, man, but then we found out that one of the dude's was visiting his grandmother." Davila shook his head emphatically.

"Man, you don't shoot a gangbanger's grandmother's house. Even if they dissed us first. So, me and my homeys, we decided to wait and jump them when they left."

Jennings and Kelp exchanged sardonic glances at the gang member's idea of chivalry.

"Can you tell us what you saw around four, four-thirty this morning?" Jennings asked.

"It was weird, man," Davila said. "We're parked, ready to shoot the rival gangbangers when they come out of the grandmother's house, when this dark van pulls into the neighborhood. It has no headlights on. Even the motor is stopped. It's just... how do you say it? Gliding, man."

Kelp interrupted.

"There's a slight, twenty-percent downgrade on the road here," Kelp explained. At the others' nods, Davila continued.

"Anyway, the van glides to a stop, and a few minutes later, this dude gets out. Big, mean-looking guy. Looks like he works out a lot. I'm watching this dude, wondering what he's up to, when he pulls out a piece and shoots out the streetlights. I'm thinking, what a punk, man! Don't he have nothing better to do than shoot out streetlights? But, you know, what's funny? I didn't hear no shot. He just like pointed, man, and the lights went out." Davila shrugged.

Jennings looked at MacCauley. "Probably used a silencer," he said. MacCauley nodded.

"Anyway, the dude disappears in the dark. A few minutes pass by, then I see him come back, carrying a bundle of some kind... He tosses it in the back of the van, climbs in and takes off. His lights were still off, man, and I'm thinking, man, he's gonna cause an accident! I figured he must've ripped off one of the apartments. That's all I saw, man!"

Jennings nodded his thanks.

"Captain MacCauley?" Jennings called, deliberately emphasizing MacCauley's title and putting as much deference in his tone as possible. "Excuse me, sir, but do you have any further questions for this young man?"

"No, Sergeant Jennings," MacCauley replied. "I believe that Tony here has been most helpful and cooperative. What do you think, Officer Kelp? Don't you agree that Tony has been exceptionally helpful?"

Kelp nodded reluctantly in agreement.

"Yeah, Davila, I guess you told us everything you know. Look, man, I'm sorry about the rough treatment, but, well, you gotta understand. This case has me on edge, man. I mean any creep who'd do in a little kid. It's just got me a little crazy, know what I mean?"

Davila nodded his understanding.

"I know, man. Look, I'll get my home boys to keep an eye and ear out, okay?" He shook his head. "Hurting little kids... It just ain't right, man! It ain't right!" He walked away, still muttering to himself.

The three veteran police officers exchanged disbelieving glances. Their duties finished, Jennings and Kelp headed back to their squad car. It was almost ten am. They'd already worked almost four hours overtime. Both men were exhausted, but if MacCauley had asked them to remain, they would've done so willingly.

As it was, both Jennings and Kelp wanted to get home to hug their kids.

"This is the part I hate," MacCauley said to himself.

Ted and Deana Grady were huddled together on the living room couch. They were a young couple, mid to late twenties. Billy was their only child. Deana Grady sat clutching an eight by ten portrait of Billy to her chest. Ted Grady was holding his wife tightly, his eyes shut against the world.

She was dressed in jeans and sweater; he was wearing gray coveralls with his first name, "Ted," sewn on the right front and "BludAuto Service Station" in bold letters across the back.

"Who could do such a thing, Captain MacCauley?" Deana asked. "Who could take a little boy away from his home and his..." She began weeping. "... Take him from his Mommy?" She turned to her husband and collapsed in brokenhearted sobs.

"Captain MacCauley," Grady looked up beseechingly. "Please, bring our little boy home... Billy's only six! He lost his first baby tooth only two days ago. Billy's never spent a night away from home before... never been away from his Mommy and Daddy...!" Grady finally broke down, too. "... Oh, God! Oh, God! Please, bring our little boy home safely..."

MacCauley and the other officers on the scene could only look on helplessly.

"So, what did you think about Sable?" Dick asked innocently. He and Bruce were on their way to Dr. Winters' office in Bruce's rented Jaguar. Top down, hair blowing in the wind, the latest Aerosmith CD blasting, and matching aviator glasses earned them both more than their fair share of waves and second looks from passing female motorists. Riding on the passenger side, Dick stole a surreptitious glance over at Bruce. Except for the tightening grip on the steering wheel, Bruce gave nothing away.

Uh-oh, thought Dick. I'm in so much trouble. Time to change the subject--!

"I thought she was exceptionally lovely," Bruce replied. "I told her that whatever arrangements you two had was all right with me. I mean, you are legally an adult, after all; but I still can't help worrying about you, son. I hope that you're responsible enough to always use protection."

"Hey, waitaminute, Bruce!" Dick protested. "I never--!"

"Of course, I did think that lately, you and Barbara were becoming a little closer, but I can see how a young kid like you, away from home and all, could be attracted to such a--"

"Who, me--?" Dick blustered. "Attracted to that--?" Dick's voice squeaked in protest. "Bruce, come on! You've gotta give me some credit. I admit, I'm a little lonely here in Bludhaven, but I'd never--!"

Dick heard a strange noise coming from the driver's side. He glanced over in shock! Was that laughter rumbling from Bruce Wayne's throat?

"Gotcha!" Bruce said. Dick sat still for a second, then recovering his composure, he began to hotly deny that Bruce had had him fooled.

"Oh, you did not! I knew all along that you were just kidding!" Dick said.

"Played you like a violin," Bruce said, unperturbed.

"Did not!"

"Reeled you in--!" Bruce replied.

"--Oh, listen to you... I was just going along is all--"

"--hook, line, and sinker!"

"I'm gonna tell Alfred..."

Bruce impatiently checked his watch again. Dick noted privately that it was the fifth time in as many minutes. The levity that they'd shared on the way over was long past. Dick felt his nerves on edge, and the waiting wasn't helping.

"Why can't we get started?" Dick muttered.

"Because Captain MacCauley has ascertained that anything you say could prove useful in his investigation," Bruce said coldly. "Therefore, we wait."

Winters stuck her head out of her office. She gave them a bright, cheerful smile.

"Hi, Dick... Mister Wayne. I'm sorry about the delay, but Captain MacCauley was called away on an emergency at the last moment." She paused sadly. "Another missing child, I'm afraid. But he's on his way now, and he's requested that we start without him. So... won't you step into my parlor...?"

Dick cringed at the imagery. He and Bruce exchanged glances, then nodding to each other, they stood and followed Winters into her office. After sitting down, Dick looked around the room, taking in the many diplomas and citations on the wall behind her desk. A bookcase lined with medical texts covered most of another wall, with an entire