Demon Lover, Where are You? - Chapter 5/5 Entry 10
Title: Demon Lover, Where are You? - Chapter 5/5
Entry Number: 10
Author: Spikesgirl58
Fandom: Batman
Rating: R - Warnings, sexual situation,
Genre: Horror/Superheroes
Word Count: 2217
Bruce Wayne walked hurried into the Manor and looked around. He'd decided against using Leslie's phone, preferring to deliver the request in person. The entry hall was devoid of people and Bruce's head turned to contemplate each of the four adjoining rooms in turn.
"Are you quite all right, Master Bruce?" Alfred asked as the billionaire stood frozen in place. Leaping to action as if suddenly energized, Wayne turned and hurried to the side of his butler.
"Yeah, according to Leslie." His voice dropped to a near whisper. "Alfred, I need you to check out the various battered women groups in Gotham. That may have been where Fletcher and Altaffer met." Bruce looked down at the printout that the butler held.
"Your report on the women's groups in Gotham, Sir," Alfred said, holding it out to him. "The thought occurred to me as well. It was a rather precipitous investigation, but I think you'll find what you were looking for."
Bruce clapped him on the shoulder. "Alfred, what would I do without you?"
"I shudder at the thought, Sir."
Bruce nodded absently as he walked away, already busily reading the details of Alfred's inquiries. He pulled up short of running into a statue and stared at it a moment before self- preservation dictated that he find a suitable surface and light. He picked the closest door and walked through it, closing it quietly behind him. Thick oriental carpets laid across the polished oak footsteps silenced his footsteps and he sunk down into an uncomfortable Chippendale chair. He abandoned it after a moment and moved to a settee. Considerably more comfortable, he resumed reading the report, while undoing his tie with his free hand.
Abruptly, he stood and walked over to a large fireplace. Reaching up on tiptoes, he manipulated the right bottom tooth of the gargoyle relief carved into the chimney. Glancing quickly left and right, he stepped over the log rest and into the fireplace itself, disappearing into the blackness.
*****
The Batman hung from a line outside the window of Terrie Altaffer's apartment. The lack of moon made him invisible to any casual observer, but it was as dark within the apartment as out. There was no suggestion of movement and there hadn't been any for the hour that he'd been here. Either something had warned the woman of his arrival and she was laying low, or she wasn't here at all. And if she wasn't here, where would she be?
He shifted his weight to one arm and reached out his free hand. The window was reluctant, but eventually he pried it up enough to get his fingers under it. Smoky stale air assaulted his face and he was struck by something that hadn't occurred to him before. It was the middle of summer, why was this apartment so cold?
He grappled the window open enough to permit him to slide gracefully inside. Flipping on a switch made him decide that either Altaffer had neglected to pay her electricity bill or the bulb was burned out. No matter, he dug a penlight out of his belt and twisted it on. A large wad of cloth caught his attention and he moved to it, kneeling to retrieve it. The dried blood stains stained the material and reflected black in the flashlight. The Batman cocked an eyebrow, invisible beneath his cowl. "How peculiar," he muttered, turning the cloth over in his hands. Someone had lost a lot of blood, too much to be up walking around; he was a bit of an expert in the area.
The Batman stood and arced the light slowly around the room. That was when he saw it, poking from beneath a pile of newspapers. It was a hand and Batman was there in two steps, pushing away the papers to reveal a body. Expecting it to be Terrie Altaffer, the stranger's face startled him. Stranger? No, not quite. It had been the lady from across the hallway, the one who'd beckoned him over.
How did she get in here? And why? He shone his light over the body, wincing at the ferocity of the wounds. He couldn't tell if they'd been inflicted before or after death, but it didn't matter, not to him.
Light flooded the room from behind him and The Batman spun, crouching, fists ready for whatever was waiting for him. An old man stood in the doorway, holding a pistol that looked as tired and ineffective as he did.
"I told her not to come," he mumbled, looking past the crimefighter as if the black figure didn't exist. "Told her to mind her own business." Eyes suddenly focused. "I was right, you know."
"I'm sorry." It wasn't his fault, but The Batman felt responsible for not having been here in time, for not reacting soon enough and for not being able to place the pieces together fast enough. "Let me have the gun."
"It's too late," the old man muttered. "I tried to tell them all that it was too late." He turned and walked away as if the life was being crushed out of him. Sudden realization spurred The Batman into motion, but it wasn't enough. The gun blast echoed in the dim halls of the apartment slum.
