Daniel chuckled and watched in silence. “Daddy, who’s your favorite superhero?” “Not sure, shorty. I was never much of a comic guy. Don’t know much beyond Batman and Superman.” “So pick one of them!” “Batman, then.” “Why?” Jalen stared at him, waiting. Daniel thought for a moment. “Because he’s more like me and the boys. He doesn’t have powers and he’s definitely a bit crazy and messed up, but he uses that to take down the bad guys.” “Are you messed up, Dad?” Screaming and running water. Pleading and the scent of excrement and wet wool. Daniel gritted his teeth, forcing the memories down. “We all are, son.” “But Superman can do anything! Batman is just a detective.” “I’m a detective,” Daniel said, smiling. Jalen threw his hands up. “But doesn’t that mean you can only find the bad guys after they do something? Superman can fly around and stop them before.” “Even Superman can’t be everywhere at once.” Jalen gave him a stubborn look. “He can do that better than Batman.” Daniel laughed. “Good point, shorty.” “But who’s your favorite?” Daniel yawned. “I don’t know. I’ll think about it.” Jalen nodded sagely and watched Batman punch the Joker in the face. Daniel settled back into the bed and watched until the boy fell asleep. He smiled when Jalen snored. His smile faded when he thought of Jalen sitting in a darkness like this, but alone and shivering instead of sleeping in the warmth of his father’s arms. “No father should have to think of that,” Daniel whispered, kissing Jalen’s forehead. “It’s still Batman, shorty. Real heroes can’t fly. They have to get their hands in the dirt.” He tucked the boy into the blankets and joined the cold reception of his own bed.
Johnson looked even worse than Daniel felt. Wilted, even. Shadowed bags hung under his eyes and his wrinkles seemed deeper, like dark crevasses in his bristly cheeks. Daniel yawned and stepped up next to him, noting the chief ’s absence. In the interrogation room, Jack looked the same as before. “Get anything?” he asked the doctor after introducing himself. “Oh, I’ve learned quite a bit.” Johnson’s enthusiasm seemed to have faded overnight. He scratched drowsily at his bald spot. “Unfortunately, nothing of Micah. Still, it’s a fascinating case. Jack’s a wily one, he is. Every time we bring up Micah, he just smiles and switches identities, and every time that happens, there’s usually some sort of scene or another. Crying, profanity, tantrums, etcetera, etcetera. The second everything calms down, he reemerges, and I can’t get anything out of him.” “How many identities does he have?” Johnson glanced at him. “I’ve spoken with at least six, though that might only be the tip of the iceberg. Many recorded cases of DID have ten or so, but there have been much higher numbers. Have you ever heard of Kim Noble, the artist?” Daniel shook his head. “Well, she has at least fourteen that paint, though she’s never had any training in it. She has quite a few more, possibly as many as 100. Nobody’s entirely sure.” Daniel swore. “Jack is definitely the protector in this bunch,” Johnson continued. “Though he’s peculiar for that role. Capable, yes, but some protectors can’t even speak; they just fight