Chapter 10

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In December, the harmful effects of the terror unleashed by the Joker finally began to fade. The various departments of the Gotham City Police Department gradually emerged from their state of dizzying overtime, and even the occasional “minor incident,” such as theft or robbery, no longer kept them quite so overwhelmed.

The police department had freed up both personnel and time. Because of Gordon’s concern over the Damon family, they discreetly questioned several neighbors living near the Damons, as well as elderly residents who had lived in the area for years. They confirmed that Arthur’s identity was genuine and consistent with the records. They also conducted a visit to the Damon home, after which Officer Neviah returned with a team to follow up.

In the narrow living room of the old house, four adults sat around a battered tea table. Arthur was still sitting on a wooden cable spool that had once been used to coil electrical wires. To be honest, it might have been older than Megan. One corner had rotted away, with numerous splinters jutting out, yet Arthur’s palm rested against it without suffering so much as a scratch.

They all spoke in lowered voices, because Megan was not in the bedroom. She sat in the cramped space between a chair and the desk beneath the window, staring outside with her eyes wide open.

It was a cold, overcast day. The windows were shut, and there was neither air-conditioning nor a stove inside. Megan had therefore been wrapped in such a thick blanket that she was practically bound in it, wedged into that narrow gap and unable to move at all. She paid no attention to most of the people and things around her, keeping her eyes fixed only on the world beyond the window.

As far as Arthur was concerned, if he did not restrain her, she would strip off her bulky clothes even in the cold of December and stuff herself somewhere—anywhere—where she would remain cold and fall ill at her leisure. She never thought about the consequences. She only wanted to hide herself away.

There was nothing to be done. If Arthur wanted to have any fun, he could only keep a close eye on her and make sure she did not die too easily.

The adults were still talking.

“I’m sorry, Arthur. We still haven’t found any leads concerning John Smith. If we receive any information, the department will notify you.”

Neviah spoke apologetically. The bitter, faintly ingratiating smile on Arthur’s face stiffened for a moment before he said, “No, I… Honestly, I really hope he gets what he deserves.”

He had begun with “No,” perhaps wanting to deny that he had been pressing them about the matter. After all, he had never dealt with people like the police before. It was only natural that he would feel somewhat uncomfortable, and instinctively try to placate them.

But then he remembered how John had taken Megan away. If the police had not found her, he would still be wandering aimlessly through Gotham like a headless fly, with no idea what to do. He would have broken down. He had nothing left in the world except his sick daughter, and he had placed his entire life in her hands. Thus, his words changed course.

After speaking, Arthur lowered his head. As someone from the lowest depths of Gotham’s society, he was not accustomed to examining his own feelings. It made him anxious and afraid. He cared far too much about the matter, though no one else present thought there was anything unusual about it.

“Don’t worry,” Neviah said. “We’ll do everything we can. By the way, how is Megan?”

She glanced toward the small figure beneath the window. Megan was still as thin and tiny as ever, but her cheeks were pale and clean. She showed no interest in what they were saying, merely staring outside with a pair of green eyes. Even her gaze had no focus, as if she were daydreaming.

Arthur followed her line of sight. The moment he saw Megan, his sorrow and every other unpleasant thought vanished. He smiled with overwhelming relief, walked over, bent down, and gently stroked the little girl’s head. Megan turned her eyes toward him.

They looked at each other.

“She’s been doing well lately,” Arthur said. “She’s been very good, eating properly. And she looks at me, too.”

Megan’s illness had cut her off from the world. There were very few things she noticed or cared about, and she responded only to Arthur. That reaction had not faded. Even if it remained her sole connection, it suggested that her condition might still improve—that she might even be cured.

“Thank you for Mr. Gordon’s assistance,” he continued, “and for the things you brought us. They’ve allowed me to stay with her, and to buy her some vegetables and fruit. Just look at her—”

Arthur bent down and kissed Megan on the forehead. His face brimmed with love, utterly unlike the awkward man he had been in front of the police.

“Look at Megan’s little face. It’s gotten a bit better.”

His gaze moved over Megan’s face with complete concentration.

Because of the money Gordon had given him, along with the supplies Neviah had brought during her last investigation, Arthur no longer had to work odd jobs from dawn to dusk—or rather, from dusk until dawn—for a meager wage. He could stay home with Megan. Their food stores had increased, and so had the variety of what they could eat. He could buy his daughter vegetables and fruit, and he even had time to make her crafts and little toys.

There was a crudely outlined cloth mouse sitting on the desk in front of Megan.