Batman clutched the door jam, teeth grinding together until it seemed they would evaporate into dust. "No more," he whispered through the clenched teeth. "It stops now."
****
This time he made no attempt to hide his presence from Fletcher or anyone. He drove the Batmobile up the driveway and paused. The canopy slid back and he stood up, looking around to get his bearings. That was when he heard the scream. Not waiting to even consider the consequences of his actions, he dropped back into the vehicle and hit the gas.
The heavily reinforced steel of the Batmobile bit into the wood of the door as if it were wafer thin. The furniture that didn't have the common sense to get out of the way was scattered like chaff to the wind. The Batman leapt from the vehicle and headed for where the scream had come from.
The room he came to was pretty much like any other den, if you ignored the altar set up at the far end of it. The Batman didn't give it anymore than to give it cursory attention. He was more interested in the woman sprawled across an ottoman.
He turned her over and assessed the damages. She was bruised and bloodied, but still very much alive.
"What happened?" he demanded.
"She's gone over the edge," Rachel Fletcher whimpered.
"Who?"
"Terrie. She really believes..."
"Believes what?"
"That she's the demon. You've got to stop her."
"Let's see you try it." Terrie Altaffer was wearing the white flowing gown and framed in the light of the patio door. "I am immortal and won't be constrained by human limitations." Batman had to concede that the minister was probably right. The flicker of insanity in Altaffer's eyes had grown to a blaze.
"You're going to jail," The Batman said, rising and facing the woman. "For the death of your brother and her nephew, plus those two old people."
Altaffer laughed, shaking back her long golden hair. "I think not." She opened her robe and let it fall away from her. Rachel Fletcher started to moan, much like an animal in pain, but Batman ignored her. Instead his attention immediately went to Altaffer's right shoulder. The wound made by the Batharpoon had made was covered with a hasty bandage.
"You don't look immortal to me. You're just a very confused young woman," The Batman said, all the while carefully easing his way closer to her. "Terrie, listen to me, it doesn't have to end this way. There are people who want to help you."
"I don't need them," Altaffer snapped. "And I don't need you to lecture me." She lunged at him, but here in this room, the spell she'd held over him in the hotel suite was gone. It was easy to sidestep her and The Batman drove his elbow down into the base of her neck. An ordinary woman would have collapsed, but Terrie Altaffer was proving of stronger stuff than that.
She spun at the last minute and the blow glanced off her shoulder. A hand caught his elbow and pulled. Off-balanced, The Batman went with the movement, rolled and came back up to his feet smoothly, without effort. Warily they began to circle each other like wrestlers.
Altaffer threw a series of blows, but The Batman slapped them aside as if they were summertime gnats. It did nothing but fire the woman's fury. She snarled, staring at him with livid, bloodshot eyes. The robe came off and the wings flexed. The movement drew The Batman's attention for a split second, an eternity when your opponent is waiting for it.
The foot in his midriff brought his focus immediately back to the problem at hand and the knee crashing into his chin reinforced it. The Batman tasted blood and felt his stomach rolled in protest as it took another crushing blow. There was no air left in him to fight with before a foot started to press against his larynx. His hands didn't respond to any of the messages being frantically sent them.
Abruptly, the urgency for air was gone with a splintering crash and a scream. The Batman wheezed in several quick breaths and somehow managed to climb, swaying, to his feet.
Terrie Altaffer was in a crumpled ball on the floor and Rachel Fletcher stood there, holding what remained of a straight back chair. "Now it's over. God be praised for his mercy."
"It's never over," The Batman said. "Call the police and an ambulance."
****
"I still don't understand how she made the men age so quickly." Alfred Pennyworth offered a washcloth filled with crushed ice.
"She didn't," came the muffled answer as Bruce Wayne tried to talk around the cloth he held against his mouth. "The best I could understand was that somehow the two managed to break into the computer fingerprint filed and swap fingerprints around. Rachel was a bit of a hacker. Guess they come in all ages." The voice cleared as the dripping cloth was exchanged for the fresh one. "I've suggested to Jim that he tighten security on it."
"Then who were the dead men, sir?"
"Homeless are the best I can figure. They buried Fletcher and Altaffer in the aunt's backyard. The yard was being landscaped, so it was a fairly easy task."
