Demon Lover, Where are You? - Chapter 4/5, Entry 9
Title: Demon Lover, Where are You? - Chapter 4/5
Entry Number: 09
Author: Spikesgirl58
Fandom: Batman
Rating: R - Warnings, sexual situation,
Genre: Horror/Superheroes
Word Count: 3581
The Batman dropped silently to the ground and moved through the bushes. They provided excellent cover and permitted him to get close to the house. Fletcher's aunt lived in a small house in the one of Gotham's older neighborhoods.
He stood on the cement patio for several moments while ascertaining the best way to approach the woman within the house. He could see her silhouette flicker across curtains as she passed from one room to another and back. It brought to mind a similar incident not long ago.
"A little restless tonight?" The Batman asked the shadow softly. "Could it be your conscience bothering you?" The silhouette approached the sliding glass window and light suddenly split out as the curtain was pulled back sharply. There had been plenty of time for him to seclude himself within the remaining shadows and he stood quietly, watching a face that could neither see nor hear him.
The door slid open and a woman stepped out into the Gotham night. She was thin and appeared as brittle as a piece of fine china, but not as old as her picture made her look. According to the police reports, she'd been pretty smug as she identified her nephew's body, muttering about God and His divine wisdom to anyone who would listen. The Batman moved silently, into the light and let her discover him. She gasped and involuntarily took a step backwards, stumbling against a piece of wrought iron furniture.
"Demon from Hell, what do you want?" She caught herself from falling and crossed herself with the crucifix she wore.
"Justice," came the hoarse answer. He watched her carefully, eyes looking for any sort of hint at her guilt.
"For who? My nephew?" She laughed sharply, pulling a loose cardigan around herself. "He got what God felt he deserved."
"He was murdered in cold blood."
"In very hot blood, you mean! I read the medical reports and the nasty little things the doctors discovered. He was a minister of God's word!"
"He was only a man."
"Of course you'd say that. You're as dirty and corrupt as he was. You won't see the obvious."
"Perhaps it is you who is blind to the obvious," Batman said, quietly, a dangerous edge tinging the words. "Deserving or not, a person is dead. That's all that matters to me. Justice will be done."
"And how do you know it hasn't? You've read all about my nephew's twisted secrets. He was robbing little old ladies of their fortunes while engaging in sex with their daughters in the name of God. Why should he live? He was taking God and his disciples to the cleaners. It was God's will. Ian deserved to die."
Ice blue eyes never left hers, challenging her. "No one deserves to be murdered. No one can take that decision into their own hands." The eyes shifted from her face to her clenched fists.
"Are you suggesting that I had something to do with it?" The hands were driven into pockets. "Talk to your cohorts at Gotham police headquarters. I was at a retreat in the Black Mountains when Ian was killed." She turned her back on him. "I certainly couldn't afford to hire someone. Go ahead and check it out for yourself."
"I already have." He took a step away, eyes still frozen. "I'll be watching." And he was gone.
****
That went fairly well, he decided as he head back to the Batmoble. It was obvious to him that the woman was not lying. Nor was she telling the truth. There was no love in her for her dear departed nephew, that was certain, no remorse at his death. Yet she was also an enigma, damning her nephew for preaching God's word commercially, condemning him for making a living at it. She was as guilty as her nephew at that, just not as successful. Perhaps she saw it as a chance to expand her own business, but that didn't seem fair. Of course, life was seldom fair. Bruce Wayne had learned that in a dark alley when he was ten.
It took only a few minutes to make his way across town to the next address. As opposed to the other, the tenement house struggled for life among the filth and decay of Gotham's north side slum. He slid the Batmobile into an alley and waiting for the last of the steel plates to settle into place before daring to leave the vehicle. Ever since the Penguin's misfired attempt on his life, The Batman doubted the security measures of the car, despite having tightened them considerably. When he was satisfied that the car was impregnable, he reached for the Batharpoon and aimed for the roof.
The internal winch easily yanked him skyward and he watched the building speed by. The roof zipped past and he braked the grapple to a stop. Hitting the release button, he dropped to the roof, starting as his right foot broke through rotten tar paper and boards. The Wayne Foundation was going to have to look into this.
