A/N: Yay! Finally some Bat action!
Hopefully this will entice some of you to leave me a review, tell me how you like it. I'm having a blast writing it.
TWO - Open Wound
Red and blue lights flashed unceremoniously as the Caped Crusader approached commissioner Gordon, who's weathered face was set into a hard line as he spoke to a much younger cop, eyes growing wide with admiration as the figure approached. With a nod to his superior, the young man stumbled away, empty evidence bag in hand. Gotham had been quiet, if only for a few weeks; he'd anticipated this moment, hoping that what he'd been experiencing wasn't the calm before the storm.
And somehow, in his gut, he knew that it was. The look on Gordon's face only reaffirmed his intuition.
"I don't know how he did it, Batman," Were the first words from the older man's lips as he readjusted his glasses, which glinted in the dull haze of a streetlamp. "Maybe you'll see something I don't. But it looks like the Joker's work."
"Odd, he's been in Arkham for over a week now." The gruff voice responded after a brief shocked pause. But should he be? No, he supposed not. Nothing seemed to surprise him very much anymore. Before these few weeks of solitude, it seemed things had picked up in Gotham and the new trend was 'crazy'. All of the high-risk criminals had come out to play, wielding all sorts of new toys and weapons. "Quinn, perhaps? Or a man on the outside, just stirring trouble. Another break-out may be imminent." He silently passed by the commissioner, who said nothing, slipping into the narrow entryway of a small, ruddy looking building. The outside sign, true to the Clown Prince's nature, read 'What A Gas! Inflatable Toys' in fading neons. A smirk crossed his lips, as it usually did while assessing his foe's crimes. Clever.
The smell of blood was unmistakable as he passed through the doorway, careful to check for any footprints or handprints near it's frame. Clean, it seemed, but it wasn't done anytime recently; he could rule out that much as grime caked the perimeter. His eyes moved further into the room; on the wall, written in blood, was a message.
To my favorite Bat -
You seemed lonely without me these past few days,
and since you're such a great pal,
I've gotten you a gift,
to show just how much you mean to me -
And she's all yours, Batsy.
See you real soon
-J
Batman grimaced. See you real soon - the clown had said that, right before they'd shut his cell in Arkham. The vigilante had walked him all the way through to his cell, as an extra security measure. The last time he'd gone unaccompanied, and escaped immediately. And then he killed six people.
He would not allow for mistakes like that again.
He scanned the room one last time, but failed to find any footprints or noticeable remnants; only blood. Lots and lots of blood, which he'd swabbed with q-tips in multiple locations for analyzing later, stowed safely within his utility belt. With a sigh, he continued further, only to find a single door unlocked at the end of the hall. It swung open easily, revealing the sagging body of a young woman, bleach blonde hair now matted and rustic with her own blood. She'd been put into a suspension rig, nude - something the Dark Knight had heard of, but never really looked into - and by the looks of it, by force. Blood had pooled underneath her body, and on a tray next to her limp body lay her heart. Her chest had been ripped open, and her ribs snapped with bolt cutters. In the cool damp air within the abandoned building, wisps of steam could still be seen rising from it.
Bat's grimace deepened, feeling his heart break. The girl was beautiful despite the horrific Chelsea Grin she'd been given, and and the wounds that covered her body. She couldn't have been any more than twenty years old, a petite little thing with hazel eyes and soft, delicate features. She could have been an angel, now defiled upon this harsh metal rig. How did she end up here, caught up with this madman? Life was cruel, even to the innocent.
Next to her heart lay a joker card with scribbling on it, and he picked it up carefully with a gloved hand.
She said she was DYING to meet you,
and I just know how you love blondes!
HAHAHAHAHA
He plucked a bag from his utility belt and stuck the card inside, and began taking pictures while swallowing the bile within his throat. That definitely explained the blood. He must have torn her chest open in the other room, then strung her up. What seemed like a struggle must have simply been a struggle against her dead weight. He calculated, before sticking the small camera back within his belt, as well as the evidence. He'd have to review the handwriting on the card; if it was the Joker's, he'd know, although it looked very similar, he had to admit.
