It was cold, very cold, and the slight breeze that blew through the air whipped the rain against his skin, chilling over in the night air. Not that he cared too much, as these sorts of things bothered him little. Besides, a cemetery is the place for that kind of cold, dark environment.
Bruce Wayne simply stared at the headstone, an empty feeling in his heart and in his mind. Looking down upon it now he felt nothing rising in his heart, nor the need to say anything. Should he say some words? Why bother, everything that needed to be said had been said years ago, when a small child of no more than eight years old screamed through he teary eyes at the grave, begging for life and praying it was just a nightmare. But it wasn't, it was real, and all that had been said those years ago did not need to be repeated.
Was it despair that rose up in him? No, that had been for the first few nights after the event. What rose in his was something deeper, and far more destructive. It was a rage, but a cool and calm one. It was a rage not at anyone else, but himself. If only he had tried harder that one night, he constantly thought that those in the tomb before him might still be by his side today, and come to see what he had accomplished.
But what had he accomplished since the event? Reflecting on it in the years since, he could honestly say nothing at all. Living off inheritance money made you no great man. Neither did secluding yourself off from the outside world-that only made what society would generally consider freaks. No, there had been nothing important he had done since that event. But what could he do, if he hadn't done what he had done that night. Who was he kidding; this whole thing was a nightmare, one that never ended.
A few feet away, a silent man stood in grave reflection of the boy by the tomb, nothing but compassion in his heart. His cloths would imply that of an educated man, perhaps one who held some high ranking job or was a friend to the Gotham government. Actually, that could be farther from the truth. The man was a servant, a worker-a butler. He served, that's what he did. It was what he had always done, even following the death of his best friend, the boy's father. Now with him gone, he had watched the boy, but he did not consider himself a father. He could never replace that, and he wouldn't even try.
That's not to say he was an irresponsible guardian, in fact he tried to be the opposite. But the hole left in the boy's heart and his could never be filled, and he himself knew that as much as he loved the boy's father that he could never fill that role for the boy. At times he could be a fatherly figure sure, but he could not make up for one of his parents, let alone both.
Now, staring at the boy he had tried so hard to raise following the event, he felt a growing doom. He was losing the boy, who was now becoming more reclusive and rebellious as ever. He blamed himself for almost everything, and would often refuse to do what he was told, which had become very little these days. Not that their relationship was bad-he was still the boy's best friend and mentor, and the boy gladly accepted him as head of the house. But the teenage years had worsened the dark nature that had already been present in the young boy. The rebellious nature of puberty combined with the dark void he slipped into after the event caused for a worsening mix. The boy was still mannerly, friendly and polite around him and others, and revered, most of the time, the judgment of the older man. But of course that dark rebel easily rested inside him, and whenever they visited the grave anymore, the man knew that the boy would not want to talk much afterward.
Glancing at his watch, he reluctantly realized it was time to let the boy know they must head home.
Stepping a few feet closer, he addressed the young man in front of him.
"Master Bruce, we must be going if we are to make it home for dinner in time."
The boy stood unmoved, and did not turn his head as he replied, "Alright Alfred. Give me just one more minute."
Obliging his order, Alfred Pennyworth backed away, and let the young Bruce Wayne have his minute. Turning toward the car, he started up the ignition, and reached for the radio to find if any news on the Wayne Enterprises stock had risen that day. However, for fear of interrupting Bruce, he turned the dial down low.
Back at his parent's tomb, young Bruce Wayne knew it was time to say goodbye yet again. He always told himself he needed to say no words, but every time right before he left he found himself saying the same thing, always with the same feeling. Clenching his fists in the dark rain while eyeing the tomb, he let his words roll slowly off his mouth, and the despair rolled off his empty voice.
"I know I say it every time," he said, "But I'm sorry. For that night . . . and for what I am now. You always said I'd be something better, but after what I did, there will be no such hope. I've been lost ever since that night . . . and I know I haven't made you proud, but . . . can I ever? I don't know anymore, heck, I don't really know who I am anymore. If you can hear me . . . all I can say is that I'm sorry. Goodnight mom and dad."
Then he shifted his heals, and waded his way through the rain towards the car, not paying attention to the thunder that roared behind him, nor to the wicked shadows the trees cast in the space around him. In the car Alfred watched him gravely, and as he got into the car the butler said nothing. Starting down the gravel road, the car exited the cemetery, and headed back to the heart of Gotham city.
The city of Gotham was big and imposing, but these days it had become a shadow of its former self. Small ghettos and back lots filled portions of the inner city and several of the skyscrapers and building had begun to decay, and erosion was a top problem in the city. Old roads were filled with potholes and cracks, while the main streets and highways were filled with the blusterous noise of several commuting vehicles restlessly pushing their way to work. Blaring horns and crashes were common every day, and the thick smog of gas filled the lungs of inner city citizens.
These, however were not the reasons why the city was so frowned upon these days in concern to the rest of the world. No-the reason was the crime, that and the corruption. Murder rates had soared in the past decade, and burglary was a favorable sense of income for several. Bank robberies happened often, and insurance fraud was stripping many citizens bare. Tax schemes, petty crimes, and abuse were also at play in the city, and these days Gotham had been dubbed, "The heartland of Crime".
Gotham had once actually been a well-regarded city, and while not the most perfect place on earth, had once provided many jobs and an overall steady income for its citizens. Police enforcement under Commissioner Howard Dean had been tight, and the mayors of Gotham had maintained fairly good reputations. Active campaigning for the president and several other high up positions happened often once in Gotham, and humanitarian centers could be found at the outskirts of the city.