He pulled his foot loose and carefully tested the next spot before putting his full weight upon it. Even from here, he could smell the poverty, the hopelessness of the people who dwelled within. Or maybe it was just the garbage that was piled everywhere and he was merely getting maudlin in his old age. Whichever the case, he had a job to do.
The fire escape door wasn't locked. No surprise there. He opened it and forced his way through the mass of discarded paper, bottles, cans, and other things he didn't like to think about. Some fire escape, he thought. The people wouldn't be able to use it for that even if they wanted to. The apartment numbers appeared to have been arranged in some kind of bizarre system that even The Batman couldn't break. Eventually he located the apartment with the help of a wrong turn and an extremely social rat.
The door responded to his knock, opening slowly to permit a querulous eye to peer out. It started to shut the second the occupant caught sight of the stylized bat emblem. The Batman stayed its path with a single hand, gently applying pressure until it had opened enough to allow him passage.
"You can't come in here with a search warrant," the woman stammered. She was wrapped in a tattered sheet. The air within the apartment was frigid, peculiar in the summer heat.
"I'm not the police," Batman said quietly. It was hard for him to contain the revulsion he was experiencing. This was the sister of one of Gotham's most successful models, yet she lived, barely lived in this poverty.
"Disgusting, isn't it?" Apparently The Batman wasn't as successful at concealing his emotions as he thought. "And do you know what Al left me in his will? Nothing! After what he did to Mama, he left me nothing!"
That wasn't his affair, he cautioned himself and used the time to examine what little he could see of the apartment. Low watt bulbs barely managed to pierce the darkness immediately surrounding them, much less the entire room. Still it wasn't so large that much could remain hidden from view. "What do you want, demon?"
That brought his attention sharply back to the woman. This was twice in one night he'd been called that, not the usual style of name calling to which he was accustomed. Most peculiar choice of words, especially after Alfred's paranormal discovery.
"I think you know," he said, switching the focus so that she was on the defense. He could tell she didn't like it as she turned and walked away from him.
"I can't know what you mean."
"Your brother's murderer."
"If you find him, let me know. I like to give him a reward for ridding the earth of something truly unholy. And if you're laboring under some misconception that I had something to do with it, there's about a hundred people who will vouch for me. I was working at the Day/Night Market. The boss needed extra help because of that damned lottery fever. I was waiting on a store full of people when that bastard got his."
No remorse here and again he was struck by what he'd term coincidence, if he believed in such things. "I'll be watching," he said simply, as if her guilt already something firmly established. He backed out the door, smiling as it slammed in his face the minute it could. He'd turned to leave when he saw her. An old woman was watching from the sanctuary of her own apartment, acting not so much afraid of him as something else. When she'd apparently decided it was safe, she gestured him over.
"Yes?"
"She's crazy, you know," the old woman said, pointing to the closed door. "Her own brother made her mad. After their mother died, she snapped."
"Snapped?"
"Said she was gonna get him for what he did." The old woman pulled herself upright, brushing at her ancient clothes. "He wouldn't have anything to do with any of us, except to say that when he made it, we'd had it. He was going to buy the building and demolish it. She said she’d get him. That she'd call in outside help."
A third voice interrupted the old woman, "Mother, who you are talking to?" An even older man appeared at her elbow and he nodded seriously to the crime fighter. "Come along, Mother, and let The Batman do his work."
He took the woman's elbow and smiled uncertainly at the figure in black, "Please forgive my wife. She doesn't know what she's saying. It's a terrible thing to get old." Even in the near darkness of the hall, Batman could see the man shaking.
"No, Samuel. You heard her, too." The woman didn't want to budge, but finally relented to the firm grip.
"Nonsense, Mother, you're just getting confused. That was a TV show you were watching. Come along now." The door closed, leaving The Batman alone in the hall.
"I don't believe you, Samuel," The Batman whispered. "I think your wife knows more than you give her credit for. I also think you are scared out of your wits. But why?"
His next visit was to Gordon's office. At this time of night, there was a good chance the man had departed for home. Batman secretly harbored the thought that Jim should just move in here and be done with it. Surprisingly enough, the office was empty, although the window was left open its customary crack, permitting The Batman free access in and out.
