The Boy in Black

Act 2: Shadow of a Doubt

The wind howled through the alley, the cold biting at his cheeks as he glanced back at the chaos just beyond its mouth. That's why they went that way; it was supposed to be safer. But that was 1980s Gotham; no place was safe, especially not as the city burned itself straight to hell. He held his mother's hand tight, his father somehow calm, even as the world around them went up in flames. The boy was scared, but his father's voice pushed him onward. Holding back the urge to cry, he wanted to be brave and make his father proud. He said it'd be alright after all. Why would tonight be any different?

"Hey Wayne!" someone called, the voice echoing something familiar to him.

His father turned, noticing the crude plastic clown mask and saw the gun: he pleaded, "I'll give you anything you want, just leave my family al—"

"You get what you fucking deserve!" the gunman replied, shooting his father dead in cold blood.

His mother let out a gut wrenching scream, the crimson spray staining her white coat as the metallic smell filled the air. He didn't see her face when the gunman shot her, but he could feel his mother's blood splash across his cheek as he looked away. Through his ringing ears he heard a sharp snap, only to see a flash of pearls fly and fall to the filthy pavement alongside his dead mother. He wanted to scream, but he couldn't. He couldn't do anything. Only stare down the barrel of a loaded gun, a breath away from certain death.

"Damian?" the gunman said. Only their voice had grown more feminine now.

He stood frozen in terror, blood pooling at his feet, when a shock hit him.

"Mother?" he whispered, his voice trembling.

The gunman lifted their free hand and pulled the horrid mask up, revealing the face of the true murderer.

"Yes, Damian."

"How could you?" he asked through feeble tears, his face hot with sorrow and rage.

"Everyone has their breaking point," she replied, smiling. "And you're only as weak as your father," she added, still holding the gun. "Now hold still while I make you a man," and she pulled the trigger.

He awoke in revulsion and fear, jerking himself up in a violent rush, cold with sweat.

"Damian?" Raven sighed, as she too woke from the force of his rising. "What's wrong?"

It took him a minute to catch his breath, his heart beating so hard he thought it might have ceased all together. He wiped his fevered brow, his entire body hot from the stress.

"Damian?" Raven asked again, her cool hand taking hold of his shoulder.

He turned to her, realizing he wasn't even in his own bed, and laid back beside her.

She laid down next to him and brushed the damp hair off his forehead, his green eyes quaking and turbulent.

"You're pale," she sighed. "What's wrong? Are you not feeling well?"

"I had an awful nightmare," Damian murmured, his voice weak as it struggled to make sound.

"You wanna tell me about it?"

"No," he replied, sitting up once more, his head pounding. "I don't quite understand it myself... Not to sound disrespectful, but what am I doing here? Did we?" Damian added, noticing their shared state of undress.

Raven smiled and shook her head. "No, uh... You came by earlier last night wanting to do that , but you were extremely, I mean, trashed . So I told you no."