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Twenty years. Twenty years and that case was still on his desk. The disappearance of Bruce Wayne. Filed right next to his parents murder. He looked at it every day. No leads. No dna. Nothing except for a hair that belonged to a man in the 1920’s.
He still saw the ghost. A shadow in the corner of his eye. A man in a hat getting a morning coffee. An old treanchcoat stained with blood in the dumpster. Nothing out of the ordinary in Gotham and yet…
He kept looking at the file. Looking to see if there was any mention of it. Anything at all. It was real, he knew it was. He just couldn’t prove it. And when his brother and sister in law died, he almost lost Barbra to. He saw that ghost again, sitting in a dark corner of the police station. He locked eyes with it again, just like he had on that day. Then Barbra came running to him, and when he looked back, the ghost was gone. He didn’t let go of Barbra for a week after that, and he felt eyes on him constantly.
When he got the call to go to the circus, he thought nothing of it. A mistake with some fraying rope, or maybe if the circus was cruel, a double suicide. No matter what, two acrobats were dead and their son was forced to watch them die. So he went to pick up the kid. Maybe investigate, but they really didn’t need him for that. They just needed him as a manager, to make sure no one strayed, and no one got away. He got there to late stop it.
“Where’s the kid?” He asked the officers already on scene.
“He’s right over—“ one of the officers pointed to the front row of the circus. A row that was completely empty. There was only one thing he could think looking at that officers face and those empty seats. Not again .
He started running, looking for any doorway, any alley, any shadows that ghost he had seen could hide in. Not again!
He sprinted up and down the bleachers, climbed up and down the ladders, ran all the way around the outside wall of the tent. He heard the officers whispering about what he was doing. He didn’t care. He kept running until he found a flap in the tent. He flung it open to see what looked like a backstage. Boxes of props, makeup kits, break away plates, everything. And more dark corners. He checked every one of them. Behind boxes, in between tables, everything he could think of.
Then he turned around. And the ghost was just… there.
“Jim Gordon, correct?” The ghosts eyes shined yellow in the shadow of its hat, and never seemed to fully focus on him. The ghost was smiling a soft smile, almost fatherly. Its long brown trenchcoat swaying in the soft breeze flowing in through the gashes in the tent walls. It had on dress shoes and pants, both covered in mud and blood. Its shirt was a pale yellow, with some gashes through it showing the scared chest beneath. Its hair peaked out from its hat and was a dirty blonde with small streaks of grey that made him look like someone out of an old noir film.
“It’s you…” he breathed. His entire body started to shake with fear. He had always wanted to see the ghost of Gotham city but he never thought about what he would do if he did. He clutched onto the box beside him and the ghost seemed to notice his distress.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” The ghosts eyes shined so they looked almost worried. No, that couldn’t be. This thing could never be worried about him.
“What then? What will you do? First you take Bruce, then you try to take Babs, now what? What’s your plan?!” The ghost simply looked at him, no, not quite at him. It just looked around frantically, but its head didn’t move and he never left its sight. It started to laugh. A strange, metallic laugh that echoed without anything to echo off of. It put a hand to its mouth b as if to try and stop itself from laughing more.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” It said, sighing the last of its laughter off. “It’s just… I know you don’t know any better but— oh, you think I wanted to hurt them!” It laughed a bit more at that as its left hand seemed to smack its right wrist. In its eyes were anger but in the rest of its face was joy. The Commissioner found himself getting more angry by the second.
“Why then? Why else would you take children if not to traffic them or abuse them?!” He yelled, his anger mixing with confusion. The ghost just sighed.
“Tell me, what did Bruce and Barbra have in common? They were from different families, different economic classes, they were different in almost every way. So how were they the same? And don’t say age, because you know that’s not the reason.” He looked at the ground for a minute, thinking about what Bruce and babe could possibly have in common and then—
“Their parents” he said, looking back up at the ghost. It’s once humorous smile turned down as it nodded.