“Master Bruce, how on earth did two ladies, alone, get dead bodies out of the hotel, in a car, out of the car and to the backyard without attracting any attention?”
“We live in Gotham City, Alfred. Think about it.”
"Oh dear, quite right. Am I correct in surmising that the wings were akin to the ones you employ?"
"With an invisible harness. It was really pretty clever of them. There wasn't many stones they left unturned."
"Their desire for revenge is understandable with regards to their victims, but what of their attack on you?"
"It was something Leslie said. I suggested that I join her therapy group and she told me I was too handsome, too rich, and too male. Either that or I was just a loose wheel who showed up in the wrong place at the wrong time."
The phone interrupted him and Alfred reached for it before Wayne could even react. Instead Bruce reapplied the cloth to his swollen lip.
"Wayne residence. Dr. Thompkins, how are you this afternoon? Are you quite sure? Very good, Doctor, I will inform him. Thank you."
"What did Leslie want?" Bruce asked as the butler cradled the phone.
"She wanted to make you aware that your blood panel came back some unusual irregularities. Apparently there was a substantial level of cantharides in your blood sample."
"Cantharides?"
"I believe the colloquialism is Spanish Fly."
"Huh, that would explain a lot."
"There was also a chemical that Dr. Thompkins has yet to identify. The closest she's been able to come is a hallucinogenic slime produced by a type of Australian frog."
"If my mouth felt better, I would laugh. According to Rachel Fletcher's statement, Terrie worked part time in the hotel in Room Service. Must have gotten it to me in the coffee." Bruce dropped the cloth and shook his head slowly. "This just keeps getting stranger and stranger, Alfred."
"A risk you face when choosing a profession with no existing job description." The butler said, his voice carrying over the rush of water as he rinsed out the washcloth. "Will you be going out this evening or shall I prepare a light dinner for you?"
"Something very soft. I think I'll stay in with a good book." He leaned over to pick up a book and held up the cover for the butler to see.
"Your grandmother would be proud, Sir."
"Of course," Bruce answered with a cocked eyebrow. "Who else could brag that their grandson faced a succubus and lived to tell the tale?"
If you would like to read the rest of the chapters first:
Chapter one
Chapter two
Chapter three
Chapter four
Entry Number: 10
Author: Spikesgirl58
Fandom: Batman
Rating: R - Warnings, sexual situation,
Genre: Horror/Superheroes
Word Count: 2217
Bruce Wayne walked hurried into the Manor and looked around. He'd decided against using Leslie's phone, preferring to deliver the request in person. The entry hall was devoid of people and Bruce's head turned to contemplate each of the four adjoining rooms in turn.
"Are you quite all right, Master Bruce?" Alfred asked as the billionaire stood frozen in place. Leaping to action as if suddenly energized, Wayne turned and hurried to the side of his butler.
"Yeah, according to Leslie." His voice dropped to a near whisper. "Alfred, I need you to check out the various battered women groups in Gotham. That may have been where Fletcher and Altaffer met." Bruce looked down at the printout that the butler held.
"Your report on the women's groups in Gotham, Sir," Alfred said, holding it out to him. "The thought occurred to me as well. It was a rather precipitous investigation, but I think you'll find what you were looking for."
Bruce clapped him on the shoulder. "Alfred, what would I do without you?"
"I shudder at the thought, Sir."
Bruce nodded absently as he walked away, already busily reading the details of Alfred's inquiries. He pulled up short of running into a statue and stared at it a moment before self- preservation dictated that he find a suitable surface and light. He picked the closest door and walked through it, closing it quietly behind him. Thick oriental carpets laid across the polished oak footsteps silenced his footsteps and he sunk down into an uncomfortable Chippendale chair. He abandoned it after a moment and moved to a settee. Considerably more comfortable, he resumed reading the report, while undoing his tie with his free hand.
Abruptly, he stood and walked over to a large fireplace. Reaching up on tiptoes, he manipulated the right bottom tooth of the gargoyle relief carved into the chimney. Glancing quickly left and right, he stepped over the log rest and into the fireplace itself, disappearing into the blackness.
*****
The Batman hung from a line outside the window of Terrie Altaffer's apartment. The lack of moon made him invisible to any casual observer, but it was as dark within the apartment as out. There was no suggestion of movement and there hadn't been any for the hour that he'd been here. Either something had warned the woman of his arrival and she was laying low, or she wasn't here at all. And if she wasn't here, where would she be?
