"Breaking news from GCN. Thomas and Martha Wayne have been declared dead. At 11:42 tonight, a man in the streets of Crime Alley killed the couple as they left the Monarch Theater with their nine-year old son and heir to the Wayne fortune, Bruce Wayne."
Alfred Pennyworth sat in the hospital and closed his eyes, trying hard to ignore the blabbering mouth of the female reporter. He had just confirmed that the bodies were in fact Thomas and Martha. Tears blurred his vision as they welled up in his eyes. Dozens of reporters spotted him on the bench outside of the morgue and immediately, flash bulbs flashed and voices flooded his ears.
"Please, no questions." Alfred yelled over the crowd of piranha.
"Mr. Pennyworth! Are you the official caregiver for the young Wayne now?"
"Stop." he said.
"What is going to happen now? Are you in control of the company?"
"Is he going to move away from Gotham?"
"Stop." he said again, his voice getting choked up.
"He's just a spoiled brat. Who knows what will happen." Alfred heard a reporter say quietly to another.
Alfred looked at the man and threw off his tie. He stood up aggressively and grabbed a large expensive camera, taking it from a reporter's hands and tossing it into the wall opposite of him. He screamed in anger and grabbed the idiot reporter, holding him by his collar and tossing him into the floor.
"Get out of here! All of you!" Alfred screamed as the reporters ran from him and he sat back on the bench, letting the tears fall from his eyes.
Bruce Wayne sat beside Officer Gordon in the backseat of the GCPD squad car, tears drying on his cheeks and his arms around Gordon. He looked down at Bruce and rubbed his hair as the boy sniffled. His partner and best friend, Harvey Bullock drove through traffic with the sirens on and turned off the main Interstate, seeing the outskirts of Gotham before him. Wayne Manor shined in front of the waxing moon and Bullock stopped the car as he waited for the gate to open.
"We're almost home, Bruce." Gordon said quietly to Bruce.
Bruce nodded and wiped his eyes as he saw his home behind the backseat grate in front of him. Gordon took his coat off Bruce's back and watched him as he began to cry again. Gordon rubbed his head and slightly slammed it against the seat.
"I promise you that I and Officer Bullock will do everything we can to find the man. You hear me?" Gordon said softly.
"Thank you, Officer." Bruce replied, hugging Gordon tight and crying harder.
Bullock couldn't help but feel saddened by the boy's tragedy. He pulled into the large driveway that lead to the front door of Wayne Manor. Alfred sat on the steps with Leslie Thompkins, the family doctor. She was wearing a long red cocktail dress and Alfred's tuxedo was wrinkled and the tie was missing. While Thomas and Martha took Bruce to see a movie, Alfred and Leslie went on a date to a nice restaurant before Alfred saw the reports on TV an hour before.
They descended the stairs as Gordon carried Bruce over to Leslie who took him inside while Alfred talked with Gordon. He shook Gordon's hand and thanked Bullock as they drove off. Alfred sighed with sadness and rushed inside Wayne Manor, shutting the doors and watching as Leslie put Bruce to bed after giving him a baby aspirin to help him sleep better. She walked down the steps, her makeup smeared and curly blonde hair out of its bun.
"Alfred. He's not doing well." Leslie cried, hugging Alfred tight.
"I know. I don't know what I can do. They're gone." Alfred said without emotion.
"There's only one thing we can do." Leslie said, giving him a peck on the cheek.
"What's that?" Alfred asked, backing away from her after the kiss.
"We can love him."
She attempted to hug him again but he backed away. Leslie gave him a puzzled and quivering look. He rubbed his eyes and scratched his graying hair.
"I need to be there for him. I can't be there for you too. It's too much for me to handle. You can help with making him feel comforted. But only comfort him." Alfred said, regretting every word.
"What are you saying, Alfred?" she asked, her voice getting high and quiet.
"I think you know what I'm saying, Leslie. This cannot exist. I'm sorry." Alfred continued.
Leslie shoved Alfred hard, making him stumble and nearly break into tears. She quickly walked out of the manor and shut the door with force, the sounds of her engine quickly fading away. Alfred watched her lights outside of the main left door and closed his eyes, placing his head against the pane of glass. He went into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of red wine from the wine freezer. He popped the cork and tossed the corkscrew onto the metal counter. He sat in his chair at the family table in the dining hall and drank half the bottle before taking a breath.
He groaned in sickness and despair, eyeing the portrait of him and Thomas, giving a smile in the middle of a golf course. The picture was thirteen years old and Alfred hated the memories of his life as they floated into his mind. He growled at the portrait and drank another swig of wine before talking to Thomas in the picture.
"Damn you." he said as his voice broke.
"Damn you, Thomas!"
Alfred screamed briefly and landed on his knees, the wine spilling onto the carpet. He grabbed the bottle and sat it on the table, switching it with the picture frame. He looked into his younger self's eyes and envied him. The young Alfred would never know that his best friends would be killed by a selfish man with a weapon. He almost threw the picture across the dining hall but stopped himself as he dropped the portrait on the ground and passed out from exhaustion, sickness, and heartache.