Gotham City: A city full of corruption and the results of the decay of human decency. Corruption overwhelms the entire city. Starting from the government officials to the law-bringers themselves. Dangers are in every corner of the streets lurking towards those who do not expect it. When it reached them, lives will be lost, or feels like it has been lost, and they can't fight it, not with the power that they have, if there are any.
People who had their hopes high for a job in Gotham will be very disappointed at their best, and abused by crime at worst. There is no fairness to be put on the play. It has never been fair-play to win in Gotham. It has always been cheating, lying, and corruption that wins the game. It is not a bright day for the people of Gotham, and perhaps there never will be one.
Bruce Wayne is at least fortunate enough to grow into a wealthy family. He is the Prince of Gotham. He is the child prodigy of two of the most successful people in Gotham City. These are the people who had the power and the hopes to build a city of people's dreams, a utopia never once thought and believed, but possible to achieve, a city with dreams and hopes.
And all of that just got crushed by a shot to the chest.
By the time of their death, all he could think of was the time when they stood by beside him, keeping him happy every time. All he could think of was that pleasant smile carved on their faces looking at Bruce with the hope of the future. It was only that smile and that little pat in the back that could show Bruce the light, and now they're gone, everything has gone darker, and Bruce is lost inside.
Right now, the responsibility of one little boy is now up to his always loyal butler Alfred Pennyworth, and even though he is capable to live through the world of Gotham, he is not ready for someone like Bruce Wayne, and vice versa. The things that he did, washing his clothes, making him food and drink for the day, getting him to the mall, was he really ready for this? And was all of that enough to make someone like Bruce to feel that smile once again?
Alfred had no choice. Bruce had no one else in his life. If the lights that his parents had sparkled through his darkest part was the size of the sun illuminating the earth every day, Alfred could only give one in a size of a small star in the night. He was drenched with sweat through the entire day. No more time to waste on his life. No more time to rest. The life of a boy is at his grip, and he could fall into the void at any time.
From that moment Bruce had to witness the bullets shatter through the chest of his most beloved people, the old Bruce Wayne died, and a new person is born. It's like he was digging through the rubbles of dirt that covered him after his soul got buried deep in the dark. The void wasn't his friend. The light is, and he had to find the light, that light that only lies among the dark.
Bruce had been very capable of handling his own matters even after his parent's death. He has been smarter, more reliable, and can actually take care of himself. He did the laundry, cleaning his own room, dusting the furnitures, and even making his own food many time just to show that he is at least capable of handling himself. Alfred didn't really have to do all of his work, and he was happy that he actually thought of him.
It was all good and dandy, but Bruce hadn't realized something. When he was in the dark, he found the light. Even if you are surrounded by the light, darkness will follow.
He had never intended to enter the Court of Joe Chill's release. Too many people were inside the building. Too many relatives, and too many people agreeing to this early release petition. Why should a waste like him be considered free? Why would someone who destroyed Bruce's past life should be released out of his punishments? It was beyond him to answer.
Once he was in the court, there was an urge to just smack him in the face with something hard, preferably the fire axe across the room. The court could only make the mood even worse. People rambled about unnecessary things. All the pointless gossips and rumors that couldn't be any louder inside the court. It caught Bruce's ears. He just wanted a moment of silence for once.
Judge Faden actually came. It was surprising. Half of the city's criminals were still running away from the cops. All of that probably thanks to him. He wouldn't crack a single tear after a genuinely helpless family begged for their lives after being framed. He was smiling at the sight of the hundred dollar bills that caught his eyes. As long as he did what the owner of the dollar bill said to him, he is clean. Christ.
The crowds were chatting with each other, covering up the silence of the court room with the loud and distracting voice. Everyone was just waiting for the appearance of the convicted criminal Joe Chill. It has been 10 years since the event. It's not even close for the punishment necessary. Many people have forgotten the look of his parent's murder, but not Bruce. His face, it always drive him to go to this day. A sight of that picture burst his desire to come here to do something right. He wants justice to fall to this person, and by giving him early release is only going to make things worse.
