A/N I've received a few complaints about how Somerville-centric the last couple of chapters were. I can't say things are going to get immediately better, but if you can just hang in there for this chapter and the next, then I'll promise we'll get rid of her for a while.
A big thank you to my wonderful beta, IcyWaters, who works hard to improve your reading experience.
Disclaimer To the tune of "Mary Had a Little Lamb"
I do not own Bat-bat-man
Bat-bat-man
Bat-bat-man.
I do not own Bat-bat-man
Or his groovy stuff.
Acknowledgment To the all the rickety pianos that I've ever played.
Chapter 28
Most bad luck is the misfortune of not being an exception.
- Mason Cooley
When they talked about it later, Bruce and Alfred each tried to shoulder the blame. Alfred said he had been careless. Bruce argued that he should have taken better precautions. But in the end, they both agreed on what it really was…a run of very bad luck.
Hardly able to believe his luck, Batman was a swift, silent shadow behind the Joker and his companion. He followed Somerville almost on a whim, intrigued by her hasty exit from the Manor. Guessing her destination when they reached the building, he had forced entry through a kitchen window and watched her rather emotionless discovery of the body. He had accused her of being involved in Golding's death in order to observe her reaction: She had seemed genuinely upset, but with this woman, he wasn't about to take anything for granted. After she had shot him (and was that ever going to hurt tomorrow), he had heard the two men at the front door and had hidden in the bathroom.
Now he was following them along some of the darker streets of Gotham, heading in the direction of the river. Before long, he could smell it, even in the freezing night air. That distinctive blend of rot and mold was the special trademark of the city's river; a river, urban legend said, where there was no need for a bucket because you could shovel it out in chunks.
The Joker and Max stopped right by the concrete embankment that served as a flood wall on this particular section. Batman remained a few paces back, hidden by the corner of an overflowing dumpster.
"Stay right there, for me, will you, Max?" the Joker asked sweetly, backing away and holding up his hands as if framing a picture. "I'm trying to envision something." He tilted his head back and forth, then nodded decidedly. "Yes, I think that's just right." His high voice carried clearly through the cold air. "You know, Max, I had another associate who made a mistake. Do you know what happened to him?"
Batman sprang from the shadows, knocking Max down as the Joker's bullet zinged past them. He took a moment to ensure that Max would not be getting back up and looked up just in time to see the Joker vaulting over the wall. There was no splash from the river below, but he caught a shadow of dark movement, halfway down. Fastening his grappling hook to the crumbling concrete, he followed.
There was a large, round grille set in the wall – indicating the opening ofa tunnel that led to emergency flood reservoirs that drained into the harbor. When pulled, the metal framework swung back silently and easily. Batman crouched at the mouth of the tunnel, listening. The tunnel was absolutely silent, except for the echo of the sluggish river below. Patiently, he waited. At last there was the faintest scraping noise ahead and to the right. Bent nearly double, Batman crept forward. There was an intersection, and down the tunnel to the right he could see the faintest patch of light in the ceiling. There was a thud, and a shadow blocked the light. Batman lunged forward, hurling a batarang. There was a moan of pain; he snatched at the shadow, and then he was falling, down another pipe that opened beneath his feet. He managed to catch himself when the pipe bent, and he clung to the side of the rough concrete, hearing soft laughter above him.
"This is an unexpected pleasure," the Joker said softly. "But we're not meant to meet face to face, my friend. Not yet. Soon, but not yet. In the meantime, here's something to remember me by."
Batman held his breath and lunged for the top of the pipe as he was surrounded by thick, choking smoke. When at last, gasping, he made it out of the pipe, the Joker was gone. So was Max, and Batman suspected the hapless henchman was now floating facedown in the river. He set out, rather hopelessly, to methodically search the area, and even ventured back into the flood tunnels, but there was no sign of where his adversary had gone.
But it was only after he made it back to his car (not the Tumbler), in the small hours of the morning, and found all four of his tires slashed, that he began to suspect it had been a spectacularly unsuccessful night.
Cecilia's hands, arms, andankles had gone completely numb by the time she decided that she had had enough of keeping quiet and staying put. Rocking forward onto her knees, she managed to fall out of the shower and roll onto the tiny bathroom floor. Fortunately, the Batman hadn't shut the bathroom door all the way. She caught the edge of the door in her teeth and managed to swing it wide enough to allow her to wiggle through. She squirmed her way down the hall, collapsing at the entrance to the living room, only a few feet from Simon. The headlights of a passing car momentarily crept around the edge of the window shade, setting a golden haze around his blond head.
