Capítulo 27: Issue #25: Skin In The Game
I've never really been a fan of hospitals.
Although I've had my fair share of accidents and disease, the longest I have been confined to was for seven days. There was a rough case of Dengue Fever in my area, and everyone thought that was because we were living near a bayou.
Turns out, a psychopath traveled to Thailand and caught a few mosquitoes for his damn collection. A few of them got out of containment and stuck all throughout the winter before dousing an entire town with an outbreak.
I digress, however, as here I am, laying on my back and gazing at the undulating patterns atop my hospital room ceiling. It's been sixteen hours since the incident in the restaurant and sixteen hours since I've killed a man.
Mother had gone by and rested for a few hours after getting her wounds and body checked up, but had to go home for a little while and get me a few changes of clothes as mine was still drenched in blood.
Of course, she wouldn't just leave me alone in this hospital–not when there are madmen on the loose. Rachel volunteered to help me, being a good saint and all, as well as the bodyguard–Roger?–to guard my room.
Not that anyone would be stupid or crazy enough to raid a hospital, except, of course, of Batman's arch-rival. The man, however, whose name I shall not utter in case there's some sort of mystical power at work that allows him to travel through time and space and appear before me, is nowhere to be found in the past few months.
As if he has vanished across time and space. Some critics, as usual, have agreed that this was for the well-being of the city.
Frankly, they are fools. Bruce, Alfred, and I all agree that something's afoot with the Clown Prince and I'd rather die from a hail of bullets than find out what it is that he's currently doing.
I digress, again. 'I do that a lot now.'
'Who wouldn't when one is wired to a whirling machine wantonly–Ugh, I can't do this'
"Hey… dude." I call out to the bodyguard, who is sleeping on the job. 'Jesus. Guess that makes me less guilty not knowing your name.'
"Yeah?" He asks with a yawn.
"Can you get me a book or something stimulating? I think I'm dying of boredom." I request, crawling up my bed to rest my shoulders on the headboard..
He shakes his head, walks up to my bed, and fixes the pillow to support my neck. "Doctor told you to rest. No doing anything, he says."
"Oh, thanks." I groan, 'Damn you, nameless bodyguard.'
"Edmund." Rachel opens the door to my room, lips pursed to the tune of disapproval. "What are you doing up?"
I quickly point to the bodyguard before a pang of pain assaults my armpits. "Ah, darn it. It's his fault."
She shakes her head with an exasperated sigh before looking back and motioning for someone to come inside. She heads in and someone follows after.
The bodyguard stands up in hesitation, but Rachel placates him by saying, "Don't worry. It's just my father."
Sure enough, a man remarkably similar to Rachel comes inside. His strawberry blonde hair rolls down his perfectly sculpted head, eyes that can swoon many women, and calloused hands wrought with excitation and hardiness seen only in Spaghetti western.
'Boy, hotness really runs in the family.'
"My, my… Is this the boy who saved my only daughter?" He asks, a soft smile on his face.
But there's something with him that makes me… worried; Like some sort of innate sense of inescapable danger is coursing through my body. He looks old enough to be my grandfather–probably in his 50s or older–but a steadiness remains within his steps.
"I… nice to meet you, sir." I greet him with a reflexive bow of my head.
"You don't need to do that. You're a savior in my eyes," He says before tilting his head in curiosity. "Tell me, who trained you to do that? From what I've heard… you beat up a physically enhanced man."
My heart beats faster the longer he speaks. His gaze, although kind and small, is akin to that of a tiger taunting its prey. My mind races through every goddamn character in this world, searching for anyone in this timeline and country that has enough–
"Cat got your tongue?" He chuckles.
"Father." Rachel admonishes. "Don't–"
"Bronze Tiger!" I blurt out in fear. "B-Bronze Tiger… the gym owner in… Chicago?"
"I don't know who that is, but from the name… is he a vigilante?" He asks, confused.
