BATMAN: The New Continuity

Tuesday, 6:15 a.m.

Something strange happened to me last night. And, when I say strange, I don't mean the normal, everyday, run-of-the-mill strange things that happen to me every night as Robin. I mean something that is way, way, way bizarre, even when you put it side-by-side with the other weird things that have happened to me.

I could just skip right ahead and tell you about this strange occurrence, but I said this was supposed to be as complete a record as possible. What would my posterity think? If they ever read this, that is . . . assuming I'll even have posterity to read it. I think I'll start like normal, with yesterday morning.

For whatever reason, I got up about twenty minutes early yesterday morning. I do that sometimes, but I can never explain it. I get less and less sleep every weekend, it seems like. No school to get in the way of vigilantism, I guess would explain that particular fact. I'm getting off-track already. I've only written, what . . . two or three paragraphs? Already I'm off-track. Give me a few minutes to let my head clear itself. . . . There. All better now.

I walked into school around 8:35 a.m., went through my usual morning routine (locker, bathroom if necessary, then on to the lunch table). Hudson's bus had pulled in about five minutes before I got there, and my best buddy was sitting at our usual table. Hudson is usually preoccupied with something in the morning. The trick is to figure out exactly he's worried/thinking about on any given morning. On this day, he was mulling over what I have named (I wish there were some way to insert a drum roll in here right now) "The Awkward Teenage Issue That Will Not Go Away."

I've written about "TATITWNGA" before: it's the gay thing. If you happen to be one of my posterity, and for some reason you just started reading the diary with this entry, let me sum up for you. Hudson thinks Ives is gay. Trouble is, so does Ives. And, lucky me, I'm chained down right in the middle. I feel like the damsel in distress in those old silent movies, tied to the train tracks. Not a nice feeling.

The second part of "TATITWNGA" didn't come about until Sunday afternoon, when Ives called me. He just sort of let it slip that he wasn't all that certain he was straight. Naturally, this was a major shock to me. It would be to Hudson as well, of course. But, I still had to tell him. The way I see it, it's better he find out from his best friend than from some moron with a big mouth (and it seems that the Sophomore class has quite a bounty of those).

Hudson was sitting at our usual table at the cafeteria, scribbling away at last night's homework. This time, it was Math for Technology. Last year, Hudson and I were in the same Algebra class. I don't want to make it sound like the Hud-man copied my work a lot, but let's just say I'm relieved that I'm taking Geometry this year. I walked up to my friend, tossed my bookbag onto the table and sat down.

"Hey ya, Hudson," I remember I said. This was my usual greeting. I guess it's because of the repetition of the H sound in "Hey" and "Hudson." That's called alliteration (I have an English test on Thursday).

"Tim!" Hudson said in a loud, amicable tone of voice. He sounded friendly, but it was too early in the morning for him to not be putting on a front. "What's going on?"

I knew exactly what I was going to say before he even asked me what was going on. I do that a lot--rehearse what I want to tell someone, especially if it's a difficult something I need to say (like, "Hey, Hudson, guess what? Ives is probably gay"). Of course, the rehearsal is only in my head, and it does pretty much nothing for my actual confidence when it comes to saying what I want/need to say outloud. "Ives called me yesterday," I finally heard myself say. I'm not sure what made me say it. I guess it was just automatic--something that needed to be said.

Hudson stopped writing. He laid down his pencil, which is always a sign that he's listening--I mean really listening. This, of course, did nothing at all for my comfort level. I mean, not only am I about to tell him about Ives' "doubts," but he's actually going to hear me. "What did Ives have say?"

Being a partner to Batman the past two years has really changed me as a person. If there's anything Bruce has taught me, it's that sometimes it's okay to lead a conversation, let the person you're talking to draw their own conclusions. Other times, it's far better to just dive right in and say what you need to say. This time, I opted for the latter. I wanted to get this over and done with ASAP. "He says he thinks he might be gay. I mean . . . he's not sure whether or not he's straight."

Hudson looked at me, his mouth agape (<---another one for Thursday's English test). The Hud-man had suspected this for awhile now, but I don't think that even he took the suspicions all that seriously. I know I didn't really until Ives called. In fact, I thought the whole thing was a little funny! Hudson's reaction was a little difficult to gauge right then, though. He just looked at me and asked, "What else did he say? Ives say anything else?"

I remember nodding. "Yes. He . . . he thought that you might be . . . you know . . . too. And, that you were attracted to him. He chalked up your always avoiding him to the fact that you might be intimidated by your . . . your, ah, sexuality."

Two paragraphs ago, I said that Hud's mouth was agape. Well, his reaction after I told him that went beyond agape. Hudson was as quiet as I've ever seen him for about three seconds. Then he sort of exploded. "What?!?!? He said that I was . . . ? No . . . oh, no no no he didn't. Oh, I swear to fuh--ah, Jesus . . ."