No saint, she thought bitterly, and realized that was exactly what she had set him up to be. And here I thought I'd given up idealism. She shook her head against the carpet, impatient with her own philosophical speculation. I'll sort this out later. The phone on the table, besides being disconnected, was probably beyond her reach, but her cell phone should still be on the floor where Simon had knocked over her purse. She took a deep breath and resumed wriggling across the floor.
The phone was there, behind a back leg of the table. Scooting it out with her chin, she rolled onto her knees and used her teeth to position the phone against her left knee, nearly tipping over in the process. When she had regained her balance, she bent over and wedged her front teeth beneath the top flap of the phone. She had worked it open a fraction, when a loud, resonant ringing vibrated through her head and made her jump, sending the phone skidding away. Muttering, she repositioned the thing and again set to work with her teeth. It took eight rings before she persuaded it to flip open. "Hello?" she gasped, craning her neck to the side to place her ear against the receiver.
"I hope I didn't wake you," the voice on the other end said politely.
"Not at all. I'm just a little tied up at the moment," she responded, equally polite.
"This will be brief. I thought you would like to know that we followed the directions and found a package."
"Have you opened it?"
"No. Our legal counsel advised us to wait unless it became absolutely necessary."
"That shouldn't be a problem," she replied, losing her balance and falling over.
"Cecilia?" the confused voice demanded from the phone.
She inched her way back over to the phone. "Sorry. Like I said, I'm a little tied up."
There was a short silence, and then the voice demanded, "Literally?"
"Yes. Listen, could you call the pol…"
She broke off as an imperative pounding sounded on the door. "Gotham P.D.! Open the door!"
"Never mind. I'll talk to you later. You'd better hang up now."
"Are you all right?"
"Never better. Bye, Deek." Silence on the other end told her he'd hung up, and she called out, "I'm here, but I can't come to the door. I'm tied up."
"Are you alone, ma'am?" the police officer (she hoped) on the other side of the door bellowed.
"I think so."
The next moment, the door burst open, and two armed cops rushed in. They gave a startled glance at her and the body, then searched the apartment to confirm that no one else was there.
"Boy am I glad to see you," she muttered as one of them knelt next to her and untwisted the wire from her wrists.
"A neighbor reported gunshots. Is he…"
"No," interrupted his partner, who was kneeling by Simon. "He hasn't been shot."
"Gunshots? But those were a while ago, weren't they?" she asked. "I admit my conceptions of the time are a little fuzzy."
"About two hours ago, ma'am. It's now 1 a.m."
"Is that all?" she asked, sitting up and rubbing her wrists gingerly, as the cop undid the wire around her ankles. "I could have sworn it was later."
"No, ma'am. You were here when the shots were fired?"
"I fired them."
"You fired them?"
"At the Batman. I'm not sure what he did with my gun," she replied absently, wondering if she was able to stand up. Every part of her hurt, which may have been why she missed the sudden wary look the cops exchanged.
"And…did the Batman tie you up?" asked the one who had rid her of the wires.
"Yes. I must have missed him, although I really don't understand how at that close range…"
Both the cops helped her to her feet, keeping a firm grip with either arm. "Are you hurt?"
"No," she sighed, "at least, no more than usual."
"Then, I think we're going to have to ask you to come down to the station with us. We'd like to ask you a few questions."
Alfred unlocked the door of the study and slipped inside. Bruce was usually home by this time, and the butler was beginning to grow slightly anxious. Not enough to really be called "worry," but enough that he wanted to go down to the caverns so as to be as ready as possible should he be needed. Besides, he couldn't sleep.
Hitting the appropriate keys on the piano, he went through the concealed doorway and took the lift down to the foundations of the house. As soon as he stepped into the chilly interior of the caves, his phone began to vibrate. Relieved, he answered it and lifted it his ear. "Yes, sir?"
"Alfred, I need a lift."
It was nearly four a.m. before the police let Cecilia go. She spent a long time sitting in a hard plastic chair with a really bad cup of coffee, waiting for them to question her. And when they finally did get around to the interrogation, there was a curiously half-hearted air about it. She got the feeling that they weren't entirely certain what to do with her, but that they were extremely reluctant to just let her go. She had heard one officer whisper to another that they hadn't been able to reach the lieutenant. She decided that Gordon's specialty was all things Batman, and that the rest of the department was a bit lost when it came to dealing with the masked…whatever he was.
When she at last arrived at the Manor, a sleepy looking valet took her car and let her in through a side door. Apparently it was too late, even for the ubiquitous Pennyworth. She wasabout to begin climbing the stairs when a beam of light from a cracked doorway just down the hall caught her attention. Wondering who else was up at this time of night, Cecilia walked toward it, realizing she didn't even know what was in the room.
