Chapter Two
You Start The Fire In Me
You would think the smell of burning flesh would be the worst part of a fire. It isn't. It is a horrific, sickening shock to the senses but it is not the worst part. Nor is the smoke. Or the danger of putting yourself into the fire in order to save another. No.
The worst part of walking into a fire is the flame itself.
When primitive man first created fire they did not wallow in fear as you may have been told. They looked upon it as a magnificent new wonder. To their eyes it was unlike anything else in existence. Man saw the beauty of the flame and danced straight into it. Willingly.
After that primitive man began to fear fire. As did the educated man in this century.
I don't.
The Batmobile hits the fiery hypnotic inferno hard, diving in full throttle. The scanners should pick up lifesigns. They have to. That boy needs to be alive. I repeat it to myself over and over again, ignoring the scanners obvious readings. That boy needs to be alive.
I need that boy to be alive.
"Batman," booms Dick's voice over the intercom.
"Nightwing. Report," I snarl more than I should, my lenses scanning the red hell for movement. Nothing.
"Alfred filled me in. We got a match. There were two different sets of DNA in the blood you found."
"Two?" I ask with a hint of intrigue, my focus still on the wreckage. The scan does not beep and the mesmerising flames outside continue.
That boy isn't alive. The flames are too wild. The scanners would have found him by now if he were.
"One was the victim, José Alvera. Seventeen years old. No record. Had just been accepted to GCU."
"Did Barbara know him?"
"No," he pauses, saying it rather happily, shocking himself. Forgetting the dead. "Different schools."
I think of Jim. I'll have to give him a call after I hear the rest. The victim's lack of personal connection with his daughter could only make his job, sadly, easier.
My mind snaps back into focus as I hear the sirens swarming in. Fire Trucks. "The other?" I ask, taking the Batmobile out of the blaze before -
Then I see it. Out the corner of my eye, it's there. "Wait, Dick." I speak, calmly, opening the automobile and jumping over. A tuft of blond hair under some wreckage is what my eyes saw, intensified by the lenses, glittering in the fire. My body kicks in to automatic. My feet are already rushing over, my hands swinging forward, prizing the pieces of metal supports and partitions away.
A smile finds its way creeping along my face. Not had one of them in a while, ever since-
One small boy is gripping onto the ladder of a sewer entrance, his hair the only thing showing through the circular opening.
I extend my hand, knowing full well how I look in this blaze; like a bat out of hell. The meatloaf song crosses my mind. I'll have to get Alred to stop using it to do his houswork. "It's going to be okay, son." I pull the kid up and out of the sewer with my right hand.
The boy is alive. He is a bloody mess, with cuts and bruises everywhere. But the boy is alive.
I wrap my cape around him and we run for the Batmobile.
The boy stumbles a few times but always regains his footing quickly enough. A natural fighter. A survivor.
Like I was.
"What's your name, son?" I hurriedly ask, keeping him as protected as I can from the flames.
"Carl," he shouts, picking up the pace again.
"It's going to be all right Carl. You're going to be all right."
I pick him up and toss him, gently as I can, into the passenger seat. I quickly follow and the Batmobile begins it's drive out of the disaster zone.
"Batman to Nightwing. I'll get the update from you once I drop off a survivor at the hospital. Batman out."
I switch frequencies to Jim Gordon's radio.
"Jim, it's Batman. I've got a survivor. Repeat. We have a survivor. It's the boy."
"What's his condition?" he asks with hope trembled across his vocal chords.
"Externally, nothing serious. We'll know more once the hospital runs tests. We can't take the chance considering. The nearest is Gotham General. Meet me at the turn just before it. I don't think they'd be too happy me running in with him," I joke, without a laugh. Jim gets it.
"You kidding? They're so overworked these days they'd enjoy the excitement. We're on route. And..." He pauses. Worry, this time.
"Yes, Jim?"
"I'm sorry about Leslie. I know she was a friend." Jim. Silly old Jim.
"Dr Thompkins was on vacation Commissioner. She's in Hong Kong. Scheduled to return back next week. Knowing her, that'll turn into tomorrow," I add in a small hint of a laugh just to settle him down a bit. It's been a tough day. "What about Bullock? And his men?"
"As luck would have it they narrowly missed it. Lieutenant Bearns suffered some minor burns but the rest of them didn't even get caught in it. Seems like Gotham's giving us a few small miracles tonight."
"Well overdue. I'll see you at the hospital."
I cut off the communication with a switch and look over at the boy. Visually, he's nothing like me. Not even like him. But he reminds me of both of us.
"Carl," I say gently, staring ahead. Eye contact with the white lenses seems to either scare children or excite them. I can't have either of that now.