Hudson said a lot more than that, but I can't remember. Most of it involved a flurry of expletives that lasted almost 30 seconds. Then he was quiet again. Quieter than before. After all that, I wasn't really sure what to say. What could I say?

Before the silence became uncomfortable, yet another little miracle happened into my life. Ariana, the angel who I drive home everyday, walked up and sat down beside me. I turned to her, gave her a quick kiss, and felt her arm go around my shoulders. "Hi," I said warmly to her.

Ari smiled at me. I love when she smiles at me. I've written in practically every journal entry since I met her about how much the girl means to me, and I've still not even scratched the surface. Ariana means more to me than anything else in life. She's the sweetest, kindest, most beautiful person I've ever met. That explains why I told her I was Robin.

Lately, though, I've been thinking that maybe telling Ari the big secret wasn't such a great idea. I know why I did it--I had lied to her for virtually our entire relationship to cover up my secret identity, and if I didn't tell her the truth, I was going to lose her. I know I would've lost her if I hadn't told her. But, telling her might have put her in more danger than before. I mean, she's already in danger because of the whole Raven thing, but as of this writing, Raven is tucked away in Arkham Asylum. Still, I often think, suppose someone where to discover that my Ari knows who the guy is behind the Robin mask? It could put her in a lot of jeopardy. I wonder if maybe I was being too selfish when I told her I was Robin.

I'm getting off track. Thankfully, Ari's arrival gave me a temporary respite from the Hudson/Ives situation. But, this issue wasn't over. In fact, as I'm writing this, it still isn't. I was grateful for the break, though. "So, how are you?" Ari asked me, still smiling. I love that smile!

I looked into her eyes, gave her a sly grin, and said that everything was fine. I was okay. I asked how she was.

She sighed, long and loud. Ari looked at me, her lips pouting slightly. She looked pitiful. Beautiful, but pitiful. "I'm tired . . ." she said, smiling sadly. "I was up late last night. Studying for that English test."

"Ari . . . that test isn't until later this week. Why would you . . ."

She didn't let me finish my sentence. Although, if she hadn't interrupted, I would've just let the statement trail off anyway. Ari moved her head closer to mine and spoke to me in a low voice. "I was . . . up all night 'cause I was worried about you. At first, I just couldn't get to sleep. So, I turned on the TV to help me doze off. I saw this news thing about the fire in the city. I knew you had to be involved. I mean, you always are, right?"

I might wonder whether or not telling Ariana my big secret was altogether smart of me, but I can tell you this: my girlfriend takes the secret very seriously. She's shown me more than a few times these past weeks just how serious she is about keeping my identity to herself. It's like forbidden knowledge, I guess. But, she worries very easily. "Well, yeah. I was there for a few minutes. But someone else was inside. A . . . friend of mine. I'm not personally involved in every single underhanded thing that goes down in Gotham." I reached my arm around her and pulled her closer to me. That's another of my favorite things to do. "Ari, you don't have to worry about me. I do fine. I wouldn't do what I do if I thought I was going to . . . die every time I . . ."

Ari kissed me all of a sudden. Not that I minded or anything like that. But, it was just very sudden. Out of the blue, as they say. It was a nice kiss, too. Not too long, but nice. Slow and nicely done. The girl is a terrific kisser, among countless other unimaginably great things. When the kiss was over, we just stared at each other. We always do that just after we've kissed. "It's only been a little while . . . but really, you should know better," she said. She was smiling, but her eyes were starting to glisten. For a few moments, I thought she might be going to cry. Then, she seemed to brighten up a little. Just a little. "How can I not worry?"

I leaned in and kissed her again, quicker and not as deep as last time. When we locked eyes after our lips parted, I said, "I guess, in some . . . strange, twisted way . . . I like the fact that you worry about me. It's sort of comforting."

She looked as though she knew what I was talking about. She knew, all right. Ari seems to already know most of what I tell her. It's like we read each other's minds a lot of the time. That might be a big reason why we're so great together. I've never really thought about it, though. Ari and I just click--I don't really ponder why all that often.

I felt the table shake slightly, and turned to see Hudson standing up. "Hud? What's up?" I checked my watch. "Still about five minutes until homeroom bell."

Hudson didn't say anything. He just gathered up his books and walked past Ari and me. When he was almost to the cafeteria's side door, he looked back at me and nodded at the main entrance. I glanced over, and saw why Hudson was making himself scarce: Ives was walking towards me. I don't think he'd seen Hudson--Hud must've gotten up just as Ives walked in. Anyway, Ives came in and sat down in the same seat Hudson had been in.