Joe Chill walked in. All those voices now slowly faded away as the loud thuds of judge's most precious hammer slammed down the table. Chill walked towards the seat. His face is as pale as a blank wall. Even from there, Bruce could feel his anxiety. His walk is so slow it's almost like he was being pushed away by an invisible force that prevented him from walking in front of the judge. It actually wasn't really the invisible force. Perhaps it was the very sharp and threatening stares of the people attending the court. It made him nervous, and it shows.
As Chill took a seat right in front of the judges following his lawyer behind him, the court began. This is the time where both sides state a bunch of gibberish to make sure that someone like Chill to either get out or continue serving his time in jail. Bruce honestly didn't care about all of that. All he cared about is what kind of sentence that Chill will have. He will either go back and serve his jail time or just get out. Either way, Bruce would be very satisfied, and either way, he had to be ready for the action that he wanted to do.
"Thanks to Mr. Chill's extreme cooperation of the city's most important of cases," His lawyer began, "We're strongly endorsing for his early release."
Bruce is convinced that this whole court was rigged so that Chill could get out of the jail. Looks like he had to serve Justice by himself. He had to find a very unsuspicious place, a place where no one can look and a place where he could take his personal vendetta and unleash it against him.
But not here.
##
Carol Brown had enough of this nonsense. She had it with these corrupt officials. She had it with murder cases, and most importantly, she had it with this city. She should definitely get a car and just kick her way out of here, but if only she could make more than two dollars an hour, if only the cities of Gotham not riddled with street thugs and car chases that are apparently more frequent than Christmas. If only the city is not riddled with gang wars.
Every hour, a good person in the city, a person that a lot of people have trusted for years, and a person who will stand up against corruption, will slowly be consumed by the same thing they had been opposing, and in result, they will commit crimes, crimes as big as the murder of the Wayne family. Ten years ago, it is proven correct with Joe Chill. He was just a normal everyday construction worker. He was a good working partner for Carol, but all the sudden, he killed two of the most important people in Gotham. Carol didn't know what stumbled up upon him. She considered him a partner, a friend, and it is a shame to see someone like him to be consumed by corruption.
Carol's job was to pick up Joe Chill. Apparently she's the only person that cared for him at this very moment, but unfortunately the reporters are another concern. They were ready in front of the main door to the court room. They will record and note everything that they need to print or report in the next day, or perhaps this afternoon, or perhaps even now. As desperate as possible, they got the cameras rolling as they talk literally anything just to get the reports. Sometimes the public should be aware that the press are making money out of people's misery.
Mr. Chill went out of the court room. By the time the reporters outside got the sight of him. They got their cameras rolling and the reporters ready to give him questions, but it all stopped only for a moment. Some of the reporters suddenly paid their attention into someone else. Knowing that this is the murder case of one of the wealthiest people in Gotham, at least one of the Wayne family should come to the hearing, if not a friend.
But it is actually a family. Bruce Wayne can be seen walking out of the door, who is actually the last person she expected to be on this hearing. He lowered his head down. He walked as slowly as possible, trying not to get discovered by the reporters. That scowl he had on his face only signify so much. He never wanted to be here, but the man who did this has shaped his life to this point.
By the time the reporters becoming fed up with Chill's lack of cooperation, their attention turned towards Bruce Wayne, and the young billionaire, who is usually really good at spoon-feeding jokes towards the audience while having underage girls on his side, is now looking away and disgusted by the sight of the news reporter. They gave him with multiple questions that even the most brutal of school teachers says it's too much.
Carol served on as his driver for today, giving him the ride back home that he absolutely needed the most. She just picked up her daughter from Gotham Elementary. The hearing is done, and the only thing to worry about right now is Mr. Chill.
"Mom." The 9 year old Stephanie called. All she could do was moving her head so that she could see what's up with the reporters gathered up in the hearing. "What are we doing here?"
"I'm picking up a friend." Carol kept her focus on the reporters, but the moment her daughter asked that question, she thought that it might be best to keep it straight. "He needs our help, and you know what we should do when our friends in trouble?"
"Yes, I know!" Stephanie replied with a cheery face and pointing the air with her hand. "We help them, right?"
"That's my girl." Carol scratched her daughter's head. Both were sitting in the front seat of their Land Rover. So she could see the adorable look on her face when she said that, but adorable is just a glimpse of the light that has been covered by the darkness of her past. She glanced again at that area near her shoulder. It was the number one thing that caused the most pain inside her heart. It all happened so fast.