A better diet, together with the companionship of a loved one, had made Megan look much healthier.

Neviah came over and examined her carefully. It was indeed true. At first, Megan’s cheeks had been slightly sunken from malnutrition. Now her face had regained a soft, healthy suppleness. When Neviah raised a hand and lightly touched it, the skin was impossibly soft, as though it might break at the slightest poke. She did not dare press harder and quickly withdrew her hand, her heart burning with distress.

Neviah did not know much about Megan’s illness. It was enough for her to see that the little girl was being well cared for, because that said a great deal about a father’s patience and affection. But she also knew that given Arthur’s family circumstances, once Gordon’s money and the supplies she had brought were used up, he would still have to go back to work. He could not remain by Megan’s side forever.

Thinking of this, she smiled at Arthur.

“I have some good news for you today.”

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Arthur froze at her words. A moment later, his eyes filled with expectation.

He was simply too poor. Both in the past and now, he needed someone to bring him “good news.” Once, he had placed his hopes in his friend John, only to be disappointed. So what about now?

Even the smallest piece of good news could fill him with wonder. The police had helped him find Megan. They would not lie to him.

Neviah did not keep him waiting. Behind her stood a Black male officer who had accompanied her, as well as a professionally dressed woman who was not wearing a police uniform. Neviah gestured toward the elegant businesswoman as she spoke.

“You should thank Wayne Enterprises. Not long ago, they established a special-needs children’s assistance foundation.”

Arthur had attended only elementary school, but he vaguely understood what a foundation meant: that it would give him money—

Money enough to help Megan recover. If she was ill, she could receive treatment. Their lives could become better.

He opened his mouth, but could not utter a word. Neviah gave him an understanding smile.

“Don’t be too nervous. Today, we’ve brought a foundation representative to assess your family’s circumstances. We won’t be able to determine the outcome right away.”

Perhaps that sounded discouraging. Being selected was still another matter entirely.

But Neviah continued, “Gordon has already submitted your information on your behalf. And this is Ms. Carter, a personal friend of mine.”

That was practically Neviah guaranteeing that he would make the list.

Was Arthur delighted? Of course he was. He had never imagined that such a future might await him. They would receive assistance from the foundation, and countless “good things” lay ahead. He no longer knew what to do with himself.

He wanted to express his gratitude to the people before him, but a tear fell first. The misery in his face eased, replaced by hope and anticipation. The burden that had weighed upon him until he could scarcely breathe grew lighter, and his soul seemed to loosen as well. With trembling hands, he cupped Megan’s face.

His emotions burst forth violently, while Megan… could neither perceive nor understand them. Forced to tilt her head back, she merely gazed into his eyes. Their green eyes were similar, but for a fleeting instant, the eyes she saw became wild and evil—only to be forcibly suppressed.

A drop of water landed on her face. Megan did not care.

Arthur bent down and embraced her tightly, burying his head so that no one would see him lose control. He choked out his thanks again and again, for he truly did not know how else he could repay them.

In truth, he was practically on the verge of laughing aloud.

The Joker thought it was all incredibly amusing. Oh, the Wayne Foundation for Special-Needs Children was going to sponsor him and his child?

Good heavens—

After Neviah and the others had left, the Joker wiped the tear stains from his face. He then went to free Megan from the narrow gap, grabbed her beneath the arms, and lifted her high with a savage grin.

“Megan, my dear child, you’ve brought me an entirely new and fascinating source of amusement.”

He had cried and laughed as part of his performance that day, his spirits soaring. After setting Megan down, he patted her cheek and said carelessly, “You’re the most talented partner I’ve ever had onstage, but you can only rank second.”

Who was first?

The Joker began humming his strange, wavering tune once more. Halfway through, he fished out the child who had tried to hide beneath the table.

“Who’s first?” he muttered to himself. “The little Bat, of course. Right?”

The child could not answer him. So he asked, “Why so serious?”

With his fingers, he pulled Megan’s face into a smile that was not quite so serious. He studied it carefully with a gaze that had long since become sinister, but she was even duller and more vacant than an ordinary person. The Joker immediately lost interest.

…

On Christmas Eve, the day before Christmas, most businesses and institutions were given a day and a half off. The police department was no exception. That morning, Neviah brought Ms. Carter to deliver good news.

Megan Damon had been confirmed as one of the children receiving assistance. Because her condition was unusual and her illness severe, she would not need to be brought before her sponsor. This arrangement was considerate of Arthur’s protectiveness toward Megan, as well as his nervous unease.