“He had to watch them die, and I knew he would be subject to you and the other officers questioning. I know what that’s like. I wasn’t going to just stand by. I got there too late to stop Barbra from getting taken by the police, but when I got to her she told me how you were coming to pick her up. I kept an eye on you for a week, to see if you would take care of her well, and you did.”
“And if I hadn’t?” He asked, holding his breath.
“Then I would’ve taken her away from you and opened another missing persons case. Nothing I haven’t done before.”
“You can’t just do that!” He screamed, filled with rage at the specter. “You can’t just take children away from everything they’ve ever known! What if—“
“THEY ALREADY LOST EVERYTHING THEY’VE EVER KNOWN!” The ghost screamed back. There was a second of silence between them as the commissioner shivered with fear from the sound and the ghost shivered from tears.
“You think I don’t know what I’m doing?” The ghost continued quietly. “Bruce Wayne had nothing except his parents and a trust fund. I couldn’t leave him. Not when I know what it’s like. Not when I’ve felt it before.” Jim opened his mouth to say something but before he could get anything out the ghost, no, the man in front of him continued on.
“I had nothing other than them when they died. Nothing. I was sent off to the army because no one wanted to take me in. I can’t let that happen to any other child. I can’t leave them to my fate. I can’t… I can’t fail her again” tears streamed from the man’s yellow eyes as he put a hand to his mouth. For the first time Jim looked at him, really looked at him, and was horrified.
The skin below his left eye was gone, he seemed to have only bone on the pinkie of his left hand, electrical burns raced along his palms and worst of all was his neck. The long and jagged cut across it still looked like it could bleed at any moment. The man looked famished, like he hadn’t slept or eaten in days. He was covered in dirt and mud like he hadn’t bathed. He looked so… beaten. As if he had walked miles upon miles and hadn’t even stopped to eat, or drink, or even sleep. His bright yellow eyes didn’t even seem like his and the left hand that he had pulled up to his mouth seemed to softly caress him rather than manage his sobs.
“I…” he tried to say something, anything, but he couldn’t find the words. He just looked at the man in front of him, a man who was only trying to spare children from his fate, a man who had only helped since he had known him and yet. Jim kept trying to stop him. Had convinced himself to be angry at this man, convinced himself he was evil. And to his credit, most people in Gotham are. But this man wasn’t. This man was kind and good and wanted to help. And yet he had only seen him as a villain all these years. He looked back up at the man in front of him, who seemed to trying to pull himself together after his outburst.
“What’s your name?” Jim asked. The man’s eyes opened wide and looked at him with shock and confusion.
“What?” The man asked, clearly not being used to the question.
“Your name. Mine’s Jim Gordon. Figured you might have one too.” The man opened his mouth and then closed it again, hesitating for a moment.
“… Arthur Lester. It’s nice to officially meet you, Commissioner Gordon.” Arthur held out a hand, his right, and the commissioner shook it. “Would you like to see him?”
“See who?” The commissioner asked, looking at Arthur quizzically.
“Either of them. I brought Bruce along. I thought I might run into you, and I sense that you haven’t forgotten?” He said, turning to a door that went previously unnoticed by the commissioner. Light poured through the cracks in the door, a warm light that seemed to heal the frame around it. Jim stared in what was almost awe. Everything he’d been wondering about for the past twenty years was about to be right in front of him.
“Well?” Arthur asked, hand on the doorknob. Jim took a deep breath.
“Yes. I want to know.” Arthur smiled and opened the door. A man, around 30, sat cross legged on the floor with a small boy curled up in his arms. The boy had buried his face in the man’s chest, but it was clear he had been crying. The man was dressed in all black, except for a small bat embroidered on the shoulder of his jacket. Beside him there stood a little girl, who seemed to be on fire. She shone with a light that was warm and that flickered as she blinked and fidgeted. She wore a baby blue dress and shiny Mary Jane’s, and her hair was the exact same blonde as Arthur’s.