Most people see Ives as kind of a nerd. I don't, though. But, I've gotten to know him these last two years. The truth is, Ives isn't really all that much smarter than me or Hudson. Well . . . he might be smarter than Hudson. But, the difference is, Ives' intelligence is what everyone else sees. He has this great, droll sense of humor. He's just as sarcastic and cutting as Hudson, only Ives' humor is a lot "higher." He doesn't go for cheap laughs. That doesn't mean that Ives is less funny than Hudson, or that Hudson is necessarily funnier than Ives. They're both about the same, I'd say. Hudson is like Seinfeld, and Ives is like Frasier. I think that's still a valid comparison. With my night-life being so busy the last two years, and especially the past few months, I haven't gotten to see too many Seinfelds or Frasiers. That's one of the many "little things" that I miss about being a normal guy.

Ives sat down where Hudson had been literally moments ago. First words out of Ives' mouth: "Was Hudson sitting here?"

I couldn't believe that. I asked him how he knew, and he said that number one: Hudson always sat at this table; and number two: the chair was warm. That's Ives, for you. That's another thing that might contribute to that "nerd" label on Ives (which definitely isn't deserved, by the way): he's real observant for a normal guy. He notices things that probably no one else besides me ever would. But, I'm trained to be a detective. I have to notice everything. I'm also trained to hide it, though, when I'm out of costume. Ives doesn't have a need for any pretense.

"Yeah . . . Ives. Hudson was here." What was I supposed to do? I've become so good at lying to people close to me, I try not to do it that often. The way I see it, if I was going to lie to Ives, it would have to be over something very, very important (maybe Robin-related). Why lie when I don't have to? I hate it.

"Hudson left when he saw me, didn't he? Did you tell him about what we . . . said over the phone?"

I nodded, but didn't say anything. I had no idea what to say, so I decided I'd wait for Ives to say something, let him lead the conversation.

"You told him, did you?" was all Ives said. After that, he just nodded quietly to himself for a few minutes. And, if you've ever had someone sitting beside you and not saying a word--a few minutes can be a very long time. I was just getting ready to turn back to Ariana when Ives cleared his throat and looked up at me. "Did you see the Knights game yesterday?"

That's another thing that might surprise most people about Ives--he's a nut for college football. "No, I didn't see it," I said, shaking my head. "But, I heard about it on the radio last night and this morning. I hear they lost."

Ives nodded. He was clearly unhappy about the game, but at least his mind was momentarily off of "TATITWNGA". He slid his chair a few inches away from the table and leaned forward. He always did that when he was about to talk sports. "It was a close one, though. The decision came down to the last few minutes. It was tied all through the second half practically, and I was hoping for a win in overtime. But, the Satan-worshipping Gators scored with less than a minute and a half on the clock. It kills me when stuff like that happens."

I'm not the biggest football fan. I prefer baseball myself, as does Dick. But, I haven't actually seen a game in over eight months. Maybe that's something that Dad and I can do. Still, even though I'm not really a football fan, I didn't want to seem disinterested. I mean, Gotham State vs. Florida is better than "TATITWNGA" any day of the week. "I know," I said, shaking my head as if I totally understood what my friend was saying. "Remember last season when the Griffins had a shot at the wildcard slot in the A-L playoffs? And the Mariners beat them three straight in the last series of the regular season? That last game went into the thirteenth inning, and the Griffs lost it. That killed me."

That Griffs/Mariners game was the last baseball game I saw on TV, so I talk about it a lot whenever sports come up. "That's different, Tim," Ives said. "I'm talking football here." Ives is not a baseball fan. It's amazing that a guy so smart can't seem to grasp the drama and the majesty of professional baseball. In some ways, I guess all people are lost beyond reach in some way.

Thankfully, Hudson and Ives don't have any classes together all day. And, I only have one class with either of them: Hudson, fifth period Chemistry. And, in Chemistry, we sit on opposite sides of the room. So, after the homeroom bell, I was clear until lunch, and then after lunch, clear for the rest of the day.

I've written pretty extensively in this journal about my father, and his injuries, and his recovery. It's been documented that I have mixed feelings about the current situation. On one hand, I'm thrilled to see Dad doing so well. Of course I am. Not a year ago, he was still in a wheelchair, barely able to breath on his own, a weak shell of the man he had been before the Obeah Man. Now, he can walk fairly well with a cane, he's regained almost 85% of his mobility, he's more energetic than I've seen him in what seems like forever. And, he's in love. And, Dana's a great woman. I can see getting along with her as a stepmother.

