Author's notes: I didn't mention in the last chapter, but the idea of this story was born when I was reading a Batman comic that was set in the same time as Gotham does and that is where the idea was born from. If any of the readers is to recognize what this comic is, please keep it to yourselves. I don't want our protagonist's identity to be spoiled until the end.

So far this story as gotten three followers so I decided to take this a little bit further to see if they stay or more interest will bloom.

Hospital

Either this place is trying to save electricity by not keeping the lights on or maybe someone is trying to set some kind of mood in here. As I reach consciousness, I can understand why I'm in laying position on my back, but the darkness and still present pain is what is telling me to be wary of my actions. I move my head of the pillow I'm leaning onto and find that third of my bed has been bent upwards, making me lay in a sitting position.

I'm wearing a hospital shrug and my left shoulder is tied with bandages. At least I can still use both of my arms. Inspecting my body I find more bandages wrapped around my head. Was I in some kind of an accident? There is a band in my wrist and according to it my name is… John Doe? I'm an unrecognizable patient. Didn't I have any IDs on me when I was brought here?

CHANK!

The door opens and the nurses arrive. Maybe they can tell me what happened to me.

''Now he's awake,'' on of the nurses says turning the lights on and forcing me to cover my eyes.

''About time.''

''Ladies, you have to help me here,'' I tell the nurses as they begin to check my wounds. ''I just woke up with a bump in my skull and-''

Now it's getting darker as memories begin to return. Or rather flashes…

''…strange… I… there were gunshots, right? I can't remember anything clearly. How did I even get here?''

''It was providence that brought you here.''

That woman definitely isn't a nurse. Or if she is, she isn't wearing her uniform and for some reason I don't think that women who show their class by dressing up in black lined green blouse with a belt, matching suit shirt and a fedora. Can't a volunteer because 'charity' is far from the look on her face.

''What the hell does that mean?'' I ask as I turn on my bed and let my feet fall down hanging. ''How did I end up in a hospital?''

''Ms. Kane called in the 911 call that brought you in here when you were shot and hit by a car in the street,'' the actual nurse tells me as she pushes me back on the hospital bed. ''You were lucky that you only got a hairline fractures that have healed during the time you have been under a coma.''

''Coma?'' I ask unpleasantly surprised. ''How long?''

''For at least two to three months,'' Ms. Kane tells me with a cold voice showing a garment bag. ''More people than you were shot that night and you were not the only survivor.''

''I'm not planning on joining any survivors' clubs'' I tell her before noticing that she has more to say.

''My sister was murdered,'' Ms. Kane tells not blinking her eyes. ''Her name was Martha Wayne.''

Wayne? Why does that name sound so familiar?

''I want you to help me to expose her killer. It's simple,'' she continues leaving the garment bag hanging at the end of my hospital bed, ''the timings between your shooting and her murder is short enough to suggest that the killer was the same one in both cases.''

I don't how to respond to that or even have time to come up with anything such as denial as she leaves immediately.

''Get dressed and meet me outside.''

''She called my 911 call and paid for my hospital bills?'' I ask the nurse still in my room. ''And even got me tailored suit to wear? Why would she do that?''

''I don't know her motivations,'' the nurse tells me.

''She just likes to pick up injured men and do them enough favors to make them owe her?'' I ask taking the garment bag and open it's zipper to see what it has. Yes, I was right, it is a tailored suit. ''What happened to the clothes I had when I was brought in?''

''All I know is that they were badly burnt as if you had been in a fire and your wounds had bled too much on them,'' the nurse tells me, explaining the hospital's policy of throwing out the tattered rags I had apparently been wearing.

''And I also probably didn't have any money or on me since this says John Doe?'' I ask showing my hospital wrist band.

''No, but you had this on you,'' the nurse says opening the drawer next to my bed and taking a blank covered book from there. ''You might want to keep this as a memento since it took the bullet impact and saved your life.''

Well, I'll be damned. This book does have a bullet hole going through it. Suppose it was important to keep it close all the way to the hospital.

The nurse leaves me so I can get dressed on the suit Ms. Kane left for me, including shirt, socks, underwear shoes and a hat left in the cabinet near the door. Looking at myself on the mirror in the cabinet's door all dressed up gives me a lot of mixed feelings. First of all, I don't know what if I'm supposed to look like a gangster, civil suited cop or chump. Second, why did Ms. Kane get me these clothes and pay for my hospital bills? What is her endgame with all this?

But the most important question still is, who the hell am I?

I leave my room sitting it a wheel chair as the nurse pushing it and me browsing the book that saved my life. Another hospital policy, but it gives me a chance to get familiar with the only thing I have to go on figuring out who I am. It's easy to see that it's either a journal or an autobiography of a witch hunter named Mordecai from 1640s. However, there is this one thing that tells me this thing as to be a fake is the yellow, crumbled status of the pages suggesting the book to be centuries old, but the hand writing is modern, noticeable from how the words are used.

I need to find out where I got the book and who its modern day author is. That person might know. But that has to wait until later.

As I'm brought outside, I can notice Ms. Kane waiting for me with her car and an entourage of three men.

''Muscle to keep me from running away?'' I ask getting of the wheel chair and close the book.

''Hit the road, bookworm,'' one of the men, or thugs, tells me showing me a gun under his jacket.

Is this an assault on Ms. Kane in broad daylight? I don't know if it's a headache or an instinct that makes me first back out, then throw my hat of the grunt's face, grab the other two grunts and push them on the one with the gun. As they fall to the ground, Ms. Kane has already gotten to the driver's seat and is waving me to get into the car.

''I can see that you are going to be useful.''

Author's notes: If followers will come to ask me to write more, this is what happens next. Our protagonist and Ms. Kane, Martha Wayne's sister, will got to meet the parents of Martha Wayne and our protagonist is given his mystery to solve.