"Batman...sir." Such a sign of respect, even in this situation, implies a rather good upbringing.
"What were you doing in crime alley this late?" I don't need to ask who did it, that would only make him worse. Survivor or not. He'll tell me if he can. And if he lies I'll still know.
The Batmobile is fitted with a variety of cameras. I'll access them later.
"I was blindfolded and tossed into a car. I think. Next thing I knew I woke up there and then the explosion. I tried to get out as quickly as I could, I found the manhole and climbed down. When I heard that engine I started back but..."
"You froze." I add, knowing the feeling all too well in my youth.
"I thought it was them coming back for me." It's almost a common theme in Gotham, but not usually with children. There are always cases and they always make me hate the scum that do it even more.
"You're safe now." I turn and say to him, warmly, as we approach the turn before the Hospital. Jim's already there. "I'm taking you to Commissioner Gordon. He's a good man and I trust him. He'll take care of you."
"What about my parents?"
The words echo in my mind. I remember them. I remember telling them to Alfred when I was about Carl's age. I refocus my mind off myself and onto the boy.
"Were they with you when you were abducted Carl?
"Yes," he nods furiously. "Where are they Batman? They weren't here when I woke up."
At least he'll never have to witness it.
"I'll find out. You have my word Carl. What are their names?
"Peter and Susan Turner."
The names don't ring a bell. As Bruce Wayne, I know most of the wealthy Gotham socialites personally. Perhaps they're from Metropolis, or another city and are new to Gotham.
"Do you promise Batman?" begs Carl. I catch his wet eyes glittering in the darkness.
"I promise Carl," I say to him, nodding. I make a point of looking into his eyes this time. "You have my word."
The hatch of the Batmobile opens and Carl slowly climbs out of it. Jim's already approached the car and is talking to Carl. Good old Jim.
"I have some leads to follow through," I say to Gordon. "Go easy on him Jim, he's had a tough day."
"Haven't we all," utters Jim, as the Batmobile drives off for the cave.
"Mr Freeze," spoke Nightwing with a sense of confusion lingering. He wasn't sure. I was a few minutes away from the cave and wanted to get all the information first and with accusations like this I might have to run the scans myself.
"Dick, I've just left the aftermath of a fire blazing on Crime Alley. This wasn't Freeze. Hot and cold don't mix in his world."
"Perhaps he's had a change of heart?"
"No," I stated bluntly. If this was Freeze then it wasn't by his own will.
"Ok. That's was my reasoning too. Could never be Freeze. I thought it might be a false reading but I got Tim to check over the results. Freeze was definitely there at the scene."
"Or at least his DNA was," piped in Tim Drake, current Red Robin. "Batman. We've seen this sort of thing before. People collecting samples, usually via hair follicles, and planting them. Blood, we've seen before. There's only one reason I think this was planted. When was the last time you saw Mr Freeze bleed?"
It was a good question. It had been a while.
"He's improved his armour this past year, " I began, analysing the design of his armour in my mind. He was fully protected from any abrasions. "He is capable of bleeding. We've seen it before."
"But the improvements make it impossible that someone broke his skin," shouted an overexcited Tim, probably imagining a scenario were it could happen.
"Unlikely, Tim. Not impossible," I correct him. "Joker's always been smart. He'll know we know this. He's probably got Freeze imprisoned somewhere. They wouldn't work together."
"Which means Joker isn't working alone. As good as he is, Joker and Quinn can't disable Freeze. He needs someone with muscle."
Dick was right. While the disgusting design looked like Joker's work, it was almost on a different scale.
"Look! Are we sure it's even the Joker?" argued Tim, pointing out the obvious and reminding me that there were alternatives. But they were few and far between.
"It's either Joker, Tim, or it's a copycat. Someone wanting to make it look like Joker." But I didn't know anyone who would do that. Clayface would, but there was no traces of him at the scene. He was also locked up in Arkham. I'd put him there a few days ago myself.
There was always a chance it was someone new. But someone capable of that wouldn't go unnoticed. I'd began my investigation into the murders by interrogating all of the major gangs. With ruthless negotiation.
They never knew anything. Not one of them. If it was someone new to Gotham, they wouldn't be afraid to say. If it was Joker, they would. Especially if he was working with someone else.
"The only two who aren't in Blackgate or Arkham are Croc and Bane." said Tim, his fingers tapping away at a keyboard.
"Croc is a possibility but Bane isn't. He'd never lower himself to working with Joker."
Not these days. Bane liked working with his own trustworthy men. No other large ego's to get in his way.
Dick was the first to make the connection. As usual.
"So...looks like we're going fishing?"
It is a song of fire and ice
In this fair city filled with vice.
"Gotham City!" cry my lungs,
"I'm home!"