But, there's another side to that. And, it's a pretty big side. Even though I'm grateful to whatever higher power there is for my Dad's recovery, that recovery could really get in the way the better Dad becomes. I'm 15 years old now, and in the last two and a half years I've grown and matured and become more independent than I would ever have imagined possible. As Robin, I've led a life more amazing and fulfilling life than probably anyone else my age. I've been blessed. Yes, the Robin costume does seem to make things more complicated on an almost daily basis, but when it comes right down to it, my life as Robin and all the good I can do as him is a blessing. That's how I have to see it. As much as love my father . . . being his son could get in the way of being Batman's partner.

If I ever had to choose between Dad and Bruce, I don't know what I'd do. Jack Drake is my father. He made me. I love him. But, where was my father when I really needed him? Where was he when I really wanted him? When he and Mom were off on some safari in the Amazon, he could have been back in Gotham, teaching me to play catch in Sheldon Park like the other kids and their dads. If Bruce Wayne has taught me anything, it's that owners of large corporations don't have to run the place themselves. Why was my Dad in shareholder's meeting when he could have been out bike riding with his only son? Where was he then? And, is it too late now?

Looking back on my entire life, I think there's something really awful about the fact that I might have to put some real effort into making time for my own father. Three years ago, I would have jumped at the chance to do something, go somewhere with my parents. Now, with everything happening like it is . . . I hate to say this, but a real father-son relationship with my Dad would almost be an inconvenience. Gotham City needs Batman, but it needs Robin too. I'm convinced of that. And, what's more important--the happiness of one father and son, or the safety of a city full of fathers, sons, mothers, and millions of other people with families of their own?

I hope I never have to answer that question.

It just occurred to me that if I didn't write in this journal every morning, I'd probably have gone insane a long time ago. Even though I started writing this as a record of my . . . hmm, I guess exploits would be a good word. My exploits as Robin. I'd use the term adventures, but that sounds just a little too comic book-ish for my tastes. Anyway, even though I started this as a record of my life as Robin, it has become very therapeutic for me. I really enjoy having this opportunity to "get it all out," and get some heavy things off of my chest.

Lunch was pretty quiet for once. Hudson had to make up a math test that he missed when he was absent last Wednesday; so it was just me and Ives at the table. We didn't even mention "TATITWNGA," talking instead about why baseball is better than football, or (in Ives' case) vice versa. I can't really remember who won the argument. I can't remember what I ate, either. But, that's not really vital for this record, is it? I do remember that Ari was sitting next to me, nibbling on a plate of french fries and bored out of her mind for the entire lunch shift.

Normally, I always pay extra special attention to Ariana. Understand, though, today I was more than a little distracted. I mean, now I've got "TATITWNGA" to worry about along with everything that happens while I'm Robin. Still, that's no excuse for me to sit there while my girlfriend lapses into a coma beside me.

The rest of the day isn't worth the description. I drove Ari to her place after school, kissed her good-bye, then went home. I got my homework done, then took a nap from about 4:30 until around 8:15. That night, after everyone was asleep, I pulled the fire-proof nomex bag out from the bag of my closet, slung it over my right shoulder, and climbed out of my bedroom window--just as I've done hundreds of times.

Just in case I haven't documented it specifically before (and I know I have), the subterranean tunnel that leads from my property to the Cave is opened up by pressing down on the third-largest stone around the rim of the well in the middle of the backyard. It can't be done with just a touch--I have to put most of my weight on the stone, press straight down and hard to move the stone, which activates the draining system and opens up the tunnel.

When I stepped out of the tunnel and into the Cave, Alfred was the only person I saw right away. He was sitting at the computer console, reading the electronic version of the Gotham Globe on one of the smaller monitors that are mounted to either side of the large, central screen. He turned to me at the sound of my footsteps and smiled. "Good evening, Timothy," he said warmly. Alfred is one of the truly, genuinely friendly people I've met. A lot of people put forward an artificial veil of geniality, and Alfred does that sometimes. But, you can always tell if he's ever been truly friendly with you. He's never put on an act for me, or Bruce, or Dick.

I dropped my bag on the floor beside Alfred's chair in front of the computer console and started for the elevator, on the far side of the plateau. "Bruce down there?"

Alfred nodded, and pointed towards the floor twice; big exaggerated gestures. "Indeed he is. Quite."

I wasn't really sure what he meant by that. Was Alfred saying that Bruce was more downstairs than usual? Yes, he was actually. The Cave actually has three levels; Bruce only uses two of them, and the lowest level is un-landscaped, jagged rock. I'm not sure if Bruce has ever even been down there himself. But, there's a possibility that there is an undiscovered entrance or exit to the Cave down there. Normally, that wouldn't be a concern. Even if an entrance existed, most experienced spelunkers would find the climb from one level up to the other nearly impossible. But, in the last few days, Bruce has turned more of his attention to that lower level.

