Author's Note: Scott was first introduced in 'Changes' back in 1999. 
Several readers urged me to do a follow-up story with the character but 
I never followed through. Sadly, this story deals with Scott's untimely 
passing. 

Warning: This work is rated [R] for mature language and situations! The 
subject matter may be offensive and/or disturbing to some and is 
definitely *not* recommended for younger readers! [Parental discretion 
is advised!]

Disclaimer: All the characters are owned by DC Comics and Time/Warner; 
this is an original story that does not intend to infringe on their 
copyright. Feedback is welcome!

Copyright July 2000

****

A Better Rest
By Syl Francis (efrancis@earthlink.net)

****

"Are you sure about this?"

I nodded impatiently. "I already told you," I said. "I know what I'm 
doing."

"Well, I don't like it."

I looked up, to find Bruce staring intently at me with those brooding 
eyes of his. I quickly glanced away. To be perfectly truthful, I 
*didn't* know what I was doing. But I'd be damned if I'd admit it to 
him.

"Look, Bruce. Scott was my friend," I said. "It was *my* idea that he 
make the move here to Gotham in the first place. I owe him this much."

"I know how you feel, son," Bruce said. "Scott was a good man. Wayne 
Enterprises lost a valuable employee."

I swallowed. "He was happy here, Bruce. He told me. Loved his job at 
W.E." I stopped, remembering our first meeting in the dumpy dive where 
Scott had worked as a waiter. "He told me that he'd found someone. 
Someone special."

I finally looked up and held Bruce's eyes. The pain of Scott's untimely 
passing washed over me again.

"I just don't understand, Bruce. Why would anyone hurt him?" I shook my 
head feeling the loss of my friend. Bruce put his hand comfortingly on 
my shoulder, squeezing gently.

"Because there are those who hate just for the pleasure of hating," he 
said. "They don't need any reason or logic--they just hate. And Scott--
"

"--and Scott was openly gay, making him a target," I finished. Bruce 
nodded. I straightened my shoulders. "Well, it stops now." I held 
Bruce's eyes with grim determination. "Whoever did this to him. I'm 
bringing them down!"

"You said that Scott met someone," Bruce mused. "Do you think that 
maybe he could be involved somehow?"

"That's what I'm going to find out, Bruce. Scott said his friend's name 
was Jeff. No last name. I've got Babs running a check for me. It's a 
long shot, but--"

"--But it's the best you've got," Bruce finished.

"Exactly."

"In that case, let's go," he said.

"What? What do you mean by 'let's'?" I asked. "There's no 'let's'--just 
me! I'm going in. You're staying out of it. Got it? Scott was *my* 
friend! I'm responsible for bringing in his killer."

"And you forget that Scott Douglas was a valuable member of Wayne 
Enterprises," Bruce retorted. We stood and glared at each other for a 
couple of minutes. A few passersby gave us a wide berth, probably 
afraid that we were going to come to blows.

Feeling ridiculous, I finally broke contact. Of course, Bruce wanted to 
help. We'd both liked Scott. He'd been a good man. His senseless murder 
made it personal.

"Okay, Bruce. But, are you sure you *want* to go in there looking like 
that?" Bruce looked at me puzzled and then down at his clothes. He was 
wearing the usual GQ power suit that placed him in Gotham's best-
dressed lists year in and out.

"What's wrong with the way I look?" he asked. I sighed. Sometimes Bruce 
could be so clueless.

"Nothing, Bruce. You look great. Terrific. Some might even say you 
exude killer good looks." I almost laughed at his sudden blush. "But 
you also look like--duh--Bruce Wayne!" I waved at the city in general. 
"And this *is* Gotham City. You think your staid Board of Directors 
would be able to live through the shock of seeing your face splashed 
across the tabloids as being spotted in the 'Blue Oyster,' a *gay 
bar*?"

Bruce grimaced slightly. "I could say something about it being none of 
their business. And that this *is* a free country," he growled. "But, I 
suppose that reality *does* bite. You're right, of course. Wayne 
Enterprises doesn't need that kind of publicity."

Satisfied that he wouldn't do anything rash, I nodded in agreement. 
"Good! So, let me go in and case out the place. I'll stay in contact."

He nodded and then handed me a pair of glasses. I took them, looking 
them over curiously. They were clear-lensed and quite stylish. My 
expression must have registered my puzzlement.