"It's been very hard for us to live here." Carol loosen her grips on the steering wheel and let her eyes stuck back towards the reporters. "Your father is in prison, my work is getting tougher and tougher every year, but I can't lose my spirit now, because I have you." She glanced back at her daughter and held her hand tight. "You're a miracle, Stephanie. No matter what happens, I will never let anything bad happen to you."
"It's okay, mom." Stephanie smiled. "I don't care if we have to live on the streets. I just want you to be there for me."
Carol honestly wanted to tear up at this moment and hug the little brat for making her doing so. That smile she made, it is enough to make her happy even at the darkest of moments. "I just want to say sorry. I couldn't give you the best things or the best toys or..."
"You don't have to buy me the best toys to say I love you. I think those three words were enough."
Stephanie couldn't have shown her caring and compassion attitude better than that sentence. She was just nine, and she just made a grown up woman to be crying on her tears. Carol wasn't crying, at least on the outside. She was smiling happily towards her daughter. "I love you too, honey."
After a few minutes, Mr. Chill can be seen pass by. She honked her car to get his attention and it managed to get his. "Hey, Joe!"
Chill actually stopped. "Carol." He noticed the caller. He still had that tired, gruffly voice. The lung problems that he had once always gave him another side of his character. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm here to help." She said. "Come in before the reporters get to you first."
55
Justice is not going to come this time. Not this, time. Too much reporters, too much witnesses, too much people around. It is not a great time be the judge, jury, and executioner. There is a time, but not now. He could only walk with their mouth shut, unable to even construct a single word. Bruce did not focus in any of the reporters. He just ignored every subtle slur that they stated through those questions.
More questions fed by the reporters could only drive him crazier. Chill had just entered a Land Rover. As he caught the sight on that beastly car, he decided that it might be best to get this problem with the reporters over with.
He gestured his hand up, telling all of them just to be quiet for a while. Just a few seconds and the reporters shut their mouth up. "Mr. Chill got his early release, good for him." Bruce said. "That's all you're going to get for now."
They obviously didn't listen. They kept feeding him the unnecessary and sometimes rather rude and harsh questions. That's what reporters do. Bruce Wayne understood it for the billionth of time, but that doesn't mean that he is not annoyed. Thank god for the Wayne Enterprise's bodyguard for actually making the press to back away from Wayne for a while.
Alfred came in with the limo just right towards Bruce. He came in on time. Those reporters had been quite the nuisance. So Bruce immediately entered his personal car. As Bruce entered the limo, his bodyguard followed to get in, but he got a respect for his privacy. He gave him a personal space in the back, while the bodyguard himself took a seat right beside the driver. That is what bodyguards should do: Providing both protection and privacy at the same time.
Bruce took a comfortable seat in his not so wide backseat. Finally he got some loneliness in this mini sort of room. It has everything he needed to deal with depression, including a fridge containing some good cold beer. Loneliness, it's something that he is used to, and is something that he needed. He looked back at the reporters, feeling a bit guilty for not giving them the information back as they desperately handing their microphones to Bruce's face. Some even dare to tap the windows with it, but they disrespected his privacy, and that is a great payback for them.
"How is the hearing, Master Bruce?" Alfred spawned a question, but this is not the monotonous question tone that the reporters usually feed him. It's Alfred's typical, cynical, and very ethical British tone. "I bet the reporters will be very satisfied."
"I gave them hell." Bruce replied. His eyes were bleak and his energy was drained. He had enough. "I need some time to be alone. Do you mind not asking any questions for the next few minutes?"
"Yes I do." Alfred turned back towards the road. "We'll just turn on the radio."
Alfred had driven them away from the reporters and the court. In the middle of Gotham, a city filled with many kinds of buildings and skyscrapers, Alfred sneaked in the so-called limo which turned out to be just a late 2000 black Honda Civic towards the traffic. Oh god the traffic. If Gotham was the Pacific Ocean, then the traffic would be every single fish inside, wandering and travelling aimlessly towards the place without any direction after another, bursting through the waters like it was nothing.