He shifted his weight to one arm and reached out his free hand. The window was reluctant, but eventually he pried it up enough to get his fingers under it. Smoky stale air assaulted his face and he was struck by something that hadn't occurred to him before. It was the middle of summer, why was this apartment so cold?
He grappled the window open enough to permit him to slide gracefully inside. Flipping on a switch made him decide that either Altaffer had neglected to pay her electricity bill or the bulb was burned out. No matter, he dug a penlight out of his belt and twisted it on. A large wad of cloth caught his attention and he moved to it, kneeling to retrieve it. The dried blood stains stained the material and reflected black in the flashlight. The Batman cocked an eyebrow, invisible beneath his cowl. "How peculiar," he muttered, turning the cloth over in his hands. Someone had lost a lot of blood, too much to be up walking around; he was a bit of an expert in the area.
The Batman stood and arced the light slowly around the room. That was when he saw it, poking from beneath a pile of newspapers. It was a hand and Batman was there in two steps, pushing away the papers to reveal a body. Expecting it to be Terrie Altaffer, the stranger's face startled him. Stranger? No, not quite. It had been the lady from across the hallway, the one who'd beckoned him over.
How did she get in here? And why? He shone his light over the body, wincing at the ferocity of the wounds. He couldn't tell if they'd been inflicted before or after death, but it didn't matter, not to him.
Light flooded the room from behind him and The Batman spun, crouching, fists ready for whatever was waiting for him. An old man stood in the doorway, holding a pistol that looked as tired and ineffective as he did.
"I told her not to come," he mumbled, looking past the crimefighter as if the black figure didn't exist. "Told her to mind her own business." Eyes suddenly focused. "I was right, you know."
"I'm sorry." It wasn't his fault, but The Batman felt responsible for not having been here in time, for not reacting soon enough and for not being able to place the pieces together fast enough. "Let me have the gun."
"It's too late," the old man muttered. "I tried to tell them all that it was too late." He turned and walked away as if the life was being crushed out of him. Sudden realization spurred The Batman into motion, but it wasn't enough. The gun blast echoed in the dim halls of the apartment slum.
Batman clutched the door jam, teeth grinding together until it seemed they would evaporate into dust. "No more," he whispered through the clenched teeth. "It stops now."
****
This time he made no attempt to hide his presence from Fletcher or anyone. He drove the Batmobile up the driveway and paused. The canopy slid back and he stood up, looking around to get his bearings. That was when he heard the scream. Not waiting to even consider the consequences of his actions, he dropped back into the vehicle and hit the gas.
The heavily reinforced steel of the Batmobile bit into the wood of the door as if it were wafer thin. The furniture that didn't have the common sense to get out of the way was scattered like chaff to the wind. The Batman leapt from the vehicle and headed for where the scream had come from.
The room he came to was pretty much like any other den, if you ignored the altar set up at the far end of it. The Batman didn't give it anymore than to give it cursory attention. He was more interested in the woman sprawled across an ottoman.
He turned her over and assessed the damages. She was bruised and bloodied, but still very much alive.
"What happened?" he demanded.
"She's gone over the edge," Rachel Fletcher whimpered.
"Who?"
"Terrie. She really believes..."
"Believes what?"
"That she's the demon. You've got to stop her."
"Let's see you try it." Terrie Altaffer was wearing the white flowing gown and framed in the light of the patio door. "I am immortal and won't be constrained by human limitations." Batman had to concede that the minister was probably right. The flicker of insanity in Altaffer's eyes had grown to a blaze.
"You're going to jail," The Batman said, rising and facing the woman. "For the death of your brother and her nephew, plus those two old people."
Altaffer laughed, shaking back her long golden hair. "I think not." She opened her robe and let it fall away from her. Rachel Fletcher started to moan, much like an animal in pain, but Batman ignored her. Instead his attention immediately went to Altaffer's right shoulder. The wound made by the Batharpoon had made was covered with a hasty bandage.
"You don't look immortal to me. You're just a very confused young woman," The Batman said, all the while carefully easing his way closer to her. "Terrie, listen to me, it doesn't have to end this way. There are people who want to help you."