Without speaking, Bruce took them back and demonstrated their special 
qualities. I grinned.

"Way cool," I said. Sometimes having the head of WayneTech as your dad 
had its distinct advantages. The fact that he was also Batman didn't 
hurt too much, either.

"I'll change clothes," he said. "Be careful."

****

I walked around the dark, smoky room, holding a drink and cigarette in 
one hand. I saw an actor do it once in a movie and thought it gave the 
impression of ultra cool. Even if totally stupid. 

The music was eardrum blasting--so loud, I couldn't understand the 
words. It was more of a background pounding on my head and chest. 
Thump-thump-thump. 

I hitched up against the bar after a few minutes, my eyes traveling the 
length and breadth of the room continuously. My location gave me a 
clear view of the place, plus there were no exits (or entrances) behind 
me.

"New here?" A masculine voice to my right spoke. I kept my relentless 
sweep of the crowded room, every now and then, focusing on a particular 
same-sex couple undulating in time to the music on the dance floor.

Not exactly my cup of tea. I tended to go more for a certain pair of 
green eyes set off by flaming red hair. And very opposite in sex. But 
still. Live and let live. I thought of Scott. Someone here obviously 
didn't practice this philosophy.

I felt a light pressure on my arm. 

"I said, are you new here?"

I looked up and met a pair of smiling gray eyes. Oh-oh. I'd prepared 
myself for this possibility, but nevertheless, it still came as a 
shock. Swallowing a little nervously, I nodded.

What the hell. Everyone's probably nervous the first time, I thought. 
He gave me a wider, relieved smile. I automatically filed away his 
stats: white male, mid-20's to 30's, hair brown, eyes gray, 
approximately six feet, 190-200 pounds.

"Me, too," he said, holding out his hand. "Hi, my name's Tom. Just 
moved into town and wanted to check out the local talent."

My expression must have registered my surprise, because he looked away 
momentarily.

"I was in a relationship for almost seven years, when he up and decided 
that he was in love with this really young thing. Felt like I'd been 
kicked in the teeth. So I moved out." He grinned sheepishly. "Clear 
across the country."

I matched his grin.

"I'm a photographer by profession," he explained. "I owned my own 
studio in L.A. prior to making my move." He gave me a critical once-
over. "You know, you really have 'the look.' I bet that I could maybe 
get some people interested in you if you let me photograph you."

Oh, brother, I thought. The first time I get picked up in a gay bar, 
and it's by some sleazoid porn-guy. I had an overwhelming desire to 
punch his lights out, but decided to play it cool. 

I gave him my best boyish grin--the one that used to get me an extra 
helping of ice cream back home when I was growing up. And that used to 
get me just a little farther with Kory. Heh.

"I don't know, Tom," I hedged. "I mean, I don't even know you. And, 
well, I'm in a relationship right now. A real jealous type."

Tom smiled a bit regretfully, but pulled out his card. "Well, look, uh-
-" he paused. "I'm sorry, you didn't give me your name."

"Johnny," I said, feeling a little guilty for using my father's name in 
vain.

"Well, Johnny," Tom said writing something on the back of his card. 
"Should you change your mind, call this number during regular business 
hours, and I'll see if I can hook you up with one of the agents I 
know."

I reached for the card and looked it over. Automatically, I held it by 
the edges, to avoid leaving any fingerprints. "Thanks, Tom. I really 
appreciate it." I was about to put it away, when I brought it in 
closer. The legend read, 'Tom and Jeff Lynch, Sunrise Studios, 5537 
Sunset Blvd., Los Angeles, CA.

"Jeff?" I asked, pointing at the card.

"My brother," Tom explained. "We were partners."

"Were?" I asked casually, taking a sip from my drink. I made a show of 
putting out my cigarette.

Tom shrugged. "When I left L.A. I sort of left him high and dry, too. 
But he understood that I had to get away. I've just opened a small 
studio here in the heart of Gotham. Once things get a little steadier, 
I told him I'd give him a call and bring him in with me."

I nodded. It sounded plausible. Yet, the coincidence in names was too 
much. Scott told me that he'd met someone named 'Jeff,' and they were 
going out that Saturday night. He hadn't given me any specifics, but I 
could tell that he'd been excited about starting a new relationship. 
His first since he'd arrived in Gotham almost three years ago.