A strange comfort resided in him, as it was only one victim. One too many. His mind chided, and he continued through the abandoned building, which he'd found only contained this single office, it's only other door opening up to a large empty space in the back. Leftover cigarette butts - which he'd collected in a bag, to match for DNA with known henchman - leftover inflatable bounce-houses and empty beer bottles were all that remained in the open space that was the warehouse floor. He took a few pictures, for reference, and then exited the building; other than the cigarette butts and fingerprints from the bottles, it was a cold trail. Gordon was waiting for him, and straightened up as he saw the dark figure approaching.
"Brutal...that poor girl. So, what's your verdict, detective? You'd know better than me." Gordon sipped on a steaming cup of coffee, and again Batman fought bile as the image of her heart splayed into his mind. Rain began to pitter down lightly, causing the air temperature to drop further. He could see Gordon pulling his coat tighter, and silently thanked for the warmth the Kevlar offered.
"It looks like his work, but after I analyze a few things, I'll know for certain. I'll send you my results, and the evidence, once I'm finished." He paused, looking back to the warehouse. It looked even more dreary now, the moonlight finally covered by overcast sky. Gotham was now a dark, solid entity in the distance; a small cliche dash of lightning struck nearby, and inwardly he smiled. "Check the Arkham security footage, make sure he didn't move. Ask what contact he'd had with anyone, if it was noticeable. The Joker had to have gotten the information out, or himself, somehow."
"We've already got someone on it, I'll make sure you're sent a copy of the feed. But what I don't understand is why would he go back? That doesn't make much sense. Normally he'd be as far away as possible. Or try to lure you here. " The officer mused, scratching the fresh white stubble that had collected on his chin, before checking his watch. 2:30 AM.
When he looked back up, the Bat had disappeared, leaving a familiar grin beneath his greying moustache.
Now buried within the shadows, Batman made his way towards the Batmobile, parked nonchalantly in a littered alleyway. He'd planned on checking into some mob activity by the docks, but with this new case, he decided it'd be best to return to the cave. The sooner he analyzed the handwriting, the better. Somehow he felt more obligated than normal to solve this crime; the gift was left to him, and that resonated, somewhere deep in the broken parts of his soul.
He slid in with practiced ease, commanding with a strained voice, "Home." It roared to life instantly, moving so swiftly through Gotham's streets that he sunk back into his chair. His body sagged lightly, and again he pictured the young woman from the crime scene. You should have stopped this! This is what you vowed to end, and yet you've changed nothing! A small voice nagged, words leaking poison into his consciousness as guilt overtook him. That wounded part of his psyche, his soul, was exposed and raw with the elicited emotions from the scene. It was a gash, an open wound, created by the death of his parents and despite all of his discipline and training, he couldn't escape it. With Jason's death, which he could hardly stand to think of, the wound had only grown deeper and more painful. But slowly, slowly he'd managed to get himself out of the rut...and seeing that young woman, so exposed and brutalized at his expense, had torn open the newly forming flesh that Batman had allowed to grow.
He hardly noticed as the vehicle whipped into the batcave and stopped with a single roar of the engine. Removing the cowl from his face, he stepped out onto the pathway towards his computer with a single not to acknowledge the older gent who was now walking gracefully down towards him, a tray of coffee and small intricate cookies within his able hands.
"Welcome home, Master Bruce. I..." Alfred's words, as eloquent as they sounded, died within his throat. The silver tray within his hands was set down just in time to catch Wayne in a soft embrace - looking quite odd, as he was such a tall and brooding man - and hold him momentarily. It was as if he was eight again, broken and bleeding. But he was soon a man again, and pulled away, wiping only a single tear. He wouldn't shed anymore tonight, that he was sure. Instead, he would bring his full attention to his case, and offer her soul as well as his own peace.
Alfred didn't have the heart to ask him what happened, watching his face go from a crumpled little boy to a hardened, determined man; instead, he offered a smile and a cup of coffee. And to Bruce, it meant the world.