Yet still Gotham was not perfect then, and it certainly all went downhill with the first of a series of major company buyouts that had occurred. Word of great conditions and rising business in the city of Metropolis caused several companies to shift their heads to that city, and when many of the companies pulled out of Gotham in those days, a scramble of surplus went with it. Many buildings that were in construction were stopped midway through, and unemployment rose. With this came the first big crime wave in Gotham, and the city was first introduced to the iron will of men like Rupert Thorne.
These new crime lords began to recruit off the unemployed and the bottom of the city dwellers to do their will, and with the sudden death of Commissioner Dean, the police were sent into array after their headquarters were firebombed. Murder rates rose even more, and the city began to decay. Wayne Enterprises, one of Gotham's most productive and local companies, was soon struck into array when Bruce's father was forced to split the company into a partnership with the greedy Derek Powers, who was to be succeeded by his son, Paxton.
The split in the company caused two major divisions to form, with one under the Wayne set of values, and another under the values of the Power's. Longtime member and trusted friend Lucius Fox had told the Wayne's that the split of the company would cause heavy damages to their logistics and technological branches, and that if the split was to fall through that the shareholders and investors would take the side of the Power's, who were quickly rising in the Gotham market.
While this was happening the crime rates were still rising, and the destruction of one of Gotham's power plants quickly contaminated a small portion of the city, which was to be sealed off for no one to enter. Unfortunately, this area would become a hangout for crime, and besides the powers of Thorne and company, Jack Napier and his band of bandits frequented the area.
Every day the situation got worse, and slowly public support for the city vanished. No more were their campaigns, rallies, or parades. Two of their professional sports team failed to generate revenue, and another quickly pulled out to locate their franchise in a safer city. The general media shied away from the subject of Gotham, and their major companies remaining were generally kept outside the loop in many global business ventures.
This led Gotham to become a truly dark place, and while high society and many fine folks still lived in the city, the dark cloud of crime, greed, and deceit showered over it. And reflecting on it now, Bruce Wayne knew it had turned into the complete opposite of what his parents had dreamed of it.
They had always been proud of their city, perhaps even more than the Hoosiers were of the state of Indiana. And the main premise of Wayne Enterprises was to build up not only the city, but the world, but then again, Bruce reflected, so many other companies claimed the same. Now the city was nothing more than the bottom line from any joke for the high society of any other large city.
This thought continued to permeate in his mind when they reached stately Wayne Manor, and Bruce said nothing as Alfred opened his door on the car. Slowly going up the steps, he nodded to Alfred in the direction of his room. At this Alfred hesitated.
"Master Bruce, you really should have something to eat. You'll want all your energy before your first day of high school tomorrow."
"No Alfred, I don't want anything to eat, nor will I be going to any school tomorrow. Wayne Enterprises has a major deal going through, and if I am to inherit the company I must attend it."
"Master Bruce, you know that in order to at least succeed in the company you must first pass high school. A high school education is the least requirement you will need to run the enterprise. You have not eaten all day, and I'll be darned if you starve yourself before this day."
Bruce did not respond, but scowled down at Alfred. Within his anger was rising, but he restrained himself in fear of lashing out at Alfred. Instead, he simply turned and completely walked up the steps, not even glancing back at Alfred. He was about to reach for his bedroom door when a sharp call come from down the steps.
"Master Bruce!" Alfred called loudly.
Bruce knew he was losing it, and he face was growing redder by the second.
"What Alfred?" He gritted out through his teeth.
"If you don't want to eat, fine then, but believe me sir I will take you to that school. The Wayne's prided themselves on their upbringing and education, and you will get nowhere in the company or life if you simply hide from your duty now."
"And what is my duty Alfred? To go to school? Please! We both know that I'll just be looked down on as the moody rich boy, and you know that my experience is with business executives, not with the up and coming of this miserable city! There is no point when there is a company to run!
"I don't belong there Alfred, especially in a public school. Believe me I'm not insulting it here in saying that that's not my place. Whatever the Wayne's prided on education died the night that they buried my parents! There is work to do in this city Alfred, and I am not about to blow my chance to change things when this city is facing its darkest times!
"Sure education is great, and as the head of Wayne Enterprises I will make it better in this city, but I have no use for it anymore! I will be the face of this company, I'm a Wayne 'danget!"
Alfred stared up at Bruce, knowing how much steam he was blowing off at the moment. He did not speak for a moment, and then in a low droll asked.
"Master Bruce, why is it so important to run the company now? Why can't at least four more years of schooling benefit you?"
The quietness and sincerity of Alfred stopped Bruce, and in a mere second all his anger left him. His response was just as quiet as Alfred's question.
"Alfred if I don't run this company now who will? Let the Powers take it? My father said there was so much to the Wayne legacy, and that the company could succeed under the right head. Sure, he told me I could be whatever I want, but I always knew he was prepping me for the company. The least I can do for them now is run it the way they wanted it to be. No more time can be wasted, and I cannot fail them any more by ignoring the problems at hand! This company is all I have left of them!"
"So," Alfred said with sorrow, "This is really about your parents again. I . . . I thought that maybe you were finally putting the guilt behind you."
"You mean the therapy?" Bruce said sarcastically, "Dr. Lindy is a nice woman but she couldn't do a thing."