"YEP!" I say a little too loud, startling the three people in the room. "... he is…"
To be perfectly honest, I only mentioned Bronze Tiger because he was in that animated movie about Reverse Flash and the Suicide Squad. Christian Slater was in it and, by god, was I a fan of him.
"You haven't given your name, sir." I say, switching the topic.
"Judson Caspian." He says.
'Nope, that name doesn't ring a bell.'
Judson then begins to talk to his daughter, making sure that she's not seriously hurt during the attack. She made sure to point out that I had saved her from perdition, painting me as a weapon from God and had been possessed by the holy spirit to defend the women in that bathroom.
It's not soon after that Mother and Jasmine return to my hospital room, along with them are three luggages full of my clothes. I already have told her that my hospitalization would not last the past two days, yet here she is like I'm a comatose patient.
"Oh, Sir Judson!" She exclaims, gazing at Judson with joy in her eyes. She drops off the luggages atop the body guard's lap before walking in for a hug. "It's so good to see you!"
Judson chuckles deep within his diaphragm before grunting slightly as mother's form smashes into his. "Oh, you've grown to be a fine woman, little Maria. Is this your son?"
"Yes. I actually wanted to name him after you, since you saved me before you left." She says, removing herself from him to caress my hair. "Edmund. Judson saved me from muggers when I was a teenager. I wouldn't be here if it were not for him."
"That's all in the past." He says before muttering under his breath, "Although the city has yet to change its ways."
"Come now, Father. It's not all bad. Look at what Batman did at the city hall!" Rachel defends her boyfriend.
Batman saving the mayor without a life lost was all over the news earlier, even more so when he presented all nine members of the Penguin's hostage taking team. Unfortunately, Penguin himself was not within that retinue of criminals.
A peculiar move made by Batman, seeing as the only way for Penguin to escape, was if Batman himself allowed him to escape.
Judson shakes his head. "Alright, fine. Maria, we'll be taking our leave. We're up early tomorrow."
"Of course," Mother head in to hug both of them. "It's really nice to see you again. Are you leaving after Rachel enters the nunnery?"
Judson hesitates to answer for a moment before nodding. "I will leave after my duty here is done. Maybe… maybe travel."
"I'll see you later, Maria." Rachel kisses mother on the cheek, waving goodbye to me as she leaves the room.
Judson halts for a moment, gazing at me with a deep look. "Thank you for what you did. Truly."
I nod, scared stiff. 'What a fucking guy. Is he thanking me or threatening me? Jesus.'
The moment they leave the room, my breath–unknowingly held back by my fear–unloads in relief. The man is dangerous and may be a danger to my mother, too, that much is true.
"Mom." I call out, earning her attention. "Is he… Is Mister Judson a good person?"
"He is, but he's also a broken man." Mother answers longingly, "I would too if the person I loved the most becomes a victim of such a gruesome crime."
"Crime? Like B–Mr. Wayne?" I ask.
Mother nods and, with a sad smile, tells me of their tale.
...
The night draws faster than I could imagine, tales of violent crime ringing in my ears as the echoes of what I had done repeatedly surface in my mind.
I get it now.
Judson and Rachel Caspian are victims of a mugging turned homicide, not unlike Bruce Wayne's terrible past. Both men used that experience to escape the tyranny of complacency, with one leaving for peace and the other… for vengeance.
While Bruce Wayne honed his mind and body to be a weapon of justice of morbid reformation–fashioning an armor of shadows to hide the unending optimism for the criminals–Judson reviled the city for it had done to his wife and the mother of his child, yanking her daughter, Rachel, out of the continent to forgo their morbid past.
It disheartens me to know that such a valiant woman would be a victim of Gotham, yet now I know why they fell into each other's arms. Sure, they might not see it yet, but I'm not one to fail to notice the gleams in their smiles and the longing looks whenever they converse amongst each other in view of company.
What I seek now is the answer to a question. Would Rachel die to further Batman regrets and embolden him to pursue criminals of Gotham? Or will she leave Bruce and make him regret he ever took the mantle of Batman?