The car managed to sneak in really well. It was silent, reliable, and most importantly small enough to get through the swarm of traffics. They are at least free from the reporters at this moment, but they are not free from traffic, at least not forever. Old men always complained about the traffic. "I'm taking a shortcut to the Sixth Avenue."
The mansion hasn't changed so much. Ten years after the death of the Wayne, Bruce had never considered a redecoration. He thought it was unnecessary. He wanted to keep it just like the old times. He wanted the old memory, but every time he sees that same kind of structure on the stairs, the gargoyles in every corner of the mansion, and the huge double doors that he thought was a little unnecessary, it could only hurt him as much. It kept reminding him of what happened before 10 years ago when his parents were still alive. As beautiful it was, bringing back those memories could only hurt. The more he got reminded of it, the more he wanted them, and the more he descended back into darkness.
Bruce arrived at the familiar sight of his home, the 19th century looking Wayne Mansion that has never changed for the past few years. Finally, a real time for some privacy. He needed all of it after all this time. No disrespect for the bodyguard or Alfred, but they are not the kind of people that would help someone like him at this moment. As the car slowly stopped at the stairway towards the mansion, he quickly opened the car door and rushed up the stairs. Not sure what he's up to this time.
"It'll be more polite if you let me stop first, Master Bruce!" Alfred stopped the car for that response, and he was pretty loud on noticing him that. Except he is still pretty polite, it's just loud.
"I'm in a hurry." Bruce replied, running up the stairs. "I need some time alone. Don't follow me."
Alfred noticed his lies, and Bruce knew that. Of course he is going to send someone just to make sure that young, 18 year old Bruce doesn't deal with any trouble, but Bruce's tone is serious, and Alfred could figure it out already.
Something is wrong inside the master's face. He didn't look up for a desperate, sad, and dissatisfied face. He looked up at the face of a potential killer. It is filled with rage, driven with anger, sweated with pain and suffering, all of that to harm another people's life. It is the most pointless of actions, and the most pointless of endings. Alfred had realized that for a long time ago. All that time he served the country, he knew a killer just through his eyes. Bruce Wayne is not going to be the same kind of person he used to be. He won't be a killer. Not a chance.
##
Chill was just originally a construction worker, but he had to be fired due to the construction being cancelled. He got no work left. So Carol picked him up and gave him some work. It was a great deal. Except that he kept stumbling back to criminality. Although she couldn't blame him as Gotham hasn't been friendly towards middle to low class citizens, it still boggled her mind that he would turn down such an honest work. How can someone like him stumble to this all along?
Christ, Gotham has evidently changed people. Some may change for the better like her and Stephanie, but others might have changed for the worst, but she wasn't sure what has caused the different ends. Desperation was probably the number one cause, but people have grown from desperation and turn into someone better in the past.
Carol drove her cheap and old Land Rover back to the apartment. She had always been the chatty kind of person, but she didn't spout a word this time. Honestly, she was wondering how could Stephanie endured so much damage after her constant fights with Arthur both physically and mentally. The damage done to her was too much of the physical part, but thankfully Carol is able to get her mental health back, and she had to admit she was a much better person growing up at this moment.
"I don't understand you, Mr. Chill." Carol sounded quite bitter, and angry, but she kept it under her control. "I gave you an opportunity. I gave you a job. I gave you the offer to move on and be a better person, and somehow you robbed, failed, and ended up killing two people instead, two of the most important people in this city! What have gone through your mind?"
Chill did not respond.
"You need help." Carol kept her focus on the road as he lectured him. "I can help you, and I want to help you. You have skills, and people are going to need someone like you for the company."
"No offense, Mrs. Brown," He finally spoke up. His voice was still grumbled. The tone was as low as the bottom of a cliff, and just through the tone alone, the amount of concerns that he had with all of this was still very questionable. "But I'm ashamed to show myself to your friends."
"There is nothing to be ashamed of." Carol quickly pointed out. "You have a job in Gotham City, an honest one! And in this city, having an honest job is something to be proud of."
Carol was wrong about him for not being ashamed of being seen. Gotham people have a lot of prejudice against ex-convicts and corrupt people. A sight of an ex-convicts will certainly drive most people to a killing rage. The sight of someone like Joe Chill could be compared to the sight of a mosquito flying around people head. They just want to crush it until its dead and they are not bothered with it anymore.
