But where were the others?
“Help,” he heard Batman say.
Gordon swept his light and saw Batman hanging from a charred joist with his left hand, while his right clutched the boy. Gordon set his flashlight on the floor and reached down to take his son from Batman.
His flashlight was shining on Dent’s coin: good side.
The joist Batman hung from snapped, loud as a gunshot, and Batman fell, smashing through wood and plumbing, landing hard next to Dent.
Gordon gave the boy to Barbara and hesitated.
“You’ve got to help him,” Barbara said.
Gordon ran down the stairs, occasionally jumping past heaps of debris and through the door into the basement—the place where Rachel Dawes had died.
Batman was moving. Gordon helped him to his feet, and said, “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do.”
Both men gazed down at Dent’s body, pale and still in the moonlight.
“The Joker won,” Gordon said. “Harvey’s prosecution, everything he fought for, everything Rachel died for . . . Undone. Whatever chance Gotham had of fixing itself . . . whatever chance you gave us of fixing our city, dies with Harvey’s reputation. We bet it all on him. The Joker took the best of us and tore him down. People will lose all hope.”
“No, they won’t. They can never know what he did.”
Gordon was incredulous. “But we can’t sweep that under the—”
“No,” Batman said, his voice overriding Gordon’s. “The Joker cannot win.” He crouched by Dent’s body and gently turned Dent’s head until the unmarred side was visible. “Gotham needs its true hero.”
“Yes, I can.”
Batman rose and faced Gordon. “You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become a villain. I can do those things because I’m not a hero, like Dent. I killed those people. That’s what I can be.”
“No,” Gordon said angrily. “You can’t. You’re not!”
“I’m whatever Gotham needs me to be.”
“They’ll hunt you.”
“You’ll hunt me. You’ll condemn me, set the dogs on me because it’s what needs to happen. Because sometimes the truth isn’t good enough. Sometimes, people deserve more.”
Gordon turned his back on Batman and stood unmoving until he was sure he was alone with Harvey Dent’s body. Then he slowly trudged up the three flights of steps and rejoined his family.
“Why did Batman run away?” Gordon’s son asked him.
“Because we have to chase him.”
“Why?”
EPILOGUE
Blood formed a wet film beneath his clothing, and the red fog he’d feared was exploding behind his eyes. But he might be able to reach somewhere he could rest, allow himself a few moments peace before his long nightmare began. He had failed to save Harvey Dent, had failed to save Rachel. But perhaps he could still put himself on the side of the angels by allowing the world to believe him to be the ugliest of devils.
Why, the child had asked. Why did Batman run away?
And as Batman crossed the rooftops of the sleeping city, not sure where he was going, knowing only that his wounds were deep and would never heal, James Gordon tried to answer his son’s question:
He’s the hero Gotham deserves, but not the one it needs right now. So we’ll hunt him because he can take it. Because he’s not our hero, he’s a silent guardian, a watchful protector . . . a dark knight.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
EPILOGUE