‘Not exactly.’ ‘You’re a long way from home.’ ‘I know.’ ‘Man of mystery, eh?’ I say nothing, and take another sip of the drink. ‘You’re not a big talker, are you?’ the girl continues. ‘I’ve not been finding myself all that comfortable amongst people recently,’ I truthfully reply. ‘You’re still here,’ she points out. ‘With me.’ I shrug, and offer a small grin. ‘I’ve got this thing for redheads.’ She slides around the booth bench closer to me. ‘We could get out of here,’ she suggests. ‘Go someplace else.’ She presses herself against me and I can feel her leg interlocking with mine. My pulse starts to race. The voice in the back of head begins to scream, the urge to give in is overwhelming. I turn my head to hers and she’s so close now I can feel her breath against my skin. She looks amazing in the soft glow of the neon lights surrounding us and I want to give in there and then, to hold her, to kiss her, to feel her body against mine… ‘I can’t,’ I finally say, turning my head away and hastily downing my drink in one. ‘You sure about that?’ she asks, sliding her hand around my waist. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘This just isn’t the right time.’ She looks confused, with a touch of sadness and disappointment, but she nods, and lets me get up. ‘Do me a favour,’ she says as I turn to leave. ‘Whatever it is you’re running from, don’t let it consume you. I’ve seen what it can do to people.’ I turn my head back and stare her over my shoulder for a second. ‘So have I,’ I reply, softly, before heading straight out onto the street and breathe in the fresh air. I finished off the cocktail too quickly; my head is spinning. Around me Chicago slowly dissolves, to be replaced with images of Barbara, and Bruce and the life I left behind. The pain in my gut is overpowering. I want to cry, to scream out, but somehow I can’t bring myself to do it. There’s an alleyway to my left and I instinctively head down it, though it’s by no means the quickest route back to my apartment. I’m reminded of the many alleyways in Gotham and it’s subconsciously comforting. I take a moment to lean against the wall on the left hand side, beside a large dumpster and an upturned mattress, and I slowly start to start to regain my focus. The images of Barbara in my head subside, but as I slowly run a hand through my tangled mess of hair I’m reminded of her touch once more. Though I can’t see her, I can feel her presence, hear her voice as she whispers my name. ‘Babs…’ I stammer, my voice barely above a whisper. ‘I…’ A scream rings out somewhere close by and I’m snapped back into reality. I look around me but the alleyway is deserted. Instinctively I head further down into the blackness to search for a source of the screaming, and before long I’m met with the sounds of a whimpering young woman and another - a male who screams pleas of help into the night. I turn a corner and see the couple cowering near a trashcan, the male with his arms around the girl and a frantic look in his eyes. Standing in a group around them are three large men - one black, two white - all wearing tank tops and ski masks and brandishing knives. Great. More cliché. ‘The money,’ the darker one says. ‘Give. Me. The. Money.’ ‘Please,’ stammers the man on the ground. ‘We don’t have anything on us. Please, we’re only supposed to be meeting with friends.’ ‘Bullshit,’ says one of the others, twisting his knife in his fingers, itching to use it. ‘We followed ya, we did. We saw ya comin’ out of that restaurant.’ The woman is crying. ‘Please, don’t hurt us,’ she pleads. My feet are frozen to the spot; I don’t know what to do. Time was I would have leapt in there in a heartbeat, jumping onto the back of the closest guy and vaulting over his shoulders, legs outstretched and hitting the other two square in the chest. But that was then, that was a different man. I haven’t been in a fight now for about seven months; I haven’t even touched my old costume. I hate myself for it but right now all I want to do is turn and run, to not get involved with these peoples lives, and to ensure that I’m not reminded - at all - of who I was, and what I did. It’s not that I’m ashamed; I just cannot bare the pain. But what would Barbara want you to do, Dick? I don’t allow myself I second more to think, and I run straight into the fray, doing exactly what my instincts tell me to do in the situation and I jump straight onto the closest thug, the black guy. Before I can properly judge the situation I try for the vault over his head and shoulders but I’m out of practice and I’m
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