"Master Bruce, I know we have talked this over so many times," Alfred said, a deep sadness rising from his now croaky voice, "But why can't you understand that it was not your fault. You didn't kill your parents."
"Alfred, please, let's just not talk about that. And you know I don't like bringing up my parents."
"But sir I know their heart would break if they saw what you become. You seclude yourself unless you're at a gathering or ball, and you never have fun at those. You visit their grave every time and repeatedly apologize, as if they wouldn't forgive you. You talk to almost no one outside the company, and your friends are far too few in between. I heard you cry for those first few years after their death, and I heard your prayers.
"I can still see that small child crying in that room as the lightning struck outside, and I heard the moans in your dreams. We know that they cannot be brought back, and we certainly cannot change all that has happened since. But Master Bruce you must know that this is not the way that you should carry on their legacy. Be the man they wanted you to be, a fine, gentle, and peace loving man who had great things in store for him, and one who would make them proud. You can . . ."
"I let them down!" Bruce screamed to interrupt him.
"Master Bruce you . . ."
"No Alfred! If it were not for my actions that night, they would still be here, I may not have pulled the trigger but I helped rob the world of two outstanding humans that day! And since then what have I become? I become a sad, sorry, rebel, who won't even listen to the one friend he has left, and that's you Alfred! I'm a freaking mess! I cannot do anything right with my life, and I have continued to plague my parents name since their death! And you know what? I'm too stubborn to change that! And that's where the company comes in! The last thing I need is to be put with a bunch of kids my age who are searching for their future while I can't come out of my past."
"Master Bruce, that's exactly why you need this. We were too late to get you to the private school, so maybe this will be good for you. So many of Gotham's different background will be there, and it will give you the chance to meet people who may be able to help you through this. You know I will always be here for you sir, but you need more than me.
"No doubt it will be tough, and you will face tough challenges sure. But it will help you grow up, and despite what you think a grownup must run the company. I'm not saying that you can't be mature; actually you have proven to be a far better man than half the buffoons running around the parties and meeting we always go to. This is your chance to get out of the past, and pave the future that you parents would have wanted out of you."
"I can do that through the company." Bruce responded weakly, as if to question if he was right.
"Yes, but only later. Bruce you need to go through this first. Please just try schooling, for just these four years. Then I will no longer have anything over you, and you can make your own choice over the company then."
Bruce was very quiet now, not even making so much as a move. He did not want to go to the school, but maybe Alfred had somewhat of a point.
With that, he opened his door and placed his foot in when he heard Alfred say one final thing.
"Bruce,"
That made Bruce stop still, as it was extremely rare for Alfred to ever call him by just his first name.
"I . . . I'll do whatever I can to be the person your parents needed me to be for you. We know I will never replace them, but I have tried so hard these years to do things right and you have mostly agreed with my judgment. If you are to follow no other rules from me Bruce, please follow this one. Try high school now and leave the company for later.
"Perhaps you won't be the best fit, or the most social. That's fine. The friends you do make will respect you for who you are and will make you a better person if you make the right choices. I . . . know we have had so many talks about your parents and that night, and no doubt we will have many others, but Bruce, please promise me you will consider what they would think of you and high school. What would they want you to do?"
Then Alfred turned and headed for the study, while Bruce returned to his room. Inside it was dark and forbidding, but with the flick of the light he studied it for a few seconds. The bed was a king mattress, outfitted with a finely carved wood frame, and a small canopy hung over it. The painting of the room was a very light tan brown, and the bookshelves were lined with both classic works and business books, along with a few family albums. The closet was large and spacious, but Bruce hardly ever used the multitude of cloths in it, unless for a special event. And by the window were a mural and several paintings, with a small chandelier as a light above the room.
Just as soon as he had studied them had he forgotten them, flicking off the light and heading for his bed. Climbing into the cover still wearing his rain dotted cloths, Bruce closed his eyes and shivered as he tried to think. Yet all he could think of was the despair he had released to Alfred just a few minutes ago. He opened his eyes to stare out the window, only to see that the rain had turned into a torrential storm, and it only ceased to further his depression.
"What can I do in high school?" he spoke aloud to no one at all.
Upon receiving no answer, he stared up at the canopy above his bed, trying to image what his parents would think. Think of all he could change within Wayne Enterprises right now! He could get rid of the Powers, and he could begin with new roundtable talks for new city clinic plans. He could do these things to restore the company; he could make the Wayne's great again through their company. He could do something to make his parents be at least . . . slightly proud . . . of him.
Pride. Honor. Legacy. Respect. Life . . . all the things that he had destroyed that night, that awful night. His thought began to fade to that horrid night, but he screamed in defiance.
"No! I'm never returning to that place again!"
As he said it, he flung his pillow to the other side of the room, and suddenly a crash of thunder from outside his window caused his heart beat to stop. Suddenly the shadows from the trees outside began to cast evil-looking shapes against the walls of his room. He thought he heard a whispering in the wind, and suddenly his heart began to pound faster.
The room suddenly blurred, and Bruce stared around the room as if drunk. The flashes from outside the window now banged around in his head, and the whispering increases. Now his heart began to pound even faster, and his eyes misted over into darkness. Bruce shivered in a terrified state, wondering what was going on. He panicked, and suddenly everything went black, and the thud of his heart began to slow down to a normal place, and it grew quiet, so very quiet . . .
