Chapter 62: Trauma Counselling
The sterile white walls of Gotham General Hospital's burn ward carried the persistent smell of antiseptic and healing flesh. Martin Reeves lay propped up in his hospital bed, gauze covering the worst of the burns on his arms and face. Five weeks had passed since the fire at Sunset Gardens, and while the physical healing was progressing, the hollow look in his eyes spoke of deeper wounds.
Alex Thorne knocked gently on the door frame before entering, carrying a leather portfolio and wearing a blue suit and pants looking professional.
"Martin? I'm Dr. Alex Thorne. Mr. Wayne asked me to come speak with you."
Martin's eyes shifted toward him with minimal interest. "Another therapist?"
"Psychology, actually. I specialize in trauma recovery." Alex settled into the visitor's chair beside the bed. "Bruce Wayne has been funding a recovery program for victims of violent crime. He thought you might benefit from talking to someone."
"Bruce Wayne," Martin repeated flatly. "The billionaire philanthropist wants to help the burned guy feel better about his dead girlfriend."
"He wants to help someone who survived an unthinkable tragedy," Alex corrected gently. "Money can't fix what happened to you, but sometimes having someone to talk through it with can help."
Martin stared at the ceiling tiles. "What's there to talk about? Emma's dead. Firefly burned her alive right in front of me. The end."
Alex opened his portfolio and pulled out a legal pad. "Tell me about Emma."
"Why?"
"Because she was important to you. Because her life mattered, not just her death."
For the first time, Martin's expression shifted slightly. "She was... everything. We'd been together two years. We volunteered at Sunset Gardens every Saturday, helping the elderly residents. She loved those people like they were her own grandparents."
"What was she studying?"
"Social work. She wanted to help people who couldn't help themselves." Martin's voice cracked slightly. "She was going to make the world better, you know? Actually better, not just talk about it."
"And you?"
"Education. I wanted to teach high school history." Martin laughed bitterly. "Seems pretty pointless now."
Alex made a note. "Why pointless?"
"Because what's the point of teaching kids about the past when monsters like Firefly can just burn up their future whenever they feel like it?"
"Is that what you think happened? That this was random?"
Martin's eyes snapped to Alex's face. "Wasn't it? Wrong place, wrong time, psychopath with a flamethrower?"
"Maybe. Or maybe you're struggling with the senselessness of it all. Trying to find meaning in something that defies understanding."
They talked for nearly an hour. Alex carefully guided Martin through the psychological landscape of trauma, helping him articulate the rage, guilt, and despair that had been consuming him since the attack. Martin spoke about the nightmares, the survivor's guilt, the way every smell of smoke sent him into panic attacks.
"The worst part," Martin said, staring at his bandaged hands, "is that I keep thinking about our last conversation. We were talking about our future together. Marriage, kids, growing old together. Like we had all the time in the world."
"That's a beautiful last memory to have with her."
"Is it? Or is it just cruel irony?"
"Both, maybe," Alex said honestly. "Beautiful because it shows how much you loved each other. Cruel because it reminds you of everything you've lost."
Martin was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper.
"They moved him."
"Who?"
"Firefly. Garfield Lynns. My friend Jake works in the court clerk's office. He told me that Firefly got transferred to federal custody a few days ago. Minimum security facility in Pennsylvania."
Alex continued. "How does that make you feel?"
"How do you think it makes me feel?" Martin's voice hardened. "He murdered twenty-three people. Burned them alive. Who knows how many hilled before. And now he's sitting in minimum security, probably watching TV and eating three meals a day while Emma rots in the ground."
"The legal system will provide justice—"
"The legal system is broken," Martin interrupted. "Batman caught him red-handed. There were dozens of witnesses. It should have been life in maximum security, maybe even the death penalty. Instead, he gets rewarded with a transfer to Club Fed."
Alex made another note, maintaining his facade. "I understand your frustration, but we have to trust that the system will ultimately deliver justice. These transfers sometimes happen for administrative reasons we don't fully understand."
"Administrative reasons?" Martin's voice rose. "He's a mass murderer, not a tax evader!"
"What would you want to happen to him?" Alex asked carefully.
Martin stared out the window at Gotham's skyline. "I want him to burn. I want him to feel exactly what Emma felt, what all those old people felt. I want him to die screaming and know that it's justice."
"That's a natural response to trauma," Alex said in his practiced therapist voice, "but acting on those feelings would only perpetuate the cycle of violence. We have to believe that legal institutions, however imperfect, are better than vigilante justice."