He slipped into the office and glanced around, making sure that he was indeed alone. Only immediate silence and distant noise greeted him. Batman moved to Gordon's desk and turned on a lamp. It illuminated a small spot on the desktop and not much else. Sitting down in the time-worn, lumpy chair, Batman picked up the top file and scanned it. It was for a case he knew nothing about and it was quickly discarded for another file folder. Eventually he found what he was looking for. Gordon had properly made the connection that the suite was a link between the two murders and the attempt on Bruce Wayne.
The folders gave up nothing that The Batman didn't already know and he settled back in the chair to contemplate the situation. Two murders, two suspects and a possible killer that was right out of Greek mythology. "I wonder if it's too late to become a doctor," he said quietly, looking at the papers spread before him. If they held the answer, they weren't telling and after a long moment of contemplation, Batman pulled a slip of paper from his utility belt and wrote in a deliberate hand. We need to talk. B. He left it, along with the file, where Gordon was certain to notice it in the morning. That accomplished, he departed to begin his nightly patrol.
****
"Jim's never going to believe me, Alfred," The Batman said, pulling off his cowl to become just the not-quite-so-dashing-or-exciting Bruce Wayne. Alfred offered him a box of tissues and cold cream. Wayne started to wipe the greasepaint from around either eye. He had nightmares about the day it would no longer come off and he'd have to explain that to someone why he had two permanent black eyes.
"You do have proof, Master Bruce," Alfred said. "Your previous suit still carries the evidence of your attack. Along with the fact that The Batman is not known to lie or exaggerate should be enough to convince Commissioner Gordon."
"Easy for you to say, you don't have to face him." Wayne's voice was dry. "Yea, Jim, there's this demon going around screwing all of Gotham's local talent and turning them into old men." He leaned back in the chair and groaned as he stretched. "Alfred, am I sick to wish for just an old-fashioned extortion attempt or robbery? I'm even beginning to miss the normality of the Joker." He toed his left boot loose and bent to pull it off. "I need you to do a little more digging for me today, Alfred. See if you can find anything that might link the aunt and the sister. The smallest fragment might be all I need."
"Yes, sir."
****
Bruce Wayne doodled on the pad of paper before him, doing his best to appear completely disinterested in the goings-on around him. All the while he was listening intently, his mind a good two steps ahead of his best advisor.
"What do you think, Bruce?" Lucius Fox asked, pulling off his glass and dropping them with an audible thump. It was apparent that he was frustrated with his CEO's lack of attention.
"Huh?" Bruce acted as if he was suddenly aware of his surroundings, then grinned at the black man. "Just kidding, Lucius, why don’t you pursue it until the end of the year and see what the figures say? If we're showing a loss, we'll deal with it then. I'd also like the figures on the downtown development park and low-cost housing. If we push it, I think we can get at least twenty five more tenements refurbished before the fiscal year end. Good tax break that we shouldn't miss. Is there anything else?" Bruce folded his hands before him and looked expectantly from one face to the next. "Great. Thanks for your time." He was up and out of the boardroom before anyone could recover.
Bruce headed back for his office, pausing to address a few employees by name, asking after a wife, husband, or child. It was a trick that Alfred had taught him. People were less tempted to try and pull things over on you if they thought you knew them. It also endeared him to them to think that so important a man would remember their anniversary or what-not. So far, it had been very successful and it didn't hurt his image either.
"How's it going, Gwen?" he asked his private secretary, tapping two fingers on her blotter. "Any word on the expectant mother?" He picked up a picture frame and smiled at the photo of a Bassett hound.
"Vet says any day now." The smile that greeted him was sincere and unaffected. "You had a call from Proctor and Goods. They wanted to know if you'd had a chance to look over their contracts."
"Down in the Legal Department. I should have an answer in two days."
"Dr. Thompkins called and wanted to know if you were going to keep your annual."
"I suppose," Bruce muttered, bending to read a letter the secretary was typing into the word processor. "Tell Research I expect to see a forty percent gain in overall performance or I'm coming down to lean on them... paraphrased, of course."
"Of course. And Mr. Pennyworth called."