Bruce Wayne did not know where he was when he seemed to regain consciousness, or was it just a dream? He did not know for sure, but then he realized he knew where he was . . . an opera theatre, in Gotham, years ago. With a sudden chill Bruce realized where he was. This had to be a dream, he thought, but he could not escape it. Instead, he watched as what appeared to be a younger form of him begging his parents to leave the theatre.
The act appeared to be dragging on, and even Martha Wayne had seemed to notice that the audience was begging to fan out. The play had been held at the Monarch Theatre by an amateur group, who had performed quite well for the evening. But their rookie statues meant only a late show, so by the time it reached eleven thirty at night, many were beginning to leave as the last act came to a close.
Young Bruce Wayne, an anxious child in an adult opera, was eager to go, and Martha had reluctantly requested that they leave. Upon leaving the theatre, Bruce had plans of his own.
"Let's not take the cab dad! Benson showed me a quicker way home through the alleys yesterday."
"Have you been hanging around him again Bruce?" Thomas asked with a yawn, "I've told you to be wary of that boy. He is known to be a trouble maker."
"Bruce, I think it would be best if we stayed with a cab. Especially with Alfred gone for the week, it would just be easier to pay for a ride." Martha said.
"Fine by you, but I'm taking the alley," Bruce stated proudly, and as he said it he darted away from his parents and into the alley.
"Bruce!" Both his parents called out.
"Common dad! Try and catch me. We've been to that boring old opera all night, and I want to try out this chute Benson told me about."
"Bruce, you're misbehaving!" His father shouted.
"Please Bruce, you know it's very dangerous," His mother said running after him.
But Bruce was not listening; instead he was running, enjoying the cool rush of the night breeze on his face as he whipped by the cans and ladders lining the alley. Sighting the path to the chute he wanted to take, Bruce planted one foot firmly on the ladder leading to it, and began to heave himself up its rusty handles when a cold voice from behind stopped him still.
"Well, look at the young adventurer here. Looking for some treasure kid?"
Bruce Wayne instantly stopped cold. A dark silhouette was outlined against the shadow of the buildings, and the voice had a sinister sound that made very hair on Bruce's body stand up. He thought he caught the gleam of a crooked smile, and he could have sworn he saw something glimmer that was tucked in the silhouette's waistband.
Bruce was beginning to get scared, and he saw the figure advance a few steps forward. A rotten stench that could have only come from the man's breath faintly touched his skin. The sensation seemed to creep up on Bruce, as if suffocating his air. There seemed to be a confidence about the figure, one brought upon by years of fear and power.
Instantly he knew he did not want to reply to the figure. His parents had warned him about these situations, and he was tempted to scream and run, but the closeness of the figure warned him against screaming. His parents would find him here anyway if he could stall. Then the voice came again.
"I said are you looking for treasure kid? No? Then perhaps you already have some, and Joe Chill has himself a thing for treasure. You know, fancy jewels, gold, heck even a stack of greenbacks. What do you say kid? Want to donate to the cause?"
"Bruce! Are you back there?" That was the call of his mother.
"Bruce! Come out now! Were worried, get out now!" His father roared.
Upon seeing their outlines reach the area where he was, Bruce began to scream, but was cut off by a sharp nudge into his ribs. This caused him to double over, and then a massive arm seized itself around his neck.
"Bruce, where . . ." His mother's call was cut off when she spotted the figure that held hold of her son. Thomas was not far behind.
"Bruce! What are you doing you . . ." Her mother began to shout before the glint of a revolver caught her eyes.
Thomas gasped behind her, and Bruce shivered nervously. The figure then stepped into the dim light before them, with its arm firmly on Bruce's neck. When in the light the figure was revealed to be an unruly looking man with a thin mustache and cruel eyes. His teeth were yellow and stained with quid from the chew he obviously used. A small cap covered his black hair, and the cloths, while certainly not rags, were dirty and unkempt.
Thomas Wayne knew who this was, and it sickened him to see that he had his son. This was Joe Chill, the notorious hit man and gunslinger for the highest bidder in Gotham. Unkempt he may look, but he had a cruel mind and a fast hand, with was the reason for why he had the quickest draw in all of Gotham. Knives, blunt tools, and arson were also favorites of his, and Thomas knew that he would stop nothing short of killing all of them.
"Now don't you worry none. Your son here is in good hands. I was just asking him if he had some treasure for old Joe Chill. But now I see-he's a Wayne! Well now, I'm a real fan of the Wayne's, and for all those years of support, I think I deserve a little bit of a pay. What do you say Mr. Wayne? You willin' to give some kind charity to an old boy like me?"
"Martha, be calm. Bruce you need to stay calm focus, and do what he says." Thomas said with anger rising within him.
"Well good then. How about we start with them nice pearls around your wife's neck?"
With trembling fingers, Martha fumbled to get the necklace off, throwing on the ground near Chill's feet. Then, at Chills request, they began to empty their wallet and purse.
"Good now, right good. I sure do humble a good ol' donation. I think I've gotten about all I need. Although, who to say there ain't some more in you banks . . ." Chill said with a devilish smile spreading across his face.
"You can't be serious! We gave you what we had! Release our son!" Thomas demanded.
All the while this had been happening, Bruce had been scared, but planning. He did not know if Chill would kill them, but somehow he had to escape. Chill would not let him go until he had extracted everything out of his parents, so he must break free so that he had no hostage. But wait! He then remembered that Chill still had the gun pointed at them. If he could somehow work the gun towards him and escape, he could maybe take Joe out and they could flee.