She was a special-needs child to begin with, and Megan’s appearance in particular made her so. Even at her young age, once her body had recovered somewhat, her delicate features had begun to show clearly, combining the finest traits of both her grandparents and parents.

Old Damon had once been an utterly unsuccessful man and a habitual drunk. If not for his face persuading his girlfriend to pay for his liquor and bear his child, he might have become just another one of Gotham’s countless unmarried vagrants.

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Even Arthur, tall and gaunt with a slightly stooped back, had been weathered by life long before turning thirty. Numerous wrinkles had appeared at the corners of his eyes and across his forehead. Yet he had deep-set eyes, a high bridge to his nose, and green eyes so pure they seemed almost unreal. If his cheeks had not been so sharply hollowed, he would not have been unattractive.

Megan was a remarkably beautiful child. She understood nothing, could not resist, and could not tell an adult what had happened or complain to anyone. She was someone who needed to be protected with great care.

After leaving, Carter returned to the office building of the Foundation for Special-Needs Children. Although it was a newly established department under Wayne Enterprises, office space had been approved with remarkable ease. They had not even needed to renovate it before putting it into use. This had unquestionably accelerated their work and left them busy completing their first project, so that their employer could see their ability and dedication.

Carter knocked on the chairman’s office door. A low, resonant voice called, “Come in.”

The man inside was her employer—and, naturally, the head of all Wayne Enterprises.

Bruce Wayne.

Upon entering, she was confronted by the handsome, mature face of Gotham’s wealthiest man. Under ordinary circumstances, Carter would have admired that face. His fortune and his looks made him irresistibly charming. But no matter how attractive a person might be, once he became your employer, any mentally sound employee would feel utterly unmoved.

He looked up and smiled at Carter, an unconscious air of romantic charm spilling from his eyes and brows.

“You’re back, Carter. How are things with that family?” he asked lightly, his concern unmistakable.

Carter was all too familiar with her employer’s boundless kindness, which seemed to have nowhere to go. He had merely learned that children with autism existed as a group—that their families did not always seek treatment for them, and that autism was rarely curable, leaving enormous scars upon both the children and their families—and he had spent money establishing the foundation where she now worked.

As a playboy, he was reckless enough to appear in all kinds of gossip columns. Men and women alike both loved and hated him. At work, he was invariably willful, and possessed an almost childlike innocence, believing that everything could be solved with money.

Though, in truth, money really could solve the vast majority of problems.

Perhaps he spent money whenever an idea occurred to him. His immeasurable wealth had given him such confidence that he still had not entirely grown up. A passing thought or a moment of kindness was enough to make him act.

Perhaps he had no profound ideals or ulterior motives. But compared with other wealthy men, Bruce Wayne might indeed be somewhat naïve and capricious. Still, what he did was good, and he cared about the children he sponsored and their families.

Before the list had been finalized, he had suddenly taken it upon himself to investigate the children’s circumstances. When he discovered falsified records, he flew into a rage at the board of supervisors, behaving like a child whose will had been defied. He cursed out the useless incompetents, fired several employees on the spot, and called the police. They would have to bear legal responsibility for their actions.

Carter knew that so long as she did not make mistakes, she would not meet the same fate as those people. In a strictly professional tone, she replied, “They’re very poor. The Damon family is indeed in a difficult situation, and Megan Damon has the most severe condition of all the children receiving assistance.”

Her employer then said casually, “Raise their assistance to the maximum amount. I can also provide some personal funds so that their lives will be a little easier.”

A rich man’s solution.

“You’re very kind,” Carter said, offering sincere praise.

Before going to see the chairman, she had returned to her own office and brought up several documents requiring his signature and approval. She placed them on his desk, discussed a few other work-related matters, and then left.

Once the meticulous businesswoman had gone, the expression of an “innocent, wealthy heir” faded from Bruce’s face. He did not become stern, however. Instead, he called his adopted son and said with a smile, “All right. The child you found has been approved for assistance. Happy now?”

Dick Grayson laughed twice, his voice bright and cheerful.

“Yes, I’m very happy. Thank you, Bruce.”

“And Alfred asked me to find out whether you’ll be coming home for dinner tonight. It’s Christmas Eve, after all.”

Bruce helplessly pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I’ll do my best.”

“But I really want you to come home,” Dick said. “I’m looking forward to my present, too. Don’t tell me you didn’t get me one. If you did, I’m going to complain to Alfred.”