Ghosts Don't Exist

Chapter 9: Wallis Hayfield

Damian was wrapped in a blanket as Danny slowly got rid of the ice (he wasn't really sure how he was suppose to get rid of it). Alfred had gotten a new pair of pants on (which he was very pleased about). Bruce and Tim we're in the infirmary getting their wounds checked out.

Danny yawned, as he was tired, but he was smiling as just hours ago was Bruce hugging to crap out of him. Though, he couldn't remember most of why Bruce hugged him. It seemed as if he were scared.

(Flashback)

"Daddy?"

Danny looked up at Bruce as he ran towards him. He started crying as Bruce pulled him close and hugged him tightly.

——

Bruce had seen Danny come in the room through the floor. Ice encased his hands but didn't restrain his movements. His eyes were consumed in a white coating, as if he didn't have full control of himself. Ice covered the floor where he floated. His legs were gone, only leaving a misty, translucent, tail. His face was contoured, which was different than what he expected. He expected a blank stare. The shadows around his eyes were dark making it look like his eyes were bright searchlights. His lips were a rainbow but not a happy one. His eyebrows bent towards one another, and it seemed his bright demeanor didn't exist at all.

This was not his bright, quiet, dress loving son.

Danny raised his hands as the ice started to glow. Bruce could feel the power radiating off him.

"Into that closet now! He's going to explode!" Bruce yelled, and gathered everyone to the closet and closed the door holding it shut.

He heard a loud bang and swishing going on outside and the hinges of the door were encased in ice within seconds. Their breath was forming white smoke and Damian was caught pretending to smoke.

The door itself started to be encased in ice. Bruce rammed himself against it and knocked it down.

Everyone looked in awe at the ice smothered room. Damian and Alfred said, "You should see the Batcave."

(End Flashback)

Bruce sat up in his hospital bed and sighed. How could a child so young and so inexperienced use that much power? Was it power to even start with? Or was it magic? Danny had scared him, not because of what he did but because of how he did it. Not to mention, what he did with his arms to cause such an extreme power usage.

Another thing, if Danny was ghost than there were other ghosts out there and from the reports Danny had fought them. And that other fella Alfred told him about, that could cause problems.

_________________________________

Wallis Hayfield sat at a comfortable desk writing a book for the series 'Denny and His Mentor Clad'. It was one of his favorite books amongst the people of the town he lived in. He liked his town, his small life of writing and cutting rebellious sticks from his bushes in his garden.

Wallis was in his mid- 50s but he looked no older than late- 30s. His hair was smoothed back into a man bun, though, two stubborn pieces refused to stay back. His hands were wore and stubby. Much like his face, bags under his eyes so heavy his cheeks sagged, his lips a pale pink though they weren't chapped. His mustache was quite grey, with the small strands of white, and whiskery. His beard was not well kept. His wrinkles curled into one another and his nose stuck out of it all. His nose was slightly pointed, it had been broken and there was a scar to prove it.

His square shaped glasses tilted slightly as he mumbled what he had written. His lips hardly moved yet made sense. The reading lamp that shined on his half finished book flickered. He stopped reading. That can't be right, he changed the bulb yesterday after it burnt out.

He cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses, and sighed. It probably just needed readjusting. He put his pencil down and shook the numbness out of his left hand as he used it to lean on.

Then it happened.

A loud rumbling sound was nearing. He braised himself for impact. His lamp's bulb burst and he went flying backwards. His chair falling over and his backside hitting the back of the couch after sliding across the floor. His glasses tilted to the side and he adjusted them before taking them off and bawling his eyes out. It was a green wave of power. Not just any power, his favorite half-ghosts power.

He laughed and cried. He was excited. He wasn't dead! He searched everywhere for this little boy, but could never find him. He laughed louder and louder. Two long years, since the incident, the reports flashed through his mind.

Wallis Hayfield stood up, dusted himself off, went to his computer, and looked up Amity Park. He remembered when they said they never found his body, then they said people had seen him hiding, and then he was gone. The search bar loaded before an abundance of ghost reports, videos of ghosts, science papers, and a number of other things popped up almost immediately. He smiled wider as if the laughing had hurt his face (it did but he didn't care).

He did his research and found a child, a little boy, popped up. But not in Amity Park, in Gotham. A crime ridden city with a duo of flying people being superheroes, a bat and a robin. Then pictures of the little boy said that they wanted to know where his parents were, only to find out their dead, and he was adopted by a man named Bruce Wayne. A man who basically lived on stacks of money. Though, most of it was given to people in need. He remembered when he would brag about his money in the form of objects. He now just kept it in his safe. Fourteen safes.

He sighed relieved that his little boy was somewhere safe, but his powers sounds sad and were screaming for help. Wallis was fond of what he was going to do, as he decided it was best he longer did it at all (because it reminded him of things he wished to forget).

"Little badger just wait for me a little longer. I'm coming. Hopefully you still like dresses because I bought you one. It was your mother's when we were little."