"Those banks now, I think . . ." Chill started, and when he did, he gestured with the gun towards a random wall, and Bruce saw his chance. Flinging his head back with all his power, he bit the arm that was one him, and turned around to reach for the gun.
Chill was startled by the bite, but quickly reacted. Swinging his bitten arm towards Bruce, he sent the boy sprawling across the alley. Martha screamed and ran toward her son, and Chill enraged at Bruce pointed his gun to fire. As is spouted flame the bullet leaped within the revolver and went straight towards where Bruce was, and in a horrific instant caught Martha as she was rushing towards Bruce.
She let out a near silent scream, and fell down near Bruce. Wide eyed and crying, Bruce screamed and rushed Chill, but a push of Chill's arm shoved him back against the trash cans. Thomas ran towards his wife, and knelt down beside her, all the while trying to search out Bruce in the dim lights.
As Bruce got knocked into the trash cans, his head seemed as if it exploded, and blurs overtook him. He then made out the figures of Chill and his father, and the downed body of his mother. He could not hear much, and the tears streaming from his eyes made the blurs worse. He was weeping now, rocking to try and move, but for some reason could not, and pain went through his body.
He saw as Chill approached Thomas, and then he spoke to him in a low voice. Bruce could barely make out what was said, and the weeping of Thomas made it even harder when combined with his own. He hardly caught the few of the words out of Chill's final words only catching a few phrases throughout.
" . . . Send regards to her, Mr. Wayne . . . remember that . . . boy over there . . ."
Bruce then saw a shock and anger come to Thomas's body, and something like horror came to his eyes. He then lunged at Chill and yelled, "Bruce run! Remember who you can trust!"
But Bruce could not move, and he stood there in horror as another shot exited Chill's revolver right into the body of Thomas Wayne. Then his father slumped on top of his mother, and Bruce screamed as he never did before or ever would again. Now the movement returned, and he rushed up to the bodies.
"I don't like do'in that kid. But you made your move. I was 'gonna let them live, but you made the wrong move-made me nervous. Could have happened to anyone. I best be going now, and I'll take these riches to good hands. Sorry kid."
Taking up the riches, Chill turned and began to exit the alley, behind him kneeled a crying child who wanted to hate, to crush, to hurt Chill . . . but all he could do was cry, and cry he did, and scream into what surrounded him. At the end of the alley Chill looked back, and said one final thing.
"They would've have lived kid. But you made that move . . . You made that move."
With that he turned on his heel and moved away quickly, leaving a broken Bruce Wayne alone in the ally with the remains of the people who meant everything to them.
Then there was a sharp sensation, and Bruce Wayne woke up in his bed sweating. He immediately shot out of the covers, and threw his head in his hands. He had relived it, that awful night, for what must have been the tenth time. It was not just a nightmare, it was a memory, and whenever he woke up he felt defeated, scared, lost, and hurt.
The tears didn't really come anymore. Now all that was left was a stern face that was twisted with anguish. Years ago he may have wondered why, but know he knew better not to consider that. His parents had died that night because of him, even Chill had told him. He never told anyone of how they were murdered, except for Alfred, and that was only once. Or better, or in Bruce's case for worse, the public only knew that a notorious criminal known as Joe Chill had murdered the Wayne's-no one documented Bruce's actions.
Alfred had told him that the actions that Bruce tried that night were brave and shown the character his parents had put in him to act in deadly situations. If anything the public should hear and be proud that this bot wanted to face Chill. Alfred also reminded him-Joe Chill pulled the trigger. But that never did much for Bruce.
Now, sprawled on his floor with his head still in his hands, he slammed his fists down hard into the ground, multiple times. The pounding got louder with the rage as it built up inside Bruce, and the shadows from the outside seemed to recede, as somewhere in the distance the sun barely broke the plane of sight. The rain was gone, but the blackness lingered in the room.
The sheets from Bruce's bed were on the floor, and the remnants of the rain glimmered off of his window, giving a distorted effect to the room. Besides the pounding of Bruce's fists, there was no other sound in the room, that us until the door to Bruce's bedroom cracked open.
"Did it happen again Master Bruce?" Alfred asked quietly.
"Yes, yeah it happened again."
"Are you alright?" Alfred asked simply.
"Do I look the part?" Bruce asked bitterly.
"No, you don't. I'd say something Bruce, I really would, but I have tried everything. What can I say to help you through the nightmares?"
"You can't console me Alfred, but I thank you for trying. All you can do now is remind me of what I did wrong that night, of the fallout I've caused. We've been over this-Chill might have pulled the trigger, but that night my parents died because of me. I've done nothing since then and become an outcast who can't see much happiness in life. If I can take over the family business I can at least make everyone else life better, because mine is already ruined. So why do I even bother talking about this awful memory anymore? Why don't I just skip high school? Why do we even debate it? Shouldn't I just forget whatever crap lies ahead of me and try to at least save someone's life, and not doom the things everyone else hold dear? Could I have been any more of a failure?"
It was something that had crossed Alfred's mind before, but up until now he had pushed it away. He was always soft and comforting, only stern when need be, which was more often in Bruce's teenage years. But now he realized that there was not just "soft-talking" Bruce out of this one. He never took just soft talk. Bruce was one of reality, hardened realism, and an already dark view on life. It was risky, and something he would normally never do or even consider thinking, but this was a drastic measure.