I tried not to think about what had been done to him. The body I'd seen 
in the morgue wasn't Scott. At least, not the Scott I remembered. 
Always smiling, excited about the smallest things. Excited that he'd 
met someone. Someone special. 

And now, he was gone.

Smiling at Tom, I held my glass up in a silent salute, and put the card 
away. Tom moved on to another prospect. Watching him out of the corner 
of my eye, I noticed that he was talking to a nice looking kid of no 
more than 18 or 19. Automatically, I filed the boy's stats in the back 
of my mind: white male, blond, 5' 10", 160-165 lbs. 

I couldn't make his eye color from where I stood so I reached up to the 
glasses that Bruce had given me and pressed a spot on the frames. Tom 
and his blond companion instantly zoomed in. I touched the frames 
again. Blondie's eyes were suddenly directly in front of me--green.

Scott had been blond and green-eyed. The coincidences were just 
beginning to pile up.

****

"Yeah, run a check on Tom and Jeff Lynch, late of Los Angeles," I said 
speaking softly into the comlink hidden in my jacket collar. "Could be 
nothing. Could be everything."

"Will do, Boy Wonder," Babs' cheery voice replied. I took a sip of my 
mineral water, smiling secretly, picturing her lovely features in my 
mind's eye. "Oh, and Dick?" 

"Yeah?"

"Just remember those cute buns of yours are all mine," she said, 
laughing wickedly. Caught completely off guard, I choked on my drink, 
and started coughing violently. Immediately, three guys appeared out of 
nowhere and started slapping me helpfully on the back.

"Hey, there buddy," one bruiser said, looking me over appreciatively. 
"You're new round here, aren't you?"

Unable to talk, I nodded my affirmative. Finally, with the coughing fit 
passed, I thanked my benefactors, hoping they'd take the hint and go 
away. Turning to the bartender I was about to order another drink, when 
Big Bruiser beat me to it.

"Hey, Billy! Another round for my little friend here!" he called. I 
felt just a little afraid. To make matters worse, I could hear Babs 
laughing in my ear. He turned to me, showing off his best tattoo on his 
massive upper arm--'USMC.'

"So, tell me," he said, moving in close. "What's a nice guy like you 
doing in a place like this?"

"He's with me." 

I closed my eyes in relief. Never had that deep, familiar growl, which 
had most of Gotham's lowlifes frightened out of their collective wits, 
sounded so endearing. I looked up and had to look away again, biting 
back a grin.

Hair slicked back and dark glasses giving him an inscrutable 
expression, Bruce reeked of mega masculinity. He was wearing a black 
leather jacket over a black, skintight tee shirt, and an old pair of 
worn jeans. I wondered how many times he'd managed to retrieve them 
from the rubbish bin after one of Alfred's 'search and destroy' 
cleaning missions.

As it was almost impossible to see inside the nightclub already, I 
guessed that the dark glasses were WayneTech's equivalent of night 
vision goggles for the GQ jetset.

I had to admit, Bruce always had a way of making an entrance. Usually 
all of the unattached women in a room--and some not so unattached--made 
a beeline towards him. Here, he was definitely the center of attention 
of most of the eyes in the room. Yep, dear old Dad had it, and he sure 
knew how to flaunt it.

Big Bruiser looked him up and down and laid a possessive arm around my 
shoulder. I looked at the beefy hand hanging over me. Another tattoo--
'Death from Above' overlaid on a skull and crossbones with wings. 

Lovely.

"Pretty boy's with me," Bruiser growled. "Go find your own toy to play 
with."

That did it. I reached up and clamped my hand around Big Bruiser's 
wrist, and deliberately removed his arm. At his protest, I quickly 
locked his arm behind his back, applying just a teeny bit of 
unnecessary pressure. He grunted in pain.

"My 'friend' already told you. I'm with *him*! Now, be a good boy and 
go find *yourself* another 'toy to play with.'"

"Hey, man, I didn't mean nothing!" Big Bruiser managed. I released him 
suddenly, feeling just a little ashamed of myself. What had I said 
about 'Live and let live'?

"I know, buddy. Look, thanks for the drink. But my friend and I, well, 
we're together. Okay?" 

"Sure, man," he said, holding onto his arm and scooting away, 
backwards. "No hard feelings." He disappeared into the crowd.

I looked up at Bruce and shook my head. "Thanks," I said, and then 
looking him over I added, grinning. "You know that you probably have 
half the guys in this place trying to figure out how to get you into 
bed."