As soon as the two men entered the room the little girl ran to Arthur and hugged his leg tight. Her little hands clutched his pant leg and he gave a soft laugh as she burrowed into his coat. He knelt down, picked her up, and turned her to face the commissioner.
“Faroe, this is commissioner Gordon.” He said softly. “He’s a very good police officer.” She looked at him quizzically before turning back to Arthur.
“Is he gonna take Richard away?” She said. She said it with such a tone where it sounded as if she had the final say in if Richard Grayson stayed with them or not.
“No sweetie, he knows what we do.” Arthur answered. Faroe smiled and looked back at the commissioner.
“Hello Cam- comss—camish—“ she paused and had a look of intense thought for a moment. “Hello Comissississnr Gordan!” She said happily. Jim almost broke. This girl was so innocent, so painfully young and oblivious, he could barely handle it. She was just like Babs was at her age. So unaware of what Gotham was. So unaware of the danger. He looked back to Arthur, and his eyes, for the first time, focused on something. On his daughter. He looked at her so intently and with so much love. At that moment Jim could tell this man was not a saint, but simply a devil with good in him. Because he would not fight, but kill for her. He would not die, but live for her. He would commit atrocities beyond any the world has ever seen if she were at stake and he would say it was fine because she survived.
“Hello little one.” He said softly. The little girl smiled before climbing down her father and running back over to the man, and the young boy in his arms.
“Bruce,” Arthur said, walking over to his children. The man in all black looked up expectantly. His eyes were a cold blue and his skin was pale. “This is commissioner Gordon. He was there the day I found you.”
A look of recognition passed over the man’s face before he shook it off and nodded. He shifted his arm to try and shake the commissioner’s hand, but the young boy in his arms (who seemed to be asleep by now) held his arm too tightly to shake him off. Faroe giggled beside them as Bruce struggled to get his arm out from the boys grasp without waking him, but eventually gave up.
“It’s nice to meet you, commissioner.” Bruce said. He sounded so serious and business like Jim could almost forget about the child who had wrapped around him like a snake with elbows.
“Y-yes. You to.” He could see a clearly. The man’s jet black hair, his cold eyes, his pale skin, his slightly crooked nose, his deep set eyes: Bruce. It was all exactly as it was in the folder. Bruce.
“Are you alright commissioner?” Arthur asked softly. Jim cleared his throat.
“I, uh, I should probably get back.” He said, turning to the door. Arthur saw the tears in his eyes.
“Of course, I’ll walk you out” Arthur said, Bruce opened his mouth to argue but Arthur looked back at him, and his glowing eyes locked onto him. Bruce sighed and turned his attention back to the sleeping acrobat in his arms.
“Bye Dad! Bye John!” Faroe said happily. Arthur waved and closed the door. Jim looked at Arthur strangely.
“Who’s John?” He asked, composing himself to talk to his men. Arthur laughed as his left hand pulled at the edge of his sleeve.
“There are a lot of things that you don’t know,” Arthur sighed, leading the commissioner back to his men. “And I think it’s safest if you never know them.”
And as the commissioner drove home he couldn’t help but understand what that meant. There were scars on the man he had thought was a ghost, scars that couldn’t be from an animal he knew. There were tears in his clothes that seemed to have no way of forming on earth. There were golden flecks in his eyes that seemed far too out of place to be natural. There were small movements of his left hand that didn’t align with the movements of his right.
There was something ever so off about him, but he was kind. Maybe it didn’t matter that there was blood on his coat. Maybe it didn’t matter that there was guilt in his eyes. Maybe it didn’t matter that his child never aged. Maybe it didn’t matter that he looked like he jumped out of a black and white film.
Maybe all that mattered was that he was kind. Maybe all that mattered was that he cared. Maybe all that mattered was that he was, no matter what, human.