"Bruce Wayne!" He yelled in a loud voice, pushing him against his bedroom wall.
"Alfred how dare you, get . . ." Bruce started to yell, but Alfred's harsh and hardened words cut him off.
"Listen to me young man! I will no longer take that rubbish from you anymore. If you really feel that way about yourself and believe there is nothing to redeem that, then you had better just walk into to that company and out of this house forever. You have it all wrong Bruce, all wrong! You have shamed your parents, but not because some actions you did on the nights of their deaths, but for all you have become afterwards! You have totally receded from the world, and you hardly do anything for yourself anymore!
"If you really want to run Wayne Enterprises fine, but if you go in now you will be eaten alive by the Powers and their associates! You have practically no allies except me and a few others, and your experience with the matters they company covers is strong for your age and situation, but far minimal compared to its current heads. They will own you Master Wayne. I have seen them personally doom the careers of young hopefuls, and some would like nothing more than to get the last of the Wayne's out of their original company.
"Bruce, everyone in your family for the last few generations attended some form of high school, and even went on to better careers beyond. You should honor your parents with the company yes, but what's more you should make sure you are fully prepared for that first.
"As for the nightmares, I cannot promise to wish them away but 'dangget Bruce if you started to cheer up and stop blaming yourself for what happened that night I can promise you your dreams and life will improve. I know that that event will stick with us all of our lives, but we have to move on and preserve what we can give to the world. Bruce I know you want to give through the company in honor of you parents but start off with the small things first. Work your way through high school, and anymore education if necessary, and then take on Wayne Enterprises. I promise I will stand by you if I'm still around that day, but as your mentor and guardian I can tell you are honestly not ready for the next step, emotionally, physically, and spiritually.
"If you have to blame yourself for what happened that night then fine, blame yourself. But don't use that to further your depression, use it to fuel your journey to your future-promise your parents you will make good of the name Bruce Wayne! Honor them as you should!"
And then, Alfred stopped, unbelieving that he had spoken so hard to Bruce, let alone that he had him against the wall. Bruce too was equally shocked, and felt his body quiver at Alfred's hold on him. He knew now that Alfred was not just saying things-he was totally dead serious. And he was being deep, which affected Bruce. Slowly, he looked right into the eyes of Alfred, and within him something shriveled up, and he looked in awe at Alfred.
"You're . . . you're right Alfred. But I just can't . . . how can I redeem myself?"
"Master Bruce, it's okay to struggle, it's okay to think, to question, to wonder why, there is a time for everything-time for anger, regret, sorrow, and even tears. But there are times for joy too, and times for happiness, love and peace. You have too few of those lately, and it's time you turn this around." Alfred said in a gentle voice.
Bruce couldn't cry, not anymore these days, but that did not stop the single tear from rolling down his pale face. As it fell his shoulders slouched, and he put his head into Alfred's chest and gave a deep sign. His body continued to shudder, and Alfred moved his arms to his shoulders to comfort him.
"Master Bruce you have all the qualities to turn out to be a fine man, and I know that you have done things in these recent years, even in your sorrow, to make them proud. You are a fine man at the galas and parties we attend, and you have been a constant supporter at charity events. You have used your money to finance young projects, and I have never seen you greedy. And when you do talk to people you are nothing but fair, nice, and composed-all the head of a company should be. You have all the materials there right at your hand for success in Wayne Enterprises-you can succeed, and you will." Alfred said to console him.
"So I take it that means skipping high school is not an option?" Bruce said with a hint of humor in his voice.
"Far from an option. You're going to high school Bruce." Alfred said with a small smile.
Bruce then lifted his head from Alfred's chest, and a faint smile came to his eyes and his lips.
"Alright Alfred, I'll attend high school. You have never failed me with your judgment before-if you really think that high school will help me, I'll do it."
"More than that Bruce. I want you to do more in high school and your community. Use your skills to better those around you-your fellow students, faculty, and even the citizens of Gotham. It's no surprise our economy has gone to the slums lately, and this city could certainly use some cleaning up. Whatever your gift is to Gotham and the world Bruce, use it- that's what your parents wanted."
"You really think I can do it Alfred? It's not like I was exactly the most popular kid any time in my previous schooling, and I'm a wealthy kid going to a public school." Bruce responded weakly.
"Then you have to make connections. Just like clients in a company, one has to gain not allies, but friends in schooling. You need to branch out and find your group. It never hurts to be friendly."
Bruce considered that for a moment, and then looked out his window. The sun that was beginning to rise when he first woke up was now begging to light up the land around Wayne Manor. It blossomed in orange and tropical red, casting an odd hue against the large willow trees that covered his window. Further on, beyond the valley on which Wayne Manor set was Gotham city, which now had its dark peaks and towers covered in the red-orange glow. It seemed as if the tops of the building were shining bright lights, zooming out into the horizon for all to see.
Staring at it, Bruce couldn't help but almost chuckle at how ironic it was-a dark and storming night accompanying a bad dream leading to an amazing sunrise to start a bright new day. It was too cliché for Bruce, but it did put some confidence in his heart and mind. His father after all had always championed a fresh start. It reminded Bruce of a saying his father always said about second chances.
"Second chances, son, are like the rising sun. That in itself is a powerful image. So powerful, in fact, that the country of Japan made their flag after it. But the rising sun symbolizes a new start, the dawn of the past day lost within the night and a new light shining in the sky. It's like having another shot at it. You can put the past behind you to move on-that's what the night is for-to transition to a better state of being.