He gave me his best scowl and then got straight to business. "Barbara 
said you might have something." 

I nodded and pointed at Tom with my chin. He and Blondie were now 
seated together looking quite intimate from where we stood. At this 
point, Tom leaned over and said something into Blondie's ear. The kid's 
face lit up with excitement and he nodded enthusiastically.

"Probably giving him the 'Let me take your picture' line that he tried 
with me," I said.

"If he is our suspect," Bruce said, "maybe you should take him up on 
the offer."

I nodded, embarrassed. "I know. It's just so..."

"Sleazy," he finished for me.

"Yeah." I kept my eyes on Tom and Blondie. "I can't believe that Scott 
would fall for any kind of sleazoid con like that."

"Well, there's only one way to find out," Bruce said. Looking up at 
him, I straightened my shoulders and started making my way towards Tom.

****

"Excuse me," I said, clearing my throat with just the right touch of 
embarrassment. Of course, the fact that Tom and Blondie were in a full 
lip-lock right there in front me, added realism to my 'act.' The two 
men broke contact and looked up at me.

Blondie looked a bit putout by the interruption. He looked even younger 
close up. I wondered if he was old enough to be there. I nodded 
politely at him and turned to Tom.

"Hey, Tom, look I thought about what you said, and I figured, well, why 
not? It sounds like it could be fun."

Tom grinned up at me and held out his hand. "That's great, Johnny. Why 
don't you call my studio tomorrow, and my secretary will make an 
appointment for a photo layout." 

"Great! I'm looking forward to it," I said. Nodding at Blondie, I moved 
through the mass of the tightly packed bodies and made my way outside. 
Bruce was already waiting for me. He started walking without saying 
anything, quickly leading the way to an alley.

Within minutes, we were on the rooftops, changing into our costumes. 
The night was still young.

****

"There is no record of a Sunrise Studio on Sunset Boulevard in L.A.," 
Babs reported. "There is also no record of a Tom or Jeff Lynch as 
licensed photographers in the state of California."

"So, the guy's a phony through and through," I said. I looked up at 
Batman. He was scanning the entrance to the Blue Oyster. "What do you 
think, Bruce? Think he's our man?"

"Sounds plausible," he said. "Oracle, have you run a check on Tom and 
Jeff Lynch? Are the names real? Phony? Is it one man or two?"

"I did and got a few hundred thousand hits, I'm afraid," she reported. 
"The names are just too common. So, I'm running a cross check of the 
two first names in combination, see if I can get something." She 
paused. "Thank goodness you didn't give me 'Tom and Jerry'--I doubt if 
I'd be able to run anything down on that combi--" She stopped.

"Whoops--! Got something!" she said. At this moment, Tom and Blondie 
walked out of the nightclub, arm-in-arm. Tom gave a check stub to one 
of the valet parking attendants, and they both waited under the club's 
neon lights.

Tom turned to Blondie and kissed him passionately in the open. I looked 
away, embarrassed. I wasn't naïve about gay and Lesbian lifestyles. I'd 
witnessed too many things growing up as Batman's partner, Robin. But to 
be fair to Bruce, he'd worked extremely hard to protect from some of 
life's seamier side.

Nevertheless, Wayne Enterprises was at the forefront of equal hiring 
opportunities for women, minorities, and gays. Bruce didn't care what 
the color of your skin was or your sexual preferences as long as you 
were willing to work hard for him. And I guess his egalitarian 
philosophy sort of soaked its way through my own skin.

Still, as Bruce said earlier, reality *does* bite. 

"What do you have, Oracle?" Batman asked.

"Thomas and Jeffrey Leigh, AKA Thomas and Jeffrey Lyons, AKA Thomas and 
Jeffrey Lynch. Twin brothers out of upstate New York. Settled in 
Metropolis for a short while, couple of arrests for bunco and smalltime 
robbery. Paroled from Strykers' Island after serving eighteen months." 
She paused. 

"They made their way to Jersey, where--surprise! They were arrested 
again for--you guessed it. Bunco! They were running a con game similar 
to the one in Metropolis, enticing young men with promises of being set 
up with a major modeling agency. The victims invariably paid out big 
bucks and--" She paused, embarrassed. "--other 'services.'" 

(Translation: sex, I added mentally.) 

"But they never saw a return for their money. Just an empty storefront 
after a few weeks."