She was right about having the job part. Walking around Gotham with a Doctor's Degree in Environmental Science and Engineering is not even enough to get a job as a constructor. All of those studies that Carol had in the many better Universities outside Gotham were wasted for nothing. It's Gotham. Since when was it going to be fair for her?
Carol sighed, throwing one of her hand up in annoyance. "People will have a hard time forgiving you, especially Wayne, but Wayne didn't realize something. I forgive you because you're just a victim, the same as everyone else, and the same as Wayne. You're a victim of this... godforsaken city. Stephanie, Arthur, me, nobody wants to be here. Even the most fortunate of people struggle to just get out of here. Gotham made you to be a killer, and I don't want you to be one again."
None of his responses came into Carol's ears. His mouth was shut tight on that revelation alone. "We'll talk about this later." Carol continued. "By the time you get out of my apartment, you'll find a good job and a good monthly salary. It will work for both of us. Trust me."
##
Bruce was about to go into the attic, a place that he always visit where his father always keep the most dangerous of things. He went there once two months ago. He was looking for some old archives that might could help him. The only things that he found were the remnants of his parents, and how important their role might be in his life, both as guardian angels, and as a guide to find happiness, something that he just couldn't get the same for the past 10 years.
After going through two stories, all he needed is just one simple action. He pushed up a secret button, located in a globe carved in one of the islands that are not actually a part of the world. It is something that he always remembered when his father gave him the access to this secret room. Screech of compartments can be heard at the top like a bunch of wood come crashing to each other, and then a trapdoor opened, pulling a small stairway down.
##
Alfred knew all about it. He knew what his master will do in these kinds of situations. He grew up with him even before Master Bruce is born. Nothing changed much since then. He had a lovely chat with the bodyguard Jerry. Jerry had been a loyal bodyguard to the Wayne family, but he became Bruce Wayne's loyal bodyguard just three years ago, making him Bruce Wayne's second friend after all of this.
It's not like Bruce was alone in this whole deal. The other companies that worked with him like Drake Industries, Kord Omniversal Research and Development (KORD), Kane Manufactures, Queen Consolidated, all have children who will inherit the company. The intelligent Tim Drake, the unbelievably attractive Katherine Kane, the charming Oliver Queen, and the determined and idealistic Ted Kord. They were all friends of Bruce Wayne, billionaire friends that still manage to make his childhood to live again, but it's not enough. Sure, Bruce had played with Tim a lot of times, but Katherine is a lesbian, Oliver Queen spends more time with his girls, and Ted is always busy dealing with the corporation alone.
Alfred just parked the car. He went out of it with the bodyguard and walked up the long stairs leading to the mansion. This is where a lovely chat turned dark the moment Jerry brought up a few questions.
"Alfred," Jerry asked. "I know that I don't have the rights to question this but I really have to know. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"What do you mean?" Alfred looked at him with skepticism.
"I know a killer's face when I see one." He revealed. "My old friend, he was stationed in this Iranian camp, staying up with this really nice family. They were very friendly. Then the insurgents just killed them, and he lost it. He can't fight anymore. He is compromised on the battlefield, so he is sent to rehab."
Alfred nodded. "I understand your concerns, but that is not going to be the case for Mr. Wayne."
"How do you know?"
"Master Wayne is not a soldier." Alfred pointed out. "This friend of yours no doubt is a very brave man. He serves the country by standing up for what's right, but he has a purpose, something that I doubt Master Wayne knew about. He doesn't even know what he wants to be. It's not the face of a killer. It's a face of a confused man. My purpose here is to guide him wherever necessary."
"And what if he is going to kill someone?"
"He won't." Alfred interrupted him. "But if you're really concerned about him, you can watch over him. Please do be anonymous though. The last thing he wanted is for someone like you to interrupt his private business."
"But his private business is... well..."
"He won't have his." Alfred revealed. "I have known Master Wayne even before he was born." Alfred kept his monotonous British tone in the mix, which will definitely confuse someone not too experienced as Jerry for that. "It is easy to outsmart an angry person. Relax. He won't kill anyone."