When I got to the edge of the second plateau, I looked down over and saw a single light glimmering in the darkness. The light wasn't moving, probably mounted stationary against the cavern wall. Bruce was looking for one of two things: an entrance or exit to the Cave down there; or Bane's body. When Bane broke into the Cave and brawled with Bruce, he escaped by apparently climbing (or jumping?) down from the second level to the third level. If Bane was still alive, he either found a way to survive down in the lowest section of the Cave without food or water for a few days at a time, or he found a way out.

Not that the prospect of a dead Bane was appealing to Bruce (I think he respects life way too much to have feelings like that), but Bane alive and on the loose somewhere represents a very, very dangerous situation for Gotham City. Like I really need to say that.

The echo down there was probably louder than anything I've heard before, so when I called down to Bruce, it was in as low a voice as possible. Sort of a strained whisper. "Bruce?!"

"I'm right here, Tim." I caught my breath in my throat and turned around to see Bruce standing right behind me.

I looked behind me, down over the edge. "You were down there, though."

He nodded. He had been in the workshop discussing something with Harold. Well, maybe discuss isn't really the right word. "I'm going back down in a few minutes. I thought I'd come up for air, first. Very musty down there."

I kept on looking down at the light, and the small section of jagged floor that was lit around it. "Did you find . . . anything?"

From the way I said the word "anything," it would have been impossible for Bruce to think I was talking about anything or anyone except for Bane.

Bruce shook his head. "Bane isn't down there. But, that means there must be an exit to the outside somewhere. I just have to find it. Care to help?"

That wasn't an appealing concept to me at all. I'm good in school, I make friends easily, and I could probably whip the football team in a fight. But, spelunking . . . ? Nah. "You think it's impossible that Bane could have climbed back up and left through one of the other ways?"

"It's definitely possible, but only barely. Without proper equipment, I wouldn't even want to attempt that climb, given a choice."

"But, what if he didn't have a choice? This is Bane we're talking about here."

Bruce nodded. "Yes, I know that. But, right now I think it would be prudent to focus on the more probable possibility: there's a way out of the Cave down there that I haven't discovered, but that Bane was able to find."

Then, I thought of something. "Or knew about already. Didn't you tell me that Bane seemed to go straight for this ledge?"

"The trail of blood he left was straight as a sword from where he landed to the edge of the plateau. Either way--if Bane knew about the exit and planned to use it, or if he happened upon it trying to escape--we need to find it and seal it off. Tonight."

As if it made a difference, I untucked my shirt from my belt. I knelt down at the edge of the plateau and looked down. "Think we should call Dick? We could use all the help we can get, right? Looks awfully rough down there."

Bruce shook his head. "It's not as bad as it looks. Besides, someone needs to look after the city while we're down there. Who better than Nightwing?"

I couldn't argue, of course. Bruce turned and walked back to the workshop. He was in there a few minutes, and came back wearing a safety harness, a rope coiled around his left arm. In his right hand, he carried another harness and rope--for me.

"I had Harold modify these slightly after I came up a few minutes ago. They weren't fitting tight enough, and with that rough cave floor down there, I'm not taking any chances."

Just sit tight--I'm almost to the strange thing that happened to me. Bruce helped me on with the harness, then tied his own rope onto the steel loop that he'd fastened to the floor, several feet from the edge of the plateau. There was a similar steel loop on the floor for my use. I tied my rope onto the loop in a tight enough knot, but with only about an inch of slack.

I'm not sure why I tied it that way. Normally, you should tie a knot with a few inches of slack so that it can tighten itself when you put your weight on the rope. But, for whatever reason, I left the knot that way and started towards the edge of the cave floor. To get down from the second plateau to the bottom, it takes about three jumps. You hold onto the rope, jump away from the side of the plateau, and slide down the rope until you come back to the side. The farther out you jump, the farther down you can slide. Because of my sloppy knot, I only got one jump completed. Instead of tightening itself, the lack of excess caused the knot to unravel itself. The rope slipped through the steel loop, and I totally lost my support.

That's another mistake I made: I was wearing the safety harness, but it wasn't hooked up to anything on the floor. It would've stopped me from falling. Why did I do that? Two major, major mistakes. I'm just not that careless usually.

I fell, of course. I remember hearing Bruce yell at me, and I felt my head hit something (the floor, I guess, since I didn't have a concussion). After that, it was dark for what seemed like a long time. Then, I seemed to open my eyes. When I did, I was standing in the middle of the cave floor, top plateau. I was wearing the same clothes I'd been wearing all day. But, something was different.

Actually, a few things were different. For one thing, even though it didn't feel like a dream, I knew that what I was seeing wasn't real. It wasn't anything obvious around me that tipped me off--I could just feel it. Afterall, I had "awakened" standing in the middle of the floor. There were slight-but-noticeable differences in the Cave, as well. I looked at the computer console, and immediately I could see that there were only two smaller monitors on either side of the large central screen--since I became Robin, Bruce added two more small monitors to the sides, to make better use of the mainframe's nearly limitless memory capacity.

