The doctor nodded. “For a bit, Mr. Wayne. But don’t overdo it. He should rest some more later.”
Bruce excused himself and followed the doctor down the hall, then stepped through the door that she held open for him. Inside, Alfred sat up straighter in his bed. Bruce had always considered him to be strong and invincible, kind and fair—but now, for the first time, he also seemed old, his gray hairs more noticeable than ever. Mortal. Bruce didn’t like the thought.
“Master Wayne,” Alfred said, his usually strong, deep voice now somewhat hoarse. A large bandage covered the top of his head.
Bruce hurried to Alfred’s side, took the man’s hand, and squeezed it. “How are you feeling?” he said. “They told me they stitched the cut on your forehead.”
Alfred waved a nonchalant hand in the air. “Oh, I’ll be better than fine,” he replied. “This is merely a scratch compared with what I put up with in the military. The Nightwalkers will have to do better than that—although not before the police catch up with them.”
Bruce felt an enormous weight lift from his chest at Alfred’s upbeat words. His shoulders relaxed, and he dropped into the chair at Alfred’s bedside, letting his head sink into his hands. “I’m sorry, Alfred,” he said. “I’m so sorry. I thought I’d lost you.” All those times Bruce had let Alfred worry about him—driving too fast, chasing after a criminal on a whim, putting his life on the line over and over—and yet, none of that had frightened him as much as the realization that Alfred could have died today. How many times had Bruce inflicted the same fear on his guardian?
Alfred’s eyes softened at Bruce’s bowed head. “Steady chin, Master Wayne,” he replied. “I’m right here, and aside from a bump on the head, I’m feeling rather fine. You are a man now, albeit a young one who somehow manages to find trouble…but you’ll always be my ward, and I will always look out for you. Just as you’ll do for me.”
Bruce met his eyes. He remembered this look, and even though ten years had passed since the night in the alley, it was still the look that could calm Bruce in the darkest moments. Bruce nodded, trying not to imagine life without him.
Alfred smiled. “We make a good team, Master Wayne,” he said. “Especially with those punches you throw.”
Alfred’s familiar humor loosened the knot in Bruce’s stomach. He reached over to clap his guardian once on his shoulder. “Not too shabby yourself, Alfred.”
Alfred gave him a wink. Then his expression turned serious. “The Nightwalkers pegged you as one of their targets. You are similar to Madeleine’s former targets, too, aren’t you?”
“How did you know that?”
“You don’t think I researched this girl you keep mentioning?” He leaned forward with a grimace. “She’s dangerous.”
Bruce nodded, then frowned. “I know. And I can’t understand any of it.” He lowered his voice. “Alfred—she warned me. That last conversation I had with her? She spent it telling me to get out of Gotham City, that I might be next on the Nightwalkers’ list. She knew this was going to happen, and she wanted me to know.”
Alfred narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps she set it all up as a trap.”
The door behind Bruce opened then, and Draccon stepped into the room. The detective sported a nasty bruised eye, and one of her arms was in a sling. A wave of relief washed over Bruce at the sight of her, and he half rose from his chair to greet her. “Detective,” he said. “You’re—”
She smiled warily at him, but she didn’t move from the door, and Bruce’s reply faded on his tongue. “Detective?” Bruce said again, hesitant this time.
“What is it?” Alfred added.
Draccon took a deep breath before she nodded at Bruce. “It’s Madeleine.”
The happiness at seeing Alfred recovering, at knowing Draccon was well—all made way in an instant for a cold blanket of dread. Bruce eyed the detective. “What about her?”
“She escaped.”
Escaped.
Bruce sat there for a while longer, unable to comprehend the thought. Escaped. No. How? She hadn’t run during the jailbreak—why would she make her move now? “She…she couldn’t have…,” he managed to say.
Draccon held a hand up at the TV in Alfred’s room, which had rotated onto the news. “See for yourself.”
Bruce found himself staring at a news crew’s footage of the empty interior of Madeleine’s former cell.
A searing jolt of nausea hit Bruce. He flashed back to Madeleine first staring up at the cams—then to her casually mentioning how they could be scrambled—then to her acting vulnerable in her cell—then to her telling him again how he could talk to her without letting anyone know. He didn’t know how she did it, but somehow, Madeleine must have taken advantage of Bruce’s resetting of the security cams.
Of course. It made so much sense now; why would she try to escape during the jailbreak, when the asylum was on high alert and all the guards were looking for the inmates? The place would have been swarming with guards. Instead, she chose to use that time to set things up for her real escape. It had all been a part of her grand con against him.
Now she was loose, somewhere in the city, outside Arkham Asylum. She may even have escaped at around the same time as Bruce’s ordeal. He shook his head, numb. “Where—how?” he managed to croak out. “Any leads?”
“Yes. One.” Draccon pushed the door open wider, and Bruce saw that she had several other police officers with her. One of them was holding a set of handcuffs. Behind them stood Harvey, Dianne, and Lucius, who cast confused looks his way. “You.”
Bruce’s vision swam in a sudden wave of dizziness. “Me?”
“We have footage showing you as the last person to enter the intensive-treatment ward, right before the cams reset. Madeleine left behind a note to you in her cell, thanking you for helping her.”
“What?” Bruce exclaimed. “You can’t possibly think that—especially after this morning—”
“I have no choice but to consider you a suspect. I’m sorry.” Draccon sighed deeply, then motioned an officer forward.
He held up a pair of cuffs. “Bruce Wayne, you’re under arrest.”
The interrogation room at the GCPD precinct was cold and spare, equipped only with several chairs and a table separating Bruce from Detective Draccon and another police officer. Draccon slid a single paper toward him, then sat back with crossed arms and scrutinized his face.
“She left you this,” she said. “Security told us that, because of the camera malfunction playing the wrong footage in Madeleine’s cell, she was able to attack two workers we’d sent to check on her. She knocked them out and swiped one of their IDs before any alarms were triggered, because no cams recorded her doing it.”