"What happened?" I asked.

"Not sure, Boy Wonder," she said. "The brothers seem to have shown up 
in Greenwich Village in New York. Same scam, but this time..." she 
paused.

"What?" I asked impatiently. Tom's car had just pulled up to the curb. 
He and Blondie were climbing in.

"Things got ugly. One brother was found dead, shot several times. 
Fingerprints made the slain twin as Jeffrey Thomas Leigh. The other 
brother, Thomas Jeffrey Leigh disappeared.

"Babs, was there a suspect in the case?" I asked.

"Hold on a sec." The car was pulling away. I zoomed in on the license 
plate. Local--GC-8657. Batman tapped me on the shoulder. Time to go. 

"Got it, Boy Wonder," Babs said, as I flew down to where the Batmobile 
waited. I grinned. Nice to have a car that could drive itself when you 
needed it.

"The suspect was a twenty-year-old white male, named Ryan Connolly. He 
was released due to insufficient evidence." 

I could hear her humming softly under her breath as she read the 
information before her. The humming stopped suddenly.

"Dick," Babs' voice sounded serious. "There's something else. Connolly 
was found dead a couple of days after Jeff Leigh's murder, his body 
dumped in a vacant lot." There was a long pause. "Dick, Connolly was 
blonde and green-eyed, approximately five-ten and weighing between one-
sixty/one-seventy." Her voice dropped to a dry whisper. 

"He was tortured, Dick. Just like Scott."

At Babs' report Batman suddenly punched the turbos on the Batmobile. 
Ryan Connolly was a ringer for Scott and Blondie. We had to catch up to 
Tom and his unsuspecting victim before it was too late.

****

"I can't believe we *lost* them!" I cried, slamming my fist on the 
dashboard. "How could we *lose* them?" I heard the accusatory tone in 
my voice as I yelled at Batman. We'd called in the license plates to 
the GCPD, and they'd put out and all-points bulletin on the car.

"We'll find them," he growled. His hand pressed several keys on his 
onboard computer. Instantly, a faster-than-the-eye-could-follow string 
of photos zoomed across the screen. Finally, a single photo stabilized 
on the monitor--Tom!

I looked at Batman with open admiration. I knew him too well to be 
surprised by anything he did anymore. But, every now and then he still 
managed to do something I hadn't seen before.

An instant later, an address flashed at the bottom. A luxury apartment 
complex near the Gotham Heights area. It was our only lead. But what 
if--? 

"Bruce?" I hated to ask, but had to. "What if they go to Blondie's 
apartment instead?"

Batman swallowed before answering. "Then, he's out of luck."

This time, he *did* surprise me. I stared at him open-mouthed, and then 
nodded glumly.

****

I felt like a voyeur and little sick to my stomach. I couldn't watch. 
Maybe I *had* seen it all growing up, but not this. Not two men having 
sex. I put my glasses down and collapsed on the rooftop, leaning my 
head against the building ledge.

I looked up at Batman. His grim expression gave nothing away, but I 
knew he wasn't too thrilled about keeping watch either. He might be the 
Dark Knight, but Bruce was really a pretty decent guy deep down. Being 
out on a stakeout was one thing. Spying on people during such an 
intimate act was something else.

He, too, lowered his glasses and looking down joined me.

"Not exactly the usual father/son outing, is it?" he asked. I shook my 
head. We didn't say anything for a long while. Finally, Bruce spoke. 

"I'm sorry about Scott, son. I know he was your friend, and I'm sorry 
that he got involved with the wrong guy." He sighed.

"He was a decent young man, Dick. I want you to remember that. Whatever 
this guy, Tom is--he's not the same as Scott. He's a user. And possibly 
a killer. He entices young men who are lonely and at their most 
vulnerable. It's a shame that people like Scott--young, bright, decent-
-looking for what we are all looking for. Love, companionship. Are so 
easily targeted by sleaze balls like Tom and his brother Jeff."

I watched Bruce as he spoke, his jawline hard as granite. He was 
keeping his gaze steadily at a spot somewhere above us.

"I remember Scott telling me," I said, "that just once he'd like to 
meet someone and not feel later like he was being stared at. He was 
such a nice guy, Bruce. But his life must've been hell at times. I just 
hate to think that Scott's last moments were spent with someone like 
*him*!" I said, meaning Tom. "He deserved better, Bruce."