Perhaps the answer is standing in front of me in plain view and I am too idiotic to understand or even notice it.
Nevertheless, one can never find an answer without questions. It's a good thing that he has arrived.
"Bruce. I've been expecting you." I rose from my slumber, opening my eyes to see Bruce Wayne standing in my peripheral vision.
"I texted you earlier." He replies, waving away the air of mystery that I have started.
I click my tongue before noticing that neither Jasmine nor mother is in the room. I crack my neck, knowing that I'm in for a verbal sparring match.
While Bruce has diligently and exhaustingly ingrained us of our innate responsibility as he taught the various techniques he had accrued over the decades. In his mind, everything has limits, and that limit is death.
Not even he or Superman or I can decide whether someone deserves to die. That is the basis of his code, a frame of references compiled over the decades of Zen teaching.
"You know what you did, Edmund." He says.
I ask with certainty in my voice, "Are you speaking to me as Bruce Wayne or Batman?"
"Is there a difference?" His answer satisfies me.
"I hope so because… I might think that you're being a hypocrite." I say with a shrug of my shoulder.
He sighs, reaching to the seat next to me. "The rules I've placed and etched into you and Dick's brain is to stop you from going beyond redemption. I don't want to raise children that will be worse than me."
"I don't think killing one person would make me a serial killer, Bruce." I reason out. "And the circumstances–"
"There will be more circumstances like that." He says, interrupting me. "If you live in my world, in this city, circumstances that force you to kill are plenty. In fact, isn't that why you came to me in the first place? To wield strength not to harm, but to protect… yourself and the people you love."
"Which I did!" I yell. "Do you think I liked it? Seeing his fucking skin be flayed in real time as he screamed for his mother? He screamed for his mother, Bruce. Do you know what it's like?"
"I do." He replies gravely. "But you had a choice, Edmund. He was down, bleeding profusely. You could have–"
"He knew who I was… I had to use my powers just to get him." I remove my left hand underneath my blanket and show it to him. "Three fingers, Bruce. They had to cut off three fingers because it was so fucking broken that the bones were shards. SHARDS!"
He narrows his eyes, but does not reply. Nor do I want him to as my angel swells in my chest, burning hot anger that I have repressed deep inside for many years.
"I'm not going to let him live, even if you were there. Because, unlike you, I have skin in the game." My spit sprays across my lap as I clench ym fist and feel the stumps of my finger digging into my palm. "I told you, Bruce. I would do anything to make sure that my family is safe–that my mother is safe."
"Is that why you asked who you are speaking with?" Bruce's eyes widened in realization.
I nod. "You prowl the night knowing that your secret fucking identity is safe. You're alone, Bruce. Even if they know who you truly are… what would that get them, huh? You could fucking send Richard away, tell Alfred to run and wait for the heat to die down. You lose a few billion and you can still hunt them down. It doesn't matter what they know because you don't have anything worth worrying about."
I remove my blanket entirely, revealing my bandaged torso, and the metal prongs injected into my knees.
"I did what I had to do. Nobody, you most of all, could tell me what I did was wrong. Because, face it, Bruce, you're only in it for the love of the game. You think you're so smart, so fucking tough… but the moment the ball drops. I, of all people, know what happens to you."
I narrow my eyes and lock onto his glare as he's left speechless.
"You break, Bruce, and you break bad. You will abandon your morals, your rules, your codes… because, at the end of the day, you aren't the caped crusader."
I force myself out of the bed, grunting all the while as sweat falls down my forehead.
"You aren't the Dark Knight…"
I grab a hold of the IV stand, standing in front of him with a shuddering form.
"You're just the Son of Thomas Wayne and Martha Kane."
I move past him, trudging through the sterile floor of the room as I enter the bathroom to do my business.
I open the door and, for a moment, halt.
"Nice to meet you, Bruce Wayne."
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