"What did Alfred want?" His attention was minimal now as he looked through the incoming mail. He handed one envelope to the secretary. "Cut them a check for $25,000 and have it on my desk this afternoon."
"He said you should call him as soon as your schedule permitted."
"Who said? Oh, Alfred, right." With a wave, Bruce disappeared into his office.
The number was programmed into his phone, so it was a matter of punching a button and waiting. After a minute, the ringing was cut off by a "Wayne Residence". Bruce didn't recognize the voice, but that wasn't unusual. Most of the time he never even saw the day staff. "This is Mr. Wayne. May I speak to Alfred, please?’ Another delay, then Alfred came on the line.
"Good day, Master Bruce."
"Whacha have for me, Alfred?"
"Not a copious amount of information, I am afraid. The police files did not contain anything but the barest of background facts. I am pursuing alternative channels, of course."
"Of course,” Bruce balanced the phone between his shoulder and ear and started signing a series of letters. "You might try a background check into the actual victims. That might include something."
"Yes, sir. Shall I expect you at the usual time?"
"Right, no, wait, I have an appointment with Leslie, so I'll be late."
"I shall have your evening wear prepared for your arrival."
"Thank you." Bruce smiled at the innuendo. "I see you then."
****
"Deep breath, please," Leslie Thompkins instructed and moved the stethoscope a fraction to the left. "Again." Bruce Wayne complied with the orders while studying the interior of the examination room. Leslie was one of the few people who knew his secret and the only doctor he trusted with it. "Well, your heart is fine. At least all that working out has had some beneficial side effects. Lie back for me."
Ignoring the protesting crackle of paper, he reclined full length on the examination table and looked up at the water stains on the ceiling as the woman began moving her hands over his stomach. "You should let me move you to a better office, Leslie."
"Call me sentimental, but I like it here. Try to relax, Bruce, I can't feel a thing except your tensed muscles. I won't bite you. Where did you pick up that bruise or should I even ask?"
"Let me renovate for you, then. Those water stains have been there for as long as I've known you." He grunted as stiff forefingers probed a tender stomach. "What do you say?"
"That you were lucky to not get a rupture from whatever it is that you won't tell me
about."
"It's just war stories, Leslie. You don't want to hear them any more than I want to tell them." He involuntarily winced this time, eyes closed. "Take it easy, will you?"
"You never have - ever."
It was Leslie Thompkins that had discovered a shocked ten-year old standing over the bodies of his parents, a boy she had helped a butler to raise to manhood and she had yet to understand what drove him. She moved to his neck. "Have you been sleeping any more than usual?"
"Four or five hours is about the best I managed."
"How about the dreams?" She picked up an otoscope and bent his head to the right to examine an ear.
"Still with me."
"It's not too late to get counseling, you know." She switched sides, then changed to an ophthalmoscope.
"I know, I just deal with things a different way." He pulled back instinctively as the instrument's light struck his eye, the couch staying his retreat.
"I was going to ask if bright light still bothers you, but I guess that's not necessary. Tell me, though, is it because it really does bother you or only because you want it to?"
"How's your women's group going?" Bruce smoothly switched subjects as Leslie examined first one eye, then the other. "Still packing them in?"
"Unfortunately. There are so many women abused these days, although I'm not so sure that the situation didn't always exist. It's just been brought to light now and, God help us, has become fashionable."
"Wha--? The question was choked off by a tongue depressor.
"Not wha, ahhh. There's seems to be quite an influx of the well-to-do joining therapy groups. In fact, we even have a minister's sister."
Bruce pulled away and swallowed. Alarms bells were going off in his head. "Leslie, can I use your phone?"
"You can wait, we're almost done." She handed him a plastic cup and pointed to the door. "You know what to do." She snapped a rubber glove. "Then your favorite part of the exam."
Bruce made a face at her. "Maybe it's time for me to switch to an impartial doctor. You get far too much pleasure out of tormenting me." He slid off the table and took the cup from her. "Or maybe I could join your group."
Leslie shook her head and smiled, stroking his cheek affectionately. "Sorry, dear, you're too rich, too handsome, and too male. You'd send some of them into permanent relapse."
"Do you think I could use your phone first, just in case I don't survive the rest of your examination?"