"I don't need them," Altaffer snapped. "And I don't need you to lecture me." She lunged at him, but here in this room, the spell she'd held over him in the hotel suite was gone. It was easy to sidestep her and The Batman drove his elbow down into the base of her neck. An ordinary woman would have collapsed, but Terrie Altaffer was proving of stronger stuff than that.
She spun at the last minute and the blow glanced off her shoulder. A hand caught his elbow and pulled. Off-balanced, The Batman went with the movement, rolled and came back up to his feet smoothly, without effort. Warily they began to circle each other like wrestlers.
Altaffer threw a series of blows, but The Batman slapped them aside as if they were summertime gnats. It did nothing but fire the woman's fury. She snarled, staring at him with livid, bloodshot eyes. The robe came off and the wings flexed. The movement drew The Batman's attention for a split second, an eternity when your opponent is waiting for it.
The foot in his midriff brought his focus immediately back to the problem at hand and the knee crashing into his chin reinforced it. The Batman tasted blood and felt his stomach rolled in protest as it took another crushing blow. There was no air left in him to fight with before a foot started to press against his larynx. His hands didn't respond to any of the messages being frantically sent them.
Abruptly, the urgency for air was gone with a splintering crash and a scream. The Batman wheezed in several quick breaths and somehow managed to climb, swaying, to his feet.
Terrie Altaffer was in a crumpled ball on the floor and Rachel Fletcher stood there, holding what remained of a straight back chair. "Now it's over. God be praised for his mercy."
"It's never over," The Batman said. "Call the police and an ambulance."
****
"I still don't understand how she made the men age so quickly." Alfred Pennyworth offered a washcloth filled with crushed ice.
"She didn't," came the muffled answer as Bruce Wayne tried to talk around the cloth he held against his mouth. "The best I could understand was that somehow the two managed to break into the computer fingerprint filed and swap fingerprints around. Rachel was a bit of a hacker. Guess they come in all ages." The voice cleared as the dripping cloth was exchanged for the fresh one. "I've suggested to Jim that he tighten security on it."
"Then who were the dead men, sir?"
"Homeless are the best I can figure. They buried Fletcher and Altaffer in the aunt's backyard. The yard was being landscaped, so it was a fairly easy task."
“Master Bruce, how on earth did two ladies, alone, get dead bodies out of the hotel, in a car, out of the car and to the backyard without attracting any attention?”
“We live in Gotham City, Alfred. Think about it.”
"Oh dear, quite right. Am I correct in surmising that the wings were akin to the ones you employ?"
"With an invisible harness. It was really pretty clever of them. There wasn't many stones they left unturned."
"Their desire for revenge is understandable with regards to their victims, but what of their attack on you?"
"It was something Leslie said. I suggested that I join her therapy group and she told me I was too handsome, too rich, and too male. Either that or I was just a loose wheel who showed up in the wrong place at the wrong time."
The phone interrupted him and Alfred reached for it before Wayne could even react. Instead Bruce reapplied the cloth to his swollen lip.
"Wayne residence. Dr. Thompkins, how are you this afternoon? Are you quite sure? Very good, Doctor, I will inform him. Thank you."
"What did Leslie want?" Bruce asked as the butler cradled the phone.
"She wanted to make you aware that your blood panel came back some unusual irregularities. Apparently there was a substantial level of cantharides in your blood sample."
"Cantharides?"
"I believe the colloquialism is Spanish Fly."
"Huh, that would explain a lot."
"There was also a chemical that Dr. Thompkins has yet to identify. The closest she's been able to come is a hallucinogenic slime produced by a type of Australian frog."
"If my mouth felt better, I would laugh. According to Rachel Fletcher's statement, Terrie worked part time in the hotel in Room Service. Must have gotten it to me in the coffee." Bruce dropped the cloth and shook his head slowly. "This just keeps getting stranger and stranger, Alfred."
"A risk you face when choosing a profession with no existing job description." The butler said, his voice carrying over the rush of water as he rinsed out the washcloth. "Will you be going out this evening or shall I prepare a light dinner for you?"
"Something very soft. I think I'll stay in with a good book." He leaned over to pick up a book and held up the cover for the butler to see.
"Your grandmother would be proud, Sir."
"Of course," Bruce answered with a cocked eyebrow. "Who else could brag that their grandson faced a succubus and lived to tell the tale?"
If you would like to read the rest of the chapters first:
Chapter one
Chapter two
Chapter three
Chapter four