"Don't," Martin said sharply. "Don't give me the textbook explanation about how wanting revenge is normal but acting on it would make me just like him. I've heard it all already."
"From who?"
"Batman. The night it happened, when they were loading me into the ambulance, I begged him to kill Firefly. He refused. Said the system would handle it." Martin's laugh was bitter. "Some system."
Alex leaned forward with concern. "Martin, I need to ask you something, and I want you to be completely honest with me. Have you thought about trying to take justice into your own hands?"
"Every day," Martin admitted without hesitation. "But I'm a burned-up college student with no money, no resources, and no way to get to Pennsylvania. Even if I could, what would I do? I'm not Batman. I'm not some vigilante with gadgets and martial arts training. I'm nobody."
"You're not nobody. You're a survivor," Alex said carefully. "But vigilante justice isn't the answer. It would only create more victims and more trauma. The legal system may be slow, but it's still our best hope for true justice."
Something in Alex's tone made Martin look at him more carefully. "You really believe that? Even after everything you must have seen working with crime victims?"
"I have to believe it," Alex replied, maintaining his cover. "Because the alternative - a world where people take law into their own hands - would be chaos."
Before Martin could respond, there was another knock on the door. A nurse entered with Martin's afternoon medications.
"How are we feeling today, Mr. Reeves?" she asked cheerfully.
"Like my dead girlfriend would still be alive if we lived in a world with real justice," Martin replied flatly.
The nurse's smile faltered. She quickly administered the medications and left, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation she'd interrupted.
"I should probably go," Alex said, standing and collecting his things. "But I'd like to continue our sessions, if you're willing. Mr. Wayne has authorized as many meetings as you need."
"Why does Bruce Wayne care so much about me specifically?"
Alex paused, considering his answer. "He lost his parents to violent crime when he was young. I think he sees something of himself in trauma survivors - the potential to either be consumed by rage or to find healthy ways to channel it constructively."
"And which one am I?"
"I don't know yet. That's what we're going to figure out together."
As Alex reached the door, Martin called out to him.
"Dr. Thorne? Do you truely believe the system works?"
"I have to," Alex replied. "Because believing in vigilante justice - believing someone can just decide who lives and dies based on their personal sense of right and wrong - that's a very dangerous path."
"Even when the system completely fails people like me?"
Alex met Martin's eyes. "Especially then. That's when we need to hold onto our faith in law the most."
Three days later, Alex returned for their second session. Martin seemed different somehow - calmer, but with an underlying tension that suggested something had changed.
"How are you sleeping?" Alex asked as he settled into his chair.
"Better, actually," Martin said. "I had the strangest thing happen yesterday."
"What kind of strange thing?"
Martin reached into his bedside drawer and pulled out a black envelope. Alex recognized it immediately - the blood-red wax seal, the elegant script, the weight of expensive paper.
"This was on my breakfast tray yesterday," Martin said, holding the envelope up. "No one knows how it got there. The nurses claim they've never seen it before."
Alex's expression shifted to that of concern. "What does it say?"
Martin opened the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper.
"'Martin Reeves,'" Martin read aloud. "Your pain has been witnessed. Emma's light has been acknowledged. The scales of justice are broken, but they can be balanced. What slips through the loopholes of law, judgment remembers. – The Architect."
Alex's face darkened with what appeared to be genuine worry. "The Architect? Martin, this is deeply concerning."
"I can't believe it's real,' Martin said, staring at the letter. "I mean, everyone
in Gotham knows about the Architect - all the killings and stuff. But I never
thought... I never imagined he'd actually notice someone like me."
"Martin, listen to me very carefully," Alex said in his most authoritative therapist voice. "The Architect may target criminals who escaped justice, but the methods are absolutely brutal. What he did to them - those weren't just executions, they were pure torture."
"Good," Martin said quietly, then seemed surprised by his own response. "I mean... I know I shouldn't feel that way, but when I think about what Firefly did to Emma, to all those people..."
"The Architect's victims don't just die, Martin. They're subjected to prolonged suffering that can last for days. Whatever satisfaction that might provide, it won't bring Emma back, and it won't heal your trauma." Alex leaned forward with concern. "This person isn't a hero - they're someone who uses the failures of our justice system to justify his sadistic behavior."
"No," Martin said quickly. "I mean... what if this person is serious? What if they actually do something about Firefly?"