Batman nodded. "Yes, he did." He faced me. "Are you up to this, son? I 
can go in alone. There's no need for the both of us--"

I stopped him. "I have to, Bruce. Like I said. I owe Scott at least 
this much." He held my gaze for a long moment. I could tell that he 
wasn't happy about it. Like always, he wanted to protect me. Finally, 
he nodded.

"Let's go, partner," he said.

****

I waited outside the French doors on the balcony leading to the 
bedroom. Batman was standing by outside the living room. There had been 
no movement or sound for almost a half hour. I was beginning to feel 
that we were on a wild goose chase, when I detected movement inside.

I touched my mask, activating the Starlite scopes. I zoomed in on the 
figure that was sitting up slowly from the bed--Tom! I immediately 
contacted Batman.

"Target's moving," I muttered. He acknowledged. I waited for Tom to 
leave the bedroom. As soon as he was clear, I entered. Blondie was 
sound asleep. I listened at the door for any sounds from the opposite 
side. Quiet.

Slowly opening the door, I adjusted the audio pickup on my comlink. 
Instantly, I heard something that sounded like a squeak coming from a 
room down the hall. I saw movement to my left and quickly fell into a 
defensive stance. Batman!

My heart pounding, I glared at him. He gave me a half-grin in response. 
I hand signaled that our target was in the far room. We moved there 
noiselessly, each on one either side of the door. Batman placed his 
hand on the doorknob, and keeping his eyes on me, he counted off with 
his other hand. One...two...three!

He pulled the door open and we both moved in. Nothing. The room was 
empty. It was furnished as a home office/study. Desk, computer, filing 
cabinets, bookshelves. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Batman was holding one of his toys in hand, running a systematic check 
of the room. As he pointed it towards the massive bookshelves, it began 
to glow a bright green. I rolled my eyes upward. A secret room behind 
the bookshelves? How cliché. 

I supposed that if we stood with our backs to them, the shelves would 
then rotate and we'd be at the top of a staircase leading to a dungeon. 
But we were on the 15th floor of the apartment building, so a dungeon 
was definitely out of the question.

The bookshelves started to open. Batman and I quickly dived under 
cover. Tom emerged from an open doorway. He was wearing a lab coat and 
holding a syringe in one hand. Batman pointed at me and then at Tom. 
He's yours, in other words. He then pointed at himself and the secret 
room.

I nodded. We both waited for Tom to exit the room. As soon as he was 
gone, Batman went into the secret room to investigate. I followed after 
Tom. I was just able to see the back of his lab coat as he entered the 
bedroom. I ran and stood just outside the opened bedroom door.

Batman and I had agreed that we wouldn't do anything until we were 
certain that Blondie's life was in danger. It looked like Blondie's 
life was now in danger. I peered inside.

Tom sat down on Blondie's side of the bed. Holding the syringe up to 
the light, he adjusted the contents and then turned to his sleeping 
guest. Not daring to wait another moment, I whipped out my escrima 
sticks and threw!

"*Hey*!" Tom screamed, holding his wrist where one of the sticks had 
hit. "What the--!"

Blondie was sitting up by then, frightened. "Tom--! What's going on?" 
he cried. Spotting me, he let out a terrified yell. "Who *are* you? 
Tom--?" But Tom was offering Blondie no comfort. Instead, he'd 
recovered sufficiently to be holding a gun against his young victim's 
head.

"Any closer and he's dead!" Tom warned. Blondie let out another 
frightened cry. Holding the kid close to him, Tom pulled him out of 
bed, the gun never leaving his temple. 

"I can't let you take that boy anywhere, Tom," I said quietly. "Let him 
go."

Tom laughed, an ugly, threatening sound.

"Sorry, but Ronnie, here is already mine. He's already given himself to 
me." He grinned. "And neither you, nor Jeff, can have him. He's mine! 
Do you hear me? Jeff's not going to get him, too."

"Wh-who's Jeff?" Ronnie asked, confused.

"Jeff's dead, Tom," I said. "You killed him, remember? You were 
identical twins. So when he pretended he was you and seduced your 
lover, you got mad, and you killed him."

"He deserved it. He was always taking my stuff. Ever since we were 
kids. If I got something, he had to have it, too." He laughed suddenly. 
"We used to fool our teachers all the time. Even our parents had a hard 
time telling us apart. But Ryan was special. He was mine. And Jeff 
*took* him!"