"You've tried that one before. Alfred's not bailing you out this time. Go!"
Entry Number: 09
Author: Spikesgirl58
Fandom: Batman
Rating: R - Warnings, sexual situation,
Genre: Horror/Superheroes
Word Count: 3581
The Batman dropped silently to the ground and moved through the bushes. They provided excellent cover and permitted him to get close to the house. Fletcher's aunt lived in a small house in the one of Gotham's older neighborhoods.
He stood on the cement patio for several moments while ascertaining the best way to approach the woman within the house. He could see her silhouette flicker across curtains as she passed from one room to another and back. It brought to mind a similar incident not long ago.
"A little restless tonight?" The Batman asked the shadow softly. "Could it be your conscience bothering you?" The silhouette approached the sliding glass window and light suddenly split out as the curtain was pulled back sharply. There had been plenty of time for him to seclude himself within the remaining shadows and he stood quietly, watching a face that could neither see nor hear him.
The door slid open and a woman stepped out into the Gotham night. She was thin and appeared as brittle as a piece of fine china, but not as old as her picture made her look. According to the police reports, she'd been pretty smug as she identified her nephew's body, muttering about God and His divine wisdom to anyone who would listen. The Batman moved silently, into the light and let her discover him. She gasped and involuntarily took a step backwards, stumbling against a piece of wrought iron furniture.
"Demon from Hell, what do you want?" She caught herself from falling and crossed herself with the crucifix she wore.
"Justice," came the hoarse answer. He watched her carefully, eyes looking for any sort of hint at her guilt.
"For who? My nephew?" She laughed sharply, pulling a loose cardigan around herself. "He got what God felt he deserved."
"He was murdered in cold blood."
"In very hot blood, you mean! I read the medical reports and the nasty little things the doctors discovered. He was a minister of God's word!"
"He was only a man."
"Of course you'd say that. You're as dirty and corrupt as he was. You won't see the obvious."
"Perhaps it is you who is blind to the obvious," Batman said, quietly, a dangerous edge tinging the words. "Deserving or not, a person is dead. That's all that matters to me. Justice will be done."
"And how do you know it hasn't? You've read all about my nephew's twisted secrets. He was robbing little old ladies of their fortunes while engaging in sex with their daughters in the name of God. Why should he live? He was taking God and his disciples to the cleaners. It was God's will. Ian deserved to die."
Ice blue eyes never left hers, challenging her. "No one deserves to be murdered. No one can take that decision into their own hands." The eyes shifted from her face to her clenched fists.
"Are you suggesting that I had something to do with it?" The hands were driven into pockets. "Talk to your cohorts at Gotham police headquarters. I was at a retreat in the Black Mountains when Ian was killed." She turned her back on him. "I certainly couldn't afford to hire someone. Go ahead and check it out for yourself."
"I already have." He took a step away, eyes still frozen. "I'll be watching." And he was gone.
****
That went fairly well, he decided as he head back to the Batmoble. It was obvious to him that the woman was not lying. Nor was she telling the truth. There was no love in her for her dear departed nephew, that was certain, no remorse at his death. Yet she was also an enigma, damning her nephew for preaching God's word commercially, condemning him for making a living at it. She was as guilty as her nephew at that, just not as successful. Perhaps she saw it as a chance to expand her own business, but that didn't seem fair. Of course, life was seldom fair. Bruce Wayne had learned that in a dark alley when he was ten.
It took only a few minutes to make his way across town to the next address. As opposed to the other, the tenement house struggled for life among the filth and decay of Gotham's north side slum. He slid the Batmobile into an alley and waiting for the last of the steel plates to settle into place before daring to leave the vehicle. Ever since the Penguin's misfired attempt on his life, The Batman doubted the security measures of the car, despite having tightened them considerably. When he was satisfied that the car was impregnable, he reached for the Batharpoon and aimed for the roof.
The internal winch easily yanked him skyward and he watched the building speed by. The roof zipped past and he braked the grapple to a stop. Hitting the release button, he dropped to the roof, starting as his right foot broke through rotten tar paper and boards. The Wayne Foundation was going to have to look into this.