I looked around for another few minutes, standing perfectly still. I felt afraid to move. I noticed that the electronic security system was missing from the costume vault. The electronic security system was one of the upgrades Bruce made after he took back the mantle from Jean-Paul.

Standing there in the middle of what looked like the Cave (where else could I have been?), I was all of a sudden asking myself: "Where the hell am I?" This wasn't the Cave I was familiar with. It was as if I was standing in what the Cave had been before I became Robin. But, how could that be? Before I became Robin, I didn't even know what the Cave looked like!

I started to walk finally, but stopped just as suddenly. Something had come over me--a realization that I should've had when I first took a look around just came up and slapped me in the face. Something else was missing from this Cave, something important. I took one more good look around to make sure--Jason Todd's Robin costume was gone. Bruce has kept one of Jason's costumes in a glass case near the back of the Cave's main plateau, in a place of honor. It's a monument to his second Robin, and to the sacrifice Jason made in the line of duty. Sometimes, I wonder if Bruce would display one of my costumes like that if something ever happened to me.

I try not to think of that too often.

Where was Jason's costume? That was obviously my first question. Well, my first question after "Where the hell am I?!" I didn't have much time to ponder either one of those mysteries, though. I heard footsteps, coming down the stairs from Wayne Manor. Instinct told me to run for the shadows, observe from a safe, anonymous position. But, another instinct told me that this was still the Cave, and I had nothing to fear here.

It was Bruce coming down the stairs. He hit the cave floor and started straight back towards the vault. He never even saw me. "Jason? Are you down here?"

Jason?!? That's all I remember thinking for about two minutes. Just . . . Jason?!? This was really confusing. Where was I? And, how'd I get here? And, why didn't Bruce see me? What was going on? More questions than I could deal with. So, I started forward, definitely unsure of myself. "Bruce?" I called. I heard my own voice, and I sounded like I was scared to death. I was.

Bruce didn't hear me. He kept on going back towards the vault. He opened it up and stood there in the doorway. "Alfred said to look for you here," he said, talking to someone I couldn't see. "He suggested we might have a talk."

I heard another voice. Young man--he sounded about my age, maybe a little younger. "About what?" this new voice said, "My getting fired?"

What were they talking about? I decided to stop trying to intervene and just take in the conversation. Bruce sighed heavily, like he does when he's becoming frustrated with an investigation that's going nowhere. He looked straight into the vault at whoever he was talking to. "I didn't fire you, Kid. I took you off duty, and for the good of both of us. I told you--you're hurting, Jason. I wish you could--"

"I'm just a poor little punk kid who can't take care of himself, huh? Is that what you're saying? Then why'd you give me that stupid costume in the first place?"

While the conversation escalated quickly into an argument, I walked around to get a better view of inside the vault. I wanted to make certain that Bruce was talking to who he had to be talking to. As I started to move, Bruce walked further into the vault. I moved in behind him, and looked straight in through the open doorway.

There was a boy sitting at the table in the back who looked to be about 13 or 14. Instantly, I knew who he was. Bruce didn't have any pictures of him around the house, but Dick kept one in his wallet (which is strange, since Dick wasn't all that close with him). It was Jason Todd, alive and kicking, sitting in the costume vault.

In case you haven't guessed, this is the weird thing that happened to me. But, this is only the beginning. After Jason and Bruce had been arguing for a few minutes, Bruce gave up and left the vault. He walked straight out and back upstairs. This struck me as a little strange--normally, once Bruce goes into the Cave, he stays there for hours. He only usually goes upstairs when he has to sleep, or put in an appearance as Bruce Wayne somewhere. After Bruce was gone, Jason came out of the vault and stopped just a few feet from me.

Jason looked right at me. He looked right into my face, and I swear I felt a chill. "You know, you should really appreciate how distant Bruce is to you sometimes. I really like that 'detached father' act better than this crap. He used to be such an asshole."

"What?" I said, mostly from reflex. I ran over the situation in my head: Jason Todd, who was killed four years ago, was standing right next to me calling Bruce Wayne an asshole. I recovered pretty quickly from the shock (it's a skill I've picked up the last few years). "I mean, uh . . . what exactly is happening here?"

Jason inhaled deeply and crossed his arms. "Well, this is the argument Bruce and I had a day or so before I left the country to look for my mother. See, I had just discovered that she was still alive, and working over in Africa. I was pissed at Bruce, didn't think he'd help me. So, I went myself."

"And got yourself killed," I added immediately.

