Birds of a Feather (Oswald Cobblepot)

The Man Who Would Be Bat

  I make a quick stop before heading back to the GCPD, stopping by a small cemetery. A sign by the entrance reads: Unclaimed Persons, people who couldn't afford to pay for graves or had no one willing to. I find two aging, unmarked white crosses by a tree and, placing down a basket, I remove the contents: two plates of dried salmon and roasted vegetables, candles, flowers, berries, and a picture frame. I set the items up in front of the graves, and light the candles. Most garbage trucks would've finished their rounds by now, so I'm not worried about interrupting someone's schedule.

I sit down by the small memorial I've constructed. The dim candlelight flickers against the sepia-toned picture, an image of my parents and myself. We're in our best clothes, my mother in a white dress with ruffles and my father in a simple brown suit, the suit he always wore when conducting business. I curl up into a ball as I examine the image. I hated having to wear the pink dress my mother picked out for me, with floral print all along the front and sides. It was taken about a year before the fire happened, this is the only picture I managed to save after-the-fact. The corners are slightly singed, but because it was in my father's safe, it remained intact.

"Mom...Dad...I saw you guys in a dream recently," I tell them, "you two were alive and...older. Like you'd been alive the whole time. Strange dream I know..."

I turn to a grave on the right, "Mom...I finally got a boyfriend. Well, maybe calling him a boyfriend is too much but...it's what you always wanted for me. Although...he's not one of us...and I'm not one of him. His mother hates me...and you'd probably hate him too."

"Dad..." I turn to the other grave, "well...I'm not starving. I made dried salmon and vegetables, slowly cooked over two days, just like you and Mom taught me. I remember, you'd save your money to buy this for birthdays and holidays...now, I can buy it whenever I want. I have a job too, technically...three, plus some superheroism on the side. You were the one who introduced me to the Gray Ghost, and Zorro, and all those other heroes. You'd sacrifice your tobacco money so that we could go to the cinema, and watch their movies. You said that a real superhero, is one who helps others, no matter the personal cost."

"I...I miss you guys. I've been back in town for several months now I-...I should have visited sooner. But I want you guys to know, that I really think I've found my calling as the Trickstress. The CIA just...didn't do it for me. It felt like I was just blindly playing for one team, without consideration of whether they were right or wrong. But, as the Trickstress, I can do what's right, instead of what's demanded of me. I...I'd like to think you guys would approve of that..."

"Miss?" the voice of a young boy calls out.

I get up, brushing off the grass from my pants, "...yes?"

The boy is about thirteen, with a clean-cut haircut and a youthful complexion, but something in his eyes, there's a dark, complex maturity within them. It's almost too familiar. He wears a crisp sweater over a clean white shirt, he must either be quite wealthy, or simply a formal dresser, kind of reminds me of how Ed dressed as a kid.

"Well, I was wondering how you knew which graves you were looking for. None of these are marked, and the number of graves are quite numerous," he asks.

I point to the tree by the grave, "Landmarks, like this tree. Four graves down, toward the end, the patch of land across from the expensive granite graves...what are you doing here? Visiting family?"

The boy points to a set of graves over in the expensive section of the cemetery, "My parents...they're buried over there. Up toward the middle, in the clearing."

I glance up in the direction he points, where on a flattened hill two graves sit, having the hill all to themselves.

"Oh...I-I'm sorry..."