##
Bruce took a stairway up. It was nothing but old junks from the past, and memories that were too hard to remember. He didn't take it slow to explore things, though. He remembered where he wanted his steps to stop and his hand to reach. Among the dusty, not well-maintained room, beyond the good memories of Bruce's past, there was something else, something more sinister inside the room.
He found it. A tool for the ultimate justice, the instant solution, and the power to take someone's lives. A very small, silenced, and concealable, 22 revolver. It's white in color, but why white? Is it supposed to feel like a symbol, a symbol that this gun is going to bring justice to the world? The moment he had it on its hands, it fits, like inserting a CD into a jewel case: Perfect. It's very small. He could hide it wherever he wanted to. He could use it to bring justice to this world where the world really needs it.
He had never been trained to use something like this, but he has been quite certain that something like that would certainly pass someone's head in a speed of light. That would be an amazing accomplishment. Justice shall come in the form of a bullet, and Mr. Chill is going to have it.
Bruce closed the cupboard where he found the gun. A book was leaning to the cupboard's doors. By the time Bruce closed it, it fell down. It was a photo album, covered with a very thick but soft material. It was pink, sprinkled with plastic flowers and ribbons. He decided that it might be best to open that, to remind him of what he was.
It was the glimpse of his past. He decided to skip the baby photos. He thought that it didn't give him a lot of memories. So was the photos of his father's corporation deals. It's not something that he is terribly interested in. He skipped a lot until the end where the photo becomes more relevant.
He took the photo in the Circus where the Flying Grayson performed. It was his 10 year old self, standing in front of the two of the most important people in his life. Thomas Wayne, Martha Wayne, they looked incredible back in the day. The picture has depicted them in a much less depressing moment, the moment where he could actually feel something that he haven't felt for the past 10 years. He never felt happiness the same as when they grabbed his shoulders, standing behind him for what's right.
Bruce could remember the performance by the Grayson. Although he didn't take a picture with them. It was night time. It was pretty amazing. The Grayson were just on their beginning of fame, and perhaps it was because the Wayne family who managed to completely up their reputation, and who doesn't love the Grayson? They were amazing performers, and was ahead of their time.
It's a shame that it was his last live viewing of them.
He closed the photo album. It was a good moment, a good refresher to remind him what he was before, and how he felt before all of this happened. He took the pistol and hid it in his sleeves. The place is too dusty for him to take some breath on. It might be best just to leave him right now. He pressed another secret button, which will open the trapdoor and will put the stairs way down. As he was down, apparently, Alfred was already down there with hands in his back.
"Alfred?" Bruce noticed him.
"I knew you were here, Master Wayne." He shrugged and smiled. "You might reconsider putting that album photo of yours back to your room."
"I can't." Bruce replied, putting the album on the floor right near him. "All my memories, it's better be kept inside. It's much more peaceful than my room."
"That's what you think." Alfred commented. "Do you have any more plans to do in this afternoon?"
"I'm going for a walk." He walked down the stairs. "I've told you. I need some time to be alone."
"Very well, Master." Alfred nodded. "Please do be careful."
Bruce left Alfred with the trapdoor still opened. Alfred was never irritated, at least not on his expression. He pushed the globe back to restore the trapdoor to its original position, and in just a few moments, Bruce Wayne is out of his sight.
##
The bright sun of Gotham Afternoon dimmed away as the entered the grey, smelly, and untreated darkness of the parking lot. It was located right beside her apartment, and all it can do is park cars and release wastes. The first thing that stuck on Carol's mind the moment they entered the parking lot was the strike of the smell sneaking inside her nose. She slapped her forehand towards her nostrils, making sure that those smells aren't going to be sneaky bastards again.
Driving with one hand, she couldn't really get a grasp of the steering wheel. A rather expensive-looking Cadillac went in reverse. The driver didn't even bother to look at the mirrors. He just kicked the gas without even noticing her Land Rover approaching. Carol only needed a glimpse of the caddy to completely lunge her feet towards the brakes.
"Christ!" Carol exclaimed.
Fortunately, it wasn't too late to kick in. Thanks to the speed bumps planted only a few feet before, the Rover didn't go into a maximum speed. The stop that Carol made out of nowhere wasn't too hard, but it certainly made Stephanie and Chill to notice.