Jason seemed annoyed by my remark. "Yeah, I got killed. But, so did my mother. Nobody ever talks about her. Bruce and Dick and you are always talking about what my death was. What about my mother? She died, too."

I took a step back and held up my hand. "Right. Sorry." I guess I had given up on trying to rationalize what was happening. I'm not sure why, or when I did exactly. But, suddenly everything that was happening just seemed natural. But, I'm still just getting started.

Jason crossed his arms and shook his head with regret. "I often wonder why I keep seeing this time, you know? I mean, maybe there's some psychological reason for why I put myself through this again and again. Why don't I just skip over this, look at stuff that happened before or after?"

If he was asking me for an explanation, I didn't have one. I didn't even know what he was talking about. Still, I felt like I had to say something. "Maybe you want to get a look at the whole story; see everything that led up to everything else. Besides, after you go looking for your mother, there isn't all that much left for you is there?"

He shook his head. "Well, not for you. But here, I can make anything happen anyway I want. I can see how I died, and I can see what would've happened if I'd lived. Some of that's fun."

This was a little disturbing. "Fun? Wouldn't it be sad, though? Seeing everything you missed out on, that is."

"I guess it could get a little depressing, if I looked at it that way. But, see, I can either relive things--like I'm doing now--or I can step outside of what's happening and just watch. I can even see stuff that happened when I wasn't even around!"

This was a little confusing. Where I was and how I got here wasn't an issue anymore, but for some reason I was hung up on what he was saying here. How could he do what he said he could do? What was happening? I asked him what exactly he meant, and he just grinned (it was an unreadable grin, too) and said "You'll see. Just wait."

The very next instant, Bruce came back down the stairs. Jason pointed to the computer console. I looked, and saw Jason Todd sitting in front of the computer. But, Jason was also standing beside me. Smiling proudly. He nodded at his other self (I guess that's what you could call it) and said, "See what I mean?"

I remember feeling like Ebenezer Scrooge in "A Christmas Carol," watching the past happen again and not being able to change anything. Not that I wanted to change anything--I was too busy watching. Before I knew what I was doing, I was rubbing my chin and leaning into Jason's ear. "What's happening now?" It was like I was watching a movie with someone who had seen it once already.

Jason shook his head. "Oh, this? I just wanted to show you how some things are, that's all. What's happening now isn't really important. In a few minutes, I'll discover where my mother is working. Then, I'll go after her. Not too long after, Bruce will discover that the Joker is in the same country as my mother. Batman will travel to Africa to find him. We run into each other, I disobey an order to stay-put . . . and BANG!."

I was taken aback by that. Jason was talking about his own death! How could he be so casual about that? I guess after awhile you'd learn to treat it as something more common. But, I can't see it.

He could see how uneasy that "BANG!" comment made me. "Hey, relax. You probably won't be here too long. You're not dead, you know."

"Should I be relieved?" The answer was pretty sarcastic, I'll admit that.

He crossed his arms. "Okay, okay. I get sick of this crap sometimes myself. I'll show you some of the funner stuff."

All at once, the entire scene in front of me changed. I wasn't even in the Cave anymore. In fact, I wasn't sure where I was. Jason was standing beside me, dressed in the same clothes as always. He was fighting off a grin. For a moment, the thought of how utterly ridiculous this whole thing was hit me. I only thought about it for a moment, but it was the first time I had even acknowledged the situation for what it was. "This is the Joker's office in the United Nations Building. This is my favorite scene of the whole affair."

I looked around the office. I saw the pictures hanging on the wall (black and white photos of the Joker shaking hands with various Iranian and Iraqi dignitaries), I saw the large window behind the desk, I saw the desk itself. "Here we go," Jason said. All at once, the world outside the window was dark. Nighttime. A time I've become very comfortable with. More importantly, as a result of the darkness outside, the office was lit only by a dim lamp at the desk. Shadows everywhere.

The door swung open, and the Joker waltzed in, dressed in full Ambassadorial splendor. He spun around, twirling on one foot, then started around behind the desk. Movement in the corner of the office--behind the door--caught my eye. The door to the office suddenly slammed shut, and Batman stepped out of the shadows. In one swift motion, he locked the door tight and swept across the office to the desk.

He stood directly opposite the Joker, who sat down behind the desk calmly, propping his feet up. Batman crossed his arms and grimly stared down his enemy.

Jason leaned towards me slightly and whispered, although something told me that it wasn't really necessary. "This isn't too long after I was killed. Batman is pretty pissed, even more than usual. Although, how you can really tell . . ."

I just nodded. "Gotcha," I said, whispering.

The Joker inhaled deeply and looked directly up at Batman sharply. "So, so sorry to hear about young Robin. Do you know . . . if I would've been responsible for that mess afterwards, I never would've beaten him . . ."