He waved the gun slightly, indicating that he wanted me to move aside. 
Keeping my eyes on him, I did as requested. Tom walked out of the room, 
holding Ronnie closely, and backed away down the narrow hallway. 

"Jeff laughed at me. Said that he could take anything that belonged to 
me. I *hated* him for it. Ryan was *mine*! He said he loved *me*! He 
should've *known* it wasn't me that night. How could he have *slept* 
with him? He was supposed to *love me*!"

I had to keep him talking. Just a few more steps.

"It wasn't Ryan's fault, Tom. You said it yourself. Even your parents 
had trouble telling you and Jeff apart. And it isn't Ronnie's fault, 
either," I added. "Please, let him go. You don't want to hurt him."

At that moment, Batman chopped down hard and Tom went down like he'd 
been shot. I tossed a blanket at Ronnie. He took it gratefully, quickly 
wrapping it around himself.

I walked up to Tom, who was sitting up dazedly, holding his head. "Just 
like it wasn't *Scott's* fault," I said, looking down at him. Batman 
bent down and placed a pair of cuffs on him. Straightening, he looked 
at me steadily.

"You okay?" he asked. I nodded mutely. 

****

I stood looking up at the starry skies. The night sky from Wayne Manor 
never ceased to enthrall me. I felt a warm hand on my shoulder. Bruce 
stood close to me, not saying anything. We stood together a moment 
longer, simply enjoying one another's presence.

"Will you be all right?" he finally asked. I sighed, taking moment to 
answer. 

"I don't know," I admitted. "The thought that Scott's last moments were 
so horrifying. In the hands of that monster. I just don't know what to 
think, Bruce. That torture chamber you found--like something out of a 
nightmare."

I remembered the nauseated, haunted feeling that came over me when I 
walked into the hidden room and looked upon what must have been the 
last thing that Scott had laid his eyes on. I experienced the horror 
that he must have felt while being held prisoner--so alone, bound and 
drugged to minimize his screams, but not so much that he wouldn't know 
what was being done to him, knowing that he was going to die.

I closed my eyes, shuddering at the memory.

"You helped stop Scott's killer from doing it to anyone else," Bruce 
said. "I know that's little comfort, but it's something. You have to 
believe that Scott's death wasn't meaningless. That because of him, we 
stopped a serial killer before he had a chance to really get started. 
In a way, Scott sacrificed his life so that others might live." 

Finally, I nodded.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," I said, my words choking with emotion. 
"I'd like to think that Scott's found some kind of peace now. I just 
wish that I'd been there for him. That I'd somehow been able to save 
him, too."

"Dick, you mustn't blame yourself for what happened to Scott. It wasn't 
your fault," Bruce said. "Remember that. You were his friend. It's not 
your fault you couldn't offer him more than that, and he had to look 
elsewhere for companionship." 

I looked up at him startled. How did he know, I wondered? Then mentally 
slapped myself. Duh! He's Batman! But I still had to ask.

"You knew?" 

Bruce turned to face me. Abruptly, he began to fuss with my collar the 
way he used to when I was a kid, and he had something of momentous 
import to tell me, but didn't know how to begin. After awhile, he laid 
both his hands on my shoulders and looked me directly in the eyes.

"I'm your father, Dick. Of course, I knew. Scott was in love with you." 
I looked away feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt wash over me. 
Bruce shook my shoulders slightly. 

"You were his friend. Remember that. Scott knew that you couldn't offer 
him more than friendship. He understood and accepted it. Now, it's time 
for you to let go of the guilt." His intent gaze held me pinned. "Son, 
let it go."

I nodded. The next thing I knew, Bruce was holding me to him. Something 
he hadn't done since I was a kid. And I was clinging to him for dear 
life, my whole body wracked by harsh sobs. He held me like that for 
what seemed forever.

Finally, the storm passed, washing the guilt away, leaving me feeling 
emotionally spent but cleansed. I broke away from Bruce's protective 
embrace, keeping my eyes carefully focused on the North Star.

"'It is a far, far better thing I do,'" I said quietly, quoting from 
memory, "'than anything I have ever done; it is a far, far, better rest 
that I go to, than I have ever known.'"

Without another word, Bruce laid his arm around my shoulders once more, 
and together we both looked up at the starry night sky. Yes, I thought, 
somewhere Scott was finally at peace.

The End