He pulled his foot loose and carefully tested the next spot before putting his full weight upon it. Even from here, he could smell the poverty, the hopelessness of the people who dwelled within. Or maybe it was just the garbage that was piled everywhere and he was merely getting maudlin in his old age. Whichever the case, he had a job to do.
The fire escape door wasn't locked. No surprise there. He opened it and forced his way through the mass of discarded paper, bottles, cans, and other things he didn't like to think about. Some fire escape, he thought. The people wouldn't be able to use it for that even if they wanted to. The apartment numbers appeared to have been arranged in some kind of bizarre system that even The Batman couldn't break. Eventually he located the apartment with the help of a wrong turn and an extremely social rat.
The door responded to his knock, opening slowly to permit a querulous eye to peer out. It started to shut the second the occupant caught sight of the stylized bat emblem. The Batman stayed its path with a single hand, gently applying pressure until it had opened enough to allow him passage.
"You can't come in here with a search warrant," the woman stammered. She was wrapped in a tattered sheet. The air within the apartment was frigid, peculiar in the summer heat.
"I'm not the police," Batman said quietly. It was hard for him to contain the revulsion he was experiencing. This was the sister of one of Gotham's most successful models, yet she lived, barely lived in this poverty.
"Disgusting, isn't it?" Apparently The Batman wasn't as successful at concealing his emotions as he thought. "And do you know what Al left me in his will? Nothing! After what he did to Mama, he left me nothing!"
That wasn't his affair, he cautioned himself and used the time to examine what little he could see of the apartment. Low watt bulbs barely managed to pierce the darkness immediately surrounding them, much less the entire room. Still it wasn't so large that much could remain hidden from view. "What do you want, demon?"
That brought his attention sharply back to the woman. This was twice in one night he'd been called that, not the usual style of name calling to which he was accustomed. Most peculiar choice of words, especially after Alfred's paranormal discovery.
"I think you know," he said, switching the focus so that she was on the defense. He could tell she didn't like it as she turned and walked away from him.
"I can't know what you mean."
"Your brother's murderer."
"If you find him, let me know. I like to give him a reward for ridding the earth of something truly unholy. And if you're laboring under some misconception that I had something to do with it, there's about a hundred people who will vouch for me. I was working at the Day/Night Market. The boss needed extra help because of that damned lottery fever. I was waiting on a store full of people when that bastard got his."
No remorse here and again he was struck by what he'd term coincidence, if he believed in such things. "I'll be watching," he said simply, as if her guilt already something firmly established. He backed out the door, smiling as it slammed in his face the minute it could. He'd turned to leave when he saw her. An old woman was watching from the sanctuary of her own apartment, acting not so much afraid of him as something else. When she'd apparently decided it was safe, she gestured him over.
"Yes?"
"She's crazy, you know," the old woman said, pointing to the closed door. "Her own brother made her mad. After their mother died, she snapped."
"Snapped?"
"Said she was gonna get him for what he did." The old woman pulled herself upright, brushing at her ancient clothes. "He wouldn't have anything to do with any of us, except to say that when he made it, we'd had it. He was going to buy the building and demolish it. She said she’d get him. That she'd call in outside help."
A third voice interrupted the old woman, "Mother, who you are talking to?" An even older man appeared at her elbow and he nodded seriously to the crime fighter. "Come along, Mother, and let The Batman do his work."
He took the woman's elbow and smiled uncertainly at the figure in black, "Please forgive my wife. She doesn't know what she's saying. It's a terrible thing to get old." Even in the near darkness of the hall, Batman could see the man shaking.
"No, Samuel. You heard her, too." The woman didn't want to budge, but finally relented to the firm grip.
"Nonsense, Mother, you're just getting confused. That was a TV show you were watching. Come along now." The door closed, leaving The Batman alone in the hall.
"I don't believe you, Samuel," The Batman whispered. "I think your wife knows more than you give her credit for. I also think you are scared out of your wits. But why?"
His next visit was to Gordon's office. At this time of night, there was a good chance the man had departed for home. Batman secretly harbored the thought that Jim should just move in here and be done with it. Surprisingly enough, the office was empty, although the window was left open its customary crack, permitting The Batman free access in and out.