Batman nodded. "Until now, I wasn't entirely certain that you were responsible for Robin's death. You telling me that makes what I have to do all that much easier."

"What you have to do?" the Joker asked. "Which is . . . ?"

Without another word, Batman's hands sprang forward from his chest. Small, bat-shaped razors flew out, embedding themselves in the Joker's face and neck. The Joker let out a shocked and painful shriek.

I've been Batman's partner for long enough to know him and how he operates. Never have I seen him act how he did when I saw the scene in the office then. With the Joker's face bleeding and reddened all over, Batman reached across the desk and pulled him over to the other side. Once there, Batman held him by the lapels of his suit with one hand, and drove uppercut after uppercut into his stomach. After what must've been five minutes of this, the Joker fell to the floor, moaning lowly and squirming back and forth.

Wasting no time at all, Batman grabbed him and pulled him to his feet by the hair. The Joker was putting absolutely zero weight on his feet--Batman was the only thing holding him up from the floor. Standing the Joker up and out at arm's length, Batman backhanded him hard, knocking him across to the far wall of the office before he crumbled to the floor again. Enraged, Batman stepped forward and kicked this quivering, beaten man in the stomach. Hard, too. There was force behind the kick.

He kept on beating him, too. It was the most frightening thing I've ever seen . . . and I hope I never see anything more frightening. Batman had totally snapped. By the time the beating was over, the Joker must have been already dead for ten minutes. When it was all done, Batman picked him up and threw the Joker's limp, lifeless body over the desk. The Joker's head shattered the window, and his body fell through, landing somewhere down on the sidewalk. I didn't look--I was too shaken by what I'd just seen--but I'm willing to bet that there was very little left of the Joker on the ground that could be identified.

Jason was still beside me, smiling widely. "What was that?" I asked him urgently. "What the hell just happened? What was that?"

He looked at me, tried to calm me down. "Easy. Easy. You know this didn't really happen, right?"

It didn't help me any to hear him say that. "Whether or not it ever happENed doesn't matter! I just saw Batman--Bruce Wayne--beat the Joker to death! I mean . . . you've probably seen this so many times in the past four years that you're used to it, but--"

Jason put his hand over my mouth, and I shut up in a second. "Don't you think that if some maniac murdered you, you'd like to see some kind of vengeance for it? Well, that's what this is for me! I can see what could've been, and what should've been maybe!"

I pulled away from Jason and just stared at him. "'Should have been?' You were Robin, for God's sake! How can you just watch Batman . . . how can you do that? He killed the Joker!"

Jason nodded and pointed at the shattered window. "Yep. And the Joker killed me. Quid pro quo."

There were more than a few things I could've done then. I could've asked him to take me somewhere else, get out of that office. I could've just turned my back on him and walked around the U.N. Building until this all was over. Afterall, no one could see me. Who knows what little pieces of history I could've picked up? But, instead, I punched Jason as hard as I could right in the mouth. Maybe I decided that since I'd already gotten into this mess by acting out of character, I might as well just keep right on going.

Jason staggered back from the punch a few feet, then came after me swinging. I didn't think fighting him would be too much of a chore, since he's been dead for awhile, and probably out of practice. He was pretty good, though. Fast and vicious. I could tell that Bruce had taught him a lot, and more than that, Jason had absolutely no problem with fighting dirty.

The first chance I got, I threw a hard right hand at his jaw. Jason blocked my shot, held me my the right wrist, and flipped me over hard to the floor. After that, he kicked me in the head. I felt a hard, sudden pain, and passed out.

When I woke up, I was laying at the bottom of the Cave, with Bruce feeling my head. Past Bruce, I saw Alfred standing on the edge of the plateau above. "Master Bruce? Is he all right?"

I tried to speak, but winced. I had what was probably the worst headache I've ever had. "I'm okay, Alfred," I managed to whisper. Bruce looked back at him and nodded.

Bruce helped me to my feet, and in a few minutes I felt a lot better. He told me that I'd only been unconscious for two or three minutes, and that I'd have a mighty bump, but no concussion. Physically, all was well. But, I keep thinking about what I saw when I was unconscious. I'm not sure what it was. I've read about Near Death Experiences similar to this, but I wasn't dead. Not even close. And, it was too potent and specific to be a dream. I can remember everything. Definitely not a dream.

What I saw--Batman beating the Joker to death--is something that I'll carry with me in my mind (hopefully way in the back of it) for the rest of my life. I know that Bruce would never do anything like that. But, just knowing that he's capable of it is enough to give me more than a few sleepless nights. And what about Jason Todd? What was he really like? Would he really take so much pleasure in seeing death so brutal and savage?

I have no idea. But, now I have a lot of new questions to ask whenever I find myself staring at the costume in the glass case.