"Mom! Be careful!" Stephanie exclaimed.
The Rover went pass the black caddy and focused on finding a place to park her car instead. In this kind of place, there aren't a lot of people that will park on the third floor. The parking lot is so empty it felt like it was hers. Not many people live in the third floor either. So it's double privacy for her.
She stopped the car and turned the engine off. Carol went out of it first, and in an instant, she is already besides the backseat door, opening it for Chill.
"Please." She asked gently. "I give you a chance, a hospitality. You should be grateful for it."
He scoffed. "Like I need one."
Carol didn't speak a word and instead stayed on topic. She should've been angry, but she wanted to keep it under control. "We'll talk about this in my apartment."
"Why not talk about it now?" Chill retorted. "Why do you care of me so much?"
Carol closed her eyes, looking away from him. "It was Arthur. I wish I managed to talk some sense into him. I wish I just had..." She sighed. "I wish that I have a chance to right the wrongs, and I think that I can start with you. So please don't fail me."
He didn't even flinch. He just sat there in silence. This really managed to confuse her of whatever he is thinking right now. Whatever it is, it's not going to be good.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Brown." Chill shook his head. He went out of the car, and as Carol backed away to give him some space, he continued. "I can't take your offer."
Carol sighed. She lied her head down as Mr. Chill left her disappointed. He left them in a hurry, but instead of chasing him off, Carol let him go. It is his choice after all, and all she did is making an offer, an offer that he can get away from again. Disappointed, Carol closed the car door. "Let's go, Steph."
It's hard to find a good house in Gotham. Gotham never really cared for the low-mid level citizens. The best house that someone had in Gotham is the Wayne Mansion. Bruce Wayne may have been so proud. The best apartment that someone had in Gotham is the Drake Cottage. It's a five story building with the most perfect balcony and the most perfect of swimming pools. She didn't care for it. She couldn't afford it. Why would she be thinking of it?
It's not the glamour and royalty that made a house comfortable. The Brown family always had a decent and comfortable place to live in. The white wallpaper combined with the not-so bright wooden furnitures made it seems more natural. It's the sense of familiarity that has gotten her here, and it cannot be bought by any money in this world.
The two finally arrived at the front door of their house. Carol was turning the keys of her apartment when Stephanie glanced at the grumpy face of her mother, and Carol noticed her worries. After her offer was rejected, she walked slower than usual, like being dragged down by gravity wasn't enough.
"Mom," Stephanie called her. "Are you okay?"
Carol sighed, slightly out of breath. "I'm fine, honey. I'm just slightly out of breath." She answered. It was nice and gentle, like how she would usually talk to her, but it wasn't enough to cover her unfit conditions for today.
"I don't believe you."
"I know." She quickly replied. She gazed back at her, smiling, but it was very bitter, and she could still see the worries in those blue eyes. She was happy to see that she cared so much.
Finally, the door is unlocked. Carol grabbed the cold round metal door knob, and twisting it around. The door creaked, revealing the familiar sight of the living room. Just by looking at it, their struggles and problems, all propelled into the far side of their head. Their focus now turned into finding anything that can make them comfortable: Sofa, Chair, Bed, etc. Now, all they need is a good day rest. It has been an exhausting day.
"I'm going to make some meals. Do you want some?" Carol offered her daughter.
"Yes, please." She replied, but the lunch had to wait as she remembered something that she forgot last time. "Oh I think I left my phone back in the car. I'll be right back."
Carol smiled. To see her to grow up like that, to see her to be just like her in many ways, to see her smile, it is one of the greatest achievements of being a mother. She was pretty sure that Stephanie could feel the same way.
Stephanie opened up the door, only to find a rather surprising sight right up the front. It is no doubt someone familiar. The dark grey coat, the grizzly moustache, she didn't expect him to come. What is he doing right here?
The presence caused her to widen her eyes and gasped. "Mr. Chill!" She exclaimed.
"I'm sorry about that." Those are his first few words after that rather unfriendly encounter. "I asked the neighbors where I can find your room. I reconsidered your offer."
Stephanie turned around and was about to head back towards the kitchen to call for her mother, but she didn't have to. Her mother is already there, also rather surprised to see him here. "Come in. She will be very happy to have you here."