He slipped into the office and glanced around, making sure that he was indeed alone. Only immediate silence and distant noise greeted him. Batman moved to Gordon's desk and turned on a lamp. It illuminated a small spot on the desktop and not much else. Sitting down in the time-worn, lumpy chair, Batman picked up the top file and scanned it. It was for a case he knew nothing about and it was quickly discarded for another file folder. Eventually he found what he was looking for. Gordon had properly made the connection that the suite was a link between the two murders and the attempt on Bruce Wayne.
The folders gave up nothing that The Batman didn't already know and he settled back in the chair to contemplate the situation. Two murders, two suspects and a possible killer that was right out of Greek mythology. "I wonder if it's too late to become a doctor," he said quietly, looking at the papers spread before him. If they held the answer, they weren't telling and after a long moment of contemplation, Batman pulled a slip of paper from his utility belt and wrote in a deliberate hand. We need to talk. B. He left it, along with the file, where Gordon was certain to notice it in the morning. That accomplished, he departed to begin his nightly patrol.
****
"Jim's never going to believe me, Alfred," The Batman said, pulling off his cowl to become just the not-quite-so-dashing-or-exciting Bruce Wayne. Alfred offered him a box of tissues and cold cream. Wayne started to wipe the greasepaint from around either eye. He had nightmares about the day it would no longer come off and he'd have to explain that to someone why he had two permanent black eyes.
"You do have proof, Master Bruce," Alfred said. "Your previous suit still carries the evidence of your attack. Along with the fact that The Batman is not known to lie or exaggerate should be enough to convince Commissioner Gordon."
"Easy for you to say, you don't have to face him." Wayne's voice was dry. "Yea, Jim, there's this demon going around screwing all of Gotham's local talent and turning them into old men." He leaned back in the chair and groaned as he stretched. "Alfred, am I sick to wish for just an old-fashioned extortion attempt or robbery? I'm even beginning to miss the normality of the Joker." He toed his left boot loose and bent to pull it off. "I need you to do a little more digging for me today, Alfred. See if you can find anything that might link the aunt and the sister. The smallest fragment might be all I need."
"Yes, sir."
****
Bruce Wayne doodled on the pad of paper before him, doing his best to appear completely disinterested in the goings-on around him. All the while he was listening intently, his mind a good two steps ahead of his best advisor.
"What do you think, Bruce?" Lucius Fox asked, pulling off his glass and dropping them with an audible thump. It was apparent that he was frustrated with his CEO's lack of attention.
"Huh?" Bruce acted as if he was suddenly aware of his surroundings, then grinned at the black man. "Just kidding, Lucius, why don’t you pursue it until the end of the year and see what the figures say? If we're showing a loss, we'll deal with it then. I'd also like the figures on the downtown development park and low-cost housing. If we push it, I think we can get at least twenty five more tenements refurbished before the fiscal year end. Good tax break that we shouldn't miss. Is there anything else?" Bruce folded his hands before him and looked expectantly from one face to the next. "Great. Thanks for your time." He was up and out of the boardroom before anyone could recover.
Bruce headed back for his office, pausing to address a few employees by name, asking after a wife, husband, or child. It was a trick that Alfred had taught him. People were less tempted to try and pull things over on you if they thought you knew them. It also endeared him to them to think that so important a man would remember their anniversary or what-not. So far, it had been very successful and it didn't hurt his image either.
"How's it going, Gwen?" he asked his private secretary, tapping two fingers on her blotter. "Any word on the expectant mother?" He picked up a picture frame and smiled at the photo of a Bassett hound.
"Vet says any day now." The smile that greeted him was sincere and unaffected. "You had a call from Proctor and Goods. They wanted to know if you'd had a chance to look over their contracts."
"Down in the Legal Department. I should have an answer in two days."
"Dr. Thompkins called and wanted to know if you were going to keep your annual."
"I suppose," Bruce muttered, bending to read a letter the secretary was typing into the word processor. "Tell Research I expect to see a forty percent gain in overall performance or I'm coming down to lean on them... paraphrased, of course."
"Of course. And Mr. Pennyworth called."
"What did Alfred want?" His attention was minimal now as he looked through the incoming mail. He handed one envelope to the secretary. "Cut them a check for $25,000 and have it on my desk this afternoon."