"That is why I view the rising son as such a miracle-it's completes the new start, if one chooses to use it. Of course in life there are only so many sunrises before past mistake can catch up, so do not just think that you can always start over to forget mistakes-you can't. But should you ever need healing and a sense of hope, remember the importance of the night that is completed when the sunrise comes-it's a chance to rid away evil and restore good. Kind of a cheesy saying, isn't it son? But hey, it works for me."
Oddly enough, it did work for him, at least now. Why not try out a few more years of schooling? It could to nothing but help in in his attempt to runt the family business, and Alfred was clearly dead set on getting him to it. He had always known that both his parents had wanted it for him, but all these years, particularly after middle school; he was dead set against it. Now it was time to face that it was in his best options to attend high school and at public school none the less.
"Alfred, you know that this won't be easy, and in my condition, it may be incredibly hard . . ." Bruce started before Alfred cut him off.
"Master Bruce, and I mean this in a sincere way, nearly your entire life has been a challenge. Sure you were born to a rich family but that was in a failing city, hard times, and economic stress. You have had massive responsibilities placed onto you with your future, more than just the death of your parents, but also running a major company and dealing with Gotham as a whole. You have had more stress and responsibilities placed on your shoulders than anyone your age ever should, and believe me you have handled it better than a lot of people would, contrary to what you might believe."
Again Bruce was silent. What more could he say? Alfred had made every best point in his intention to make sure that Bruce went to high school, and no matter what he said Alfred would not be dissuade. Even Bruce was now beginning to see some of the benefits to high school. Perhaps it would not be so bad after all.
"Alright then Alfred, looks like I'm going to high school." Bruce said.
"I'll go start something to eat, and you get ready." Alfred responded.
Ten minutes later, Bruce took one final look in the mirror at himself before heading down the steps. Not wanting to stand out too much on his first day he wore a collar button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, sporting a black undershirt. His Jeans were pressed and neat, with no holes to be found, and held together by a nice leather belt. A family locket hung around his neck and underneath his undershirt, while on his wrist was his father's old watch, which by the standards of modern Gotham was still considered quite fine.
Glancing in the mirror, he noticed the partially slicked hair, and the deep hazel eyes, and the firm set chin-nearly the spitting image of what his parents were. Looking in the mirror now, he did see them in him, both Thomas and Martha. And when he recognized this, he ran his hand through his hair and seemed to speak to no one in particular.
"Well, I hope I can make you both proud today . . . I know that, well, there's a lot I have to atone for, and I will never forgive myself for that night, but Alfred had a point, and despite my reservations I know you both would agree with him.
"It's quite something that I look like you, though I have done nothing to continue your good legacy, but, hey, maybe high school can change that . . . I don't know, maybe it's just, maybe . . . Ugh!"
Bruce was out of words to say, and that angered him. Maybe no more was needed to be said-he did after all know that deep down his parents would approve. But what he did in these next four years, heck even this next year, could make or break him. And Alfred was right-this was the perfect barometer to see how well Bruce could run the company when he got older.
He could do nothing more for his parents right now than to take the next step in his life in the right direction, and the more he did that the less he hurt himself and the less stress he put on Alfred.
"Alfred," Bruce said with a chuckle, "Bless his heart. Who knows where I'd be lost or even buried today were it not for him?"
Turning back to the mirror one last time, he said, "You know guys, you really couldn't have picked anyone batter to guide me, even if he is a major pain to me at times with his ways. That's one heck of a man you chose, but then again, you always were a good judge of character . . . hope I can be the same."
Turning from the mirror, Bruce headed for his door opening it, he heard to ring of the doorbell that of an old fashioned house ring. Closing his door behind him Bruce walked to the middle of the stairway, until suddenly he lifted himself up onto the railing and slid the rest of the way down. Opening the door, Bruce was greeted to the cheerful face of the local mailman, Winston.
"Top of the morning sir Bruce," He said with a yawn, "Have me here a package for 'ya. It wouldn't fit in the mail box."
"A package Winston? I don't recall Alfred or me ordering one." Bruce responded questioningly.
"Aye, it seems that everyone in town be getting one. Couldn't tell you why, but I think it'd have something to do with the recent buyout of Stork Facilities."
Bruce considered that for a moment. Stork Facilities was a down in the dump company owned by the aging Albert Stork. Recent news had made it so that Patton Isley, lead scientist and head of the company Nano-Corp, was making offers to buy out Stork. Patton company focused on plant development and testing, and considering that Stork facilities has access to more than enough acres of forest and garden zones, it was no wonder the buyout was occurring.
"So this is something from the Isley's you say? What did everyone in Gotham get a package?" Bruce asked.
"Seems so. 'Tis a bit strange when you think of it that way. Perhaps it be some new product their testing. Anyway I better be off. Oh and by the way Bruce, I heerd' you have school starting today. Best of luck to 'ya." Winston said with the tip of his hat.
As Bruce watched him go, he couldn't help but wonder about the package. The Isley family were somewhat know to him, and he particularly remembered Patton's daughter Pamela from a few galas, for she was considered one of Gotham's brightest young minds, and she was just around Bruce's age.
After staring at it for a few seconds however, he merely shrugged and walked off towards the kitchen. It would be best to open it some other time. Besides, today was going to be hard enough as it was already for Bruce-he did not need to add whatever was in that package to it.
