Chapter 4: Falling Again…
"Bruce...Bruce! Bruce?"
"Master Wayne...?"
"Hey, Bruce, wake up..."
With a deep groan of exertion, Batman – cowl removed, but otherwise in costume – sat up on the bed. He leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling, gritting his teeth. Alfred and Robin – also in costume, save for his mask and gloves – stood on either side of the bed, looking upon him with concern.
"Are you quite all right, sir?"
"I'm fine, Alfred..."
He hissed with pain, feeling a numb soreness in his upper right arm.
"...At least, I think I am..."
"You gave us a scare, if you'll pardon the expression," Robin said with a smile.
"What happened?"
"Crane," Robin replied simply, smile gone in a flash. "He must have snuck up on you when you went back into Hargreaves'. He injected you with a liquid form of his Fear Toxin; tried to gas me when I ran into him, but I managed to avoid it. He hijacked a bike and got away; we failed to take the antidote, so I brought you straight here after I found you."
"A precaution we'll make sure to check on next time we go after him; it was a stupid mistake."
"For once, I have to agree."
"What of the Wonderland Gang, sir?" Alfred inquired. "Master Tim told me you had intercepted them, but didn't give me much more in details."
"They robbed the Hargreaves Diamond Store," Batman replied, eyes narrowed. "It's not an uncommon job for any criminal, but, for the Mad Hatter and his Wonderland Gang, it makes almost no sense..."
"Right," Robin said with a nod. "The Mad Hatter is about as obsessed with headgear as with Lewis Carroll's stories; he'll steal, or, as he puts it, 'collect' anything even vaguely hat-related, be it the earphones from a teenager on a park bench, or a painting of a man wearing a derby."
"Then jewel theft wouldn't be up his alley, so to speak?"
"Not at all," Batman confirmed with a shake of his head.
"Hmm...well, perhaps, sir, he's got a different angle?"
"How do you mean, Alfred?" asked Robin.
"Well, you see, Master Tim, Lewis Carroll is not only the favorite author of Jervis Tetch, but myself, as well. If memory serves, Alice Liddell, who inspired the author to write his Alice books, married and became Alice Hargreaves."
"The same name as the store!"
"Precisely, sir."
"You may be onto something, Alfred," Batman said, beginning to grow hopeful with the possible new break...then let out another hiss of pain, touching two fingers to his right temple. His allies gazed upon him worriedly.
"But...I think we'll have to follow it another day."
"I'll get you the medication Professor Strange prescribed, sir."
"Thank you, Alfred."
Alfred smirked, and left the room.
"Is it just me, or did you not start having headaches like this until after you saw that professor?"
Batman shrugged. Robin sighed.
"Look, Bruce, I'm going to tell you flat out: I don't like this Strange, character. I ran a background check on him while you were out on your appointment."
Bruce smirked.
"Training already has you that paranoid, then?"
"I'm being serious for once," Robin said, gravely. "Please, listen: there's nothing on this guy. And when I say nothing, I mean nothing: no records of school or childhood, only the information you and I know already. He graduated in, and eventually taught, psychology at Gotham University, and was appointed as head of medical operations at the Wayne Home for Wayward Youth. No more."
Batman pondered this for a few moments.
"...You did say that he taught at the University, right?"
"...Yeah. Why?"
"Think, Tim: Hugo Strange taught psychology. Who was a student around the time he was teaching?"
Robin's eyes went wide.
"Jonathan Crane!"
"Correct."
"Do you think the two professors are in cahoots?"
"Not in so many words, no...but I do think there might be a connection."
At this point, Alfred reentered the room.
"Here are the pills the professor prescribed, sir, and a glass of water."
"Thanks, Alfred," said Bruce, and drank the pills down.
"I think I'll go back downstairs and prepare dinner."
"I'll head down to the Batcave; perhaps the Batcomputer can give me something more on our Professor Hugo Strange if we look hard enough, and, hopefully, any connection he might have with Jonathan Crane."
"I'll go down with you-"
"No; since we're not going to continue our patrol, you go rest up."
"But, Bruce-"
"Do it."
Tim Drake sighed.
"Fine," he grumbled, and left the room, Alfred following behind him, smiling, and Batman taking up the rear. Tim went down the hall, while the older men went downstairs.
While Alfred Pennyworth headed for the kitchen, Bruce Wayne went to the study. He flipped up the head of the marble bust of Shakespeare on his desk, pressing the red button hdden underneath, and the fireplace – decorative, but never used – slid aside like a door, revealing a flight of stairs. Batman descended down into the Batcave, and headed to the great Batcomputer.
As he sat at the chair before the immense supercomputer, he noticed the familiar box on the desktop. With a bit of hesitation, he opened it...
And pulled out a handheld looking-glass.
Bruce peered into the mirror, his eyes slightly glazed with nostalgia – and not a pleasant sort at all – as he recalled the events that led to his possession of the mirror.
"I've been seeing you," he said, only half to himself. "I know I have; Hatter, Rabbit, the Jabberwock...are they just delusions? Or are you guys trying to tell me something..."
It would pleasure this narrator greatly to say that there was no reply to this...
But, then, there would be no story.
At that moment, Bruce Wayne gasped aloud as his face dissolved in the mirror's reflection...growing smaller...thinner...his eyes becoming narrower...his ears longer...his lips wider...
"WE'RE ALL MAD HERE," growled the reflection of the Cheshire Cat.
The cat's face was suddenly enveloped in a blinding white light. Bruce Wayne squinted to try and keep it out...
Then came the all-too-familiar feeling of vertigo...the light gave way to darkness...he felt a sensation not unlike falling...
He cried out loud, "No...! Not again...!"
Then came silence.
DOWN...Down...down...
"Bruce?"
Tim Drake entered the Batcave.
He was greeted with an eerie silence.
The Batcomputer's screens were bare, and the chair was turned back to him.
Spilling onto the floor, off from its edges, was a ragged cape.
He smirked.
"Hey, Bruce," he said, approaching the computer chair. "You said you'd be looking up things on Strange, not sleeping on the-"
Tim Drake's jaw fell open as he swung the chair around.
An empty Batsuit lay crumpled in the chair before the Batcomputer.
And, lying on the floor, was a shattered looking-glass.