"Martin, listen to me very carefully," Alex continued. "This person is not a hero. They're a killer who uses the failures of our justice system to justify murder. Whatever they might do to Firefly, it won't bring Emma back, and it won't heal your trauma."
"But it would be justice—"
"It would be revenge. And revenge doesn't heal wounds - it creates new ones." Alex stood up. "I'm going to call Mr. Wayne right now. He needs to know about this."
"Please don't," Martin said. "Just... let me think about it."
"There's nothing to think about. This person is targeting you because they see you as emotionally vulnerable. They're manipulating your grief to validate their own twisted sense of justice."
Alex pulled out his phone as if to make the call, but Martin's voice stopped him.
"Dr. Thorne, for the first time since Emma died, I don't feel completely helpless. Maybe that's wrong, but it's the only thing that's let me sleep through the night."
Alex paused, his thumb hovering over Bruce Wayne's contact. After a moment, he sat back down.
"Martin, I understand that this letter gives you hope. But that hope is built on the promise of more violence, more death. That's not healing - that's being consumed by the very darkness that took Emma from you."
"What if the darkness is the only thing that can help me?"
"Then we become part of the problem instead of the solution."
They spent the rest of the session with Alex carefully walking Martin through the psychology of vigilante fantasies, explaining how trauma victims sometimes project their need for control onto external agents of violence. He emphasized the importance of trusting legal institutions and finding healthy ways to process grief.
But beneath his professional facade, Alex was satisfied. The seed was planted. Martin was beginning to heal, not through acceptance of injustice, but through faith that justice would still come - even if he believed he shouldn't want it.
As Alex prepared to leave, Martin stopped him with a question.
"Dr. Thorne, hypothetically... if someone like this Architect did exist, and if they only targeted people who had truly escaped justice... would that be completely wrong?"
"Yes," Alex said firmly. "Because the moment we decide that one person can determine who lives and dies based on their personal sense of justice, we've abandoned everything that separates us from the criminals we claim to oppose."
"Even if it prevents future victims?"
"Especially then. The ends never justify the means when those means involve murder."
After leaving the hospital, Alex drove directly to Wayne Manor. He'd called ahead and been invited for afternoon tea.
Alfred ushered him into the study where Bruce Wayne waited, still wearing his business suit from a day of board meetings. The billionaire looked tired, which made sense given his nocturnal activities as Batman.
"Dr. Thorne, thank you for coming," Bruce said, gesturing to a chair near the fireplace. "How is Martin progressing?"
"There's been a significant development," Alex replied, declining Alfred's offer of tea in favor of immediately addressing the situation. "Martin received contact from the Architect."
Bruce's attention sharpened immediately. "What kind of contact?"
Alex pulled out his phone & showed him a picture of the Architect's letter. "This appeared on his breakfast tray. Hospital security has no idea how it got there."
Bruce read the letter twice, his expression growing darker. "This fits the pattern."
"Do you think its due to Firefly's transfer to minimum security?"
"Yes. I tried to block the transfer through legal channels, but federal bureaucracy moves slowly. By the time I could mount a proper challenge, Lynns was already in Pennsylvania. Should Martin be worried about his safety?"
"I don't think so. The Architect targets criminals, not victims. But Martin's psychological state concerns me."
Alex chose his words carefully. "He's conflicted. Part of him is frightened, but another part is... hopeful. He sees this as validation that someone is fighting for him."
"That's exactly what I was afraid of." Bruce set the letter down. "The Architect's methodology is psychologically sophisticated. He understand how to exploit the emotional vulnerabilities of crime victims."
"It's actually helping his trauma symptoms in the short term," Alex admitted reluctantly. "His sleep has improved, his anxiety is down. But obviously, building healing on the promise of violence is fundamentally unhealthy."
Bruce was quiet for a long moment. "Keep me informed of any further contact between Martin and the Architect. And Dr. Thorne? Be careful about the whole thing."
"Of course," Alex said, standing to leave.
As Alex drove home that evening, he reflected on the delicate balance he was maintaining. Bruce Wayne was proving to be more perceptive than most, but his commitment to legal orthodoxy was predictable. The important thing was that both Bruce and Martin now expected the Architect to take action against Firefly.
Which meant it was time to plan a trip to Pennsylvania.
Garfield Lynns had been living in comfort long enough. The scales demanded balance, and the Architect would provide it.
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