The room proved to be a luxurious study, filled with dark mahogany bookcases, deep leather furniture, andplush oriental carpets. There was even a highly polished grand piano standing in one corner. A small blond headed figure was curled up in a large chair, staring absently at a painting of water lilies that hung on the wall.
"Richard?" she asked curiously. "What are you doing up?"
He jumped slightly, turning to look at her. "I couldn't sleep."
She slipped through the door. "Is this Mr. Wayne's room?"
"Yeah, he says this is his private thinking room."
"Did you come here to think?"
The boy shrugged. "Not really."
He was obviously brooding about something. Cecilia walked over to the piano and perched on the bench. "Do you play any instruments?"
"Nope."
"Then it's high time you started to learn. Come on." She scooted over on the bench to make room in front of the high keys. Richard reluctantly dragged himself over and sat next to her.
"Do you play the piano?"
"I used to. I find that there are few things more relaxing than playing scales. Now you put your hand here." She placed his left pinky finger on the middle C. "And I'll start down here. Now watch how my middle finger crosses over my thumb." She demonstrated a C major scale. "You try."
Richard sighed but slowly began plunking the notes. When he crossed his middle finger over to the A, she winced. He took his hand off the keyboard. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No. Did you hear the way the tone buzzed?" She reached out and hit the G and then the A again. "Do you hear it?"
He cocked his head. "Yeah, I think so."
"It means the piano string is vibrating against something it's not supposed to." She grimaced. "Almost as bad getting your teeth drilled. All right, keep going."
He did, but stopped on the next note. "Hey, this one does it too!"
She made another face. "Yes, it does. Maybe the wood got wet."
Without being prompted, Richard started back up the scales, listening carefully for the underlying buzz that seemed to annoy Miss Somerville so much. He found three more notes. An E and an F, she told him, and another A. "A,B," said Richard cheerfully, hitting them hard. "E, F, A."
In front of them, a section of the wall slid silently back. Cecilia looked at the gleaming bottles lit with a soft backlight, then looked down at the boy. His eyes were huge, and his face had gone absolutely white. "Don't look so alarmed, Richard." She stood and walked over to the hidden closet. "It appears we have discovered Mr. Wayne's private liquor supply. Probably a relic from the days of Prohibition." 'Thinking' room?she thought wryly.
"Oh," said Richard, in a bright, relieved tone. "We better put it back. Bruce probably wouldn't like us messing with his stuff."
"Of course." She stepped back. "I wonder how you…" The wall silently slid back into place. "That answers that question."
"I think I'll go to bed now," Richard suggested, sliding off the piano bench. He stood at the door waiting for her to join him, then carefully shut it. "Are you going to bed now, too?"
"It is that time of night," she agreed, smothering a yawn. They walked up the stairs together, and on her landing she was aware that he stayed and watched until she entered her bedroom.
She wanted to go to bed, but something about the boy's expression when the secret panel had slid back bothered her. Most boys would be thrilled with a discovery like that, but Richard had looked frightened. And she might never have another chance to access the room.
Moving swiftly but quietly, she went back down stairs and entered the study. She hit the piano keys to reveal the closet, then walked over to examine the shelves of gleaming cut glass decanters. If it hadn't been for Richard's reaction, she wouldn't have given the display a second thought. With a man like Wayne, it would have been more surprising had he not had a stash like this. And she could see why the hidden panel would appeal to him. Everything has to be a thrill.
She tried to pick up one of the bottles, but grunted in surprise when she couldn't even budge it. It took both hands to lift the decanter, and even then she could feel the glass slowly slipping through her grip. The bottom of the thing was seriously weighted. She put it back on the shelf before she dropped it and bit her lip in concentration. Why would you put that much weight in the bottom of a bottle? To keep it from tipping over…when the shelf swings open. She stepped back so that she could watch the angle of the light playing over the polished shelves. There. A smudge of fingerprints on the far end of a middle shelf. She grasped the shelf and pulled, but nothing happened. Frowning, she tried pushing instead. There was a soft click, and the entire set of shelves swung outward. Behind it, there was a dark cage, a crude elevator.
She stood in momentary indecision, wishing she still had her gun. Then, with a slight shrug, she stepped forward into the cage. Fools rush in… She pulled down the iron grille that blocked the front of the elevator and pulled the lever in the corner. Silently and smoothly, the elevator began to descend. ...where angels fear to tread.
To Be Continued…
A/N
DUN DUN DUN DUUUHHHNNNNNNN….
Good cliffhanger, huh?
The My Own Journal site is down, so I've PM'd responses for the last chapter. I'm sorry, I don't think I'm going to get responses for the chapter before that written, but please know that I appreciated each and every one of them VERY much.