"He said you should call him as soon as your schedule permitted."
"Who said? Oh, Alfred, right." With a wave, Bruce disappeared into his office.
The number was programmed into his phone, so it was a matter of punching a button and waiting. After a minute, the ringing was cut off by a "Wayne Residence". Bruce didn't recognize the voice, but that wasn't unusual. Most of the time he never even saw the day staff. "This is Mr. Wayne. May I speak to Alfred, please?’ Another delay, then Alfred came on the line.
"Good day, Master Bruce."
"Whacha have for me, Alfred?"
"Not a copious amount of information, I am afraid. The police files did not contain anything but the barest of background facts. I am pursuing alternative channels, of course."
"Of course,” Bruce balanced the phone between his shoulder and ear and started signing a series of letters. "You might try a background check into the actual victims. That might include something."
"Yes, sir. Shall I expect you at the usual time?"
"Right, no, wait, I have an appointment with Leslie, so I'll be late."
"I shall have your evening wear prepared for your arrival."
"Thank you." Bruce smiled at the innuendo. "I see you then."
****
"Deep breath, please," Leslie Thompkins instructed and moved the stethoscope a fraction to the left. "Again." Bruce Wayne complied with the orders while studying the interior of the examination room. Leslie was one of the few people who knew his secret and the only doctor he trusted with it. "Well, your heart is fine. At least all that working out has had some beneficial side effects. Lie back for me."
Ignoring the protesting crackle of paper, he reclined full length on the examination table and looked up at the water stains on the ceiling as the woman began moving her hands over his stomach. "You should let me move you to a better office, Leslie."
"Call me sentimental, but I like it here. Try to relax, Bruce, I can't feel a thing except your tensed muscles. I won't bite you. Where did you pick up that bruise or should I even ask?"
"Let me renovate for you, then. Those water stains have been there for as long as I've known you." He grunted as stiff forefingers probed a tender stomach. "What do you say?"
"That you were lucky to not get a rupture from whatever it is that you won't tell me
about."
"It's just war stories, Leslie. You don't want to hear them any more than I want to tell them." He involuntarily winced this time, eyes closed. "Take it easy, will you?"
"You never have - ever."
It was Leslie Thompkins that had discovered a shocked ten-year old standing over the bodies of his parents, a boy she had helped a butler to raise to manhood and she had yet to understand what drove him. She moved to his neck. "Have you been sleeping any more than usual?"
"Four or five hours is about the best I managed."
"How about the dreams?" She picked up an otoscope and bent his head to the right to examine an ear.
"Still with me."
"It's not too late to get counseling, you know." She switched sides, then changed to an ophthalmoscope.
"I know, I just deal with things a different way." He pulled back instinctively as the instrument's light struck his eye, the couch staying his retreat.
"I was going to ask if bright light still bothers you, but I guess that's not necessary. Tell me, though, is it because it really does bother you or only because you want it to?"
"How's your women's group going?" Bruce smoothly switched subjects as Leslie examined first one eye, then the other. "Still packing them in?"
"Unfortunately. There are so many women abused these days, although I'm not so sure that the situation didn't always exist. It's just been brought to light now and, God help us, has become fashionable."
"Wha--? The question was choked off by a tongue depressor.
"Not wha, ahhh. There's seems to be quite an influx of the well-to-do joining therapy groups. In fact, we even have a minister's sister."
Bruce pulled away and swallowed. Alarms bells were going off in his head. "Leslie, can I use your phone?"
"You can wait, we're almost done." She handed him a plastic cup and pointed to the door. "You know what to do." She snapped a rubber glove. "Then your favorite part of the exam."
Bruce made a face at her. "Maybe it's time for me to switch to an impartial doctor. You get far too much pleasure out of tormenting me." He slid off the table and took the cup from her. "Or maybe I could join your group."
Leslie shook her head and smiled, stroking his cheek affectionately. "Sorry, dear, you're too rich, too handsome, and too male. You'd send some of them into permanent relapse."
"Do you think I could use your phone first, just in case I don't survive the rest of your examination?"
"You've tried that one before. Alfred's not bailing you out this time. Go!"