In the kitchen he found Alfred laying out a plate of food for him. Slowly, Bruce made his way to the table, and just stared at what was in front of him.
"Not a fan of today meal Master Bruce?" Alfred asked.
"Ugh . . . I'm just getting nervous, that all." Bruce said with a hint of anger.
"About schooling?" Alfred asked.
"Yes, but it will be okay, I have to at least, well, give it some chance." Replied Bruce.
"A start's a start Master Bruce. I'd be worried if you were not nervous, now come along. Finish your food and I'll ready the car. You do have supplies for today right.
"Um, no. Remember Alfred until last night I was dead convinced on not going to school, so no, I really don't have anything." Bruce said with a small smile.
"Of all the . . ." Alfred mumbled as he walked out of the kitchen. Bruce gave a small laugh as he watched Alfred grumble off. Turning his attention back to high school, Bruce began to plan things out in his head. Always being one to set plans for the future, he decided to set some now. Being a total reserve there wouldn't do him any good, yet he never wanted to be the center of attention of the source of Gossip, though, he reflected, that all would be part of being the head at Wayne Enterprises.
Instead he must focus on making a few good friends, and be sure to make no enemies. Bruce had no idea what to expect in terms of sentiment. Would they oppose a wealthy kid attending their school? Or would they just consider it nothing. He managed to keep around a nice crowd in middle school, but that had been in the far off Gotham Academy, which had a small attendance made up of most of Gotham's elite. Not that it was a bad school, by any means it was top notch teaching and the students were rather nice.
There would be no prediction however, for what happened at his new high school. Central Gotham Tech, or as many called it CGT High, was composed of most of the heart of inner city Gotham, along with many of the suburbs and many provinces now too far off. It had been established in the height of Gotham's popularity, and the old building was once considered one of the city's finest structures. The attendance now was considerably large, and Bruce was not too worried about fitting as much as he was standing out.
Some of Gotham's finest had come out of that school however, including many of Wayne Enterprises finest employees, and several as well from the Powers branch. Perhaps if it provided the right tools for them to succeed, then it would for him as well. But he would need help from friends, and connections.
Come to think of it, he wondered to himself, would he know anyone at CGT High? He could count out some childhood friends or acquaintances he knew today, but he was unsure if they would be there, but only time would tell. Turning it over in his mind some more, he noticed Alfred walk into the room, carrying an old backpack with a few school essentials.
"This will have to do Master Bruce," Alfred said, "It was all I could find."
"It will do Alfred," Responded Bruce.
"Shall we go then?" Alfred asked as he stepped towards the main door.
Bruce picked up the backpack left for him and followed him towards the door, but stopped when he noticed that Alfred was paused looking at the package.
"Master Bruce, where did this package come from?" He asked.
"Supposedly it's from the Isley's, after their buyout of Albert Stork. Winston told me that everyone around Gotham was getting them." Bruce responded.
"That's rather odd. I heard that the buyout was not to take place for at least another week. Perhaps it came early. Well, ever the less, we should get you off to school."
"Oh this is going to be just plain fun," Bruce said as he rolled his eyes.
"Well, if there was one trait that you didn't get from your parents, it was their enthusiasm for learning." Alfred commented.
"Whatever Alfred. I'd said I go to school, and no doubt it will have its benefits. But believe me I'm not the most jumping for joy over it."
"I know Master Bruce," Alfred commented, "And you know what, I wouldn't have it any other way for you."
The quick but sincere comeback made Bruce give a small smile, and what Alfred saw in that smile was s short slimmer of hope. Granted it was very short, but Alfred could actually see some confidence rising in young Bruce. That hope is what he strived to see every day, and with every day that drew on past the murder of Thomas and Martha Wayne, Alfred hoped that he could again see Bruce have the joy he had before they were gone.
Granted today it was only a smile, but Alfred had learned over the years that it's the small victories that counted. Every step he could make in progressing Bruce towards a happier lifestyle, or at least as happy as was possible for Bruce was a milestone for Alfred.
Turning this over in his mind some more, Alfred turned the ignition and the car started up. Bruce was starting to get into the back seat when the call of Alfred stopped him.
"Master Bruce, how about we change it up for the day. You always ride back, and now with you entering high school and soon end up driving, you should get used to riding in the front seat. What do the kids call it these days-'riding shotgun?'"
Bruce only chuckled and obliged Alfred's idea. Rolling down the windows, he felt the rush or the wind against his face as they moved towards one of the Gotham highways. All around him were blaring cars, blinking lights, road construction signs, and the sound of the cars radio, playing the classic oldies that Alfred liked so much. For some it might appear hectic and wild, but for Bruce it was like every other day in Gotham City, and just the same way his parents had always seen it.
Well, he certainly would not be hearing the last of his parents, but Bruce knew it would do him no good going into the school all depressed over them. Why not cheer up? Why not show some enthusiasm as Alfred had suggested. Well, Bruce reflected dryly, he would never be truly enthusiastic, but he could at least try and be himself. Granted he would not receive a total confidence booster, but he needed some cheering up right now anyway.
As they passed over one of the many bridges on Gotham's highways, Bruce spoke silently to himself so that Alfred couldn't here, looking out at the Gotham skyline.
"This had better work out . . . Please, let it work out not for me . . . but for them to be proud of me. Just please let it work . . ."
Then his words trailed off into nothingness, and all too soon he realized they were pulling up to CGT High. It was time, this Bruce knew, it was time.