15 years ago...
The sky was gray with streaks of crimson and gold as the sun set over Gotham and the old stone walls of Arkham Asylum. It was a pleasant and warm evening, still and quiet...until the screaming started.
A plume of black smoke had been the first sign that something was wrong in the depths of the ancient hospital. Alarms, which should have triggered instantly, took at least ten minutes to sound, finally alerting those present in the building of the fire. No one had cared to test them in a very long time, delaying the evacuation of patients and staff.
The smoke was mainly coming from the lowest windows of the west wing that had shattered due to the intense heat. It did not take long for the elevator shafts and stairwells to be engulfed in the toxic, black clouds spreading through the facility. Frightened screams rose in a symphony of panic, both from those labeled insane and those hired to provide them care.
Officer Harvey Bullock was driving one of the first G.C.P.D. patrol cars to arrive on the scene. He slammed on the breaks as soon as he was through the metal gate that crowned the entrance to Arkham Asylum. He was not a rookie but still carried the air of someone naive to the darker corners of Gotham.
"Mother of God," he mumbled to himself as dozens of silhouettes ran toward him from the bursts of red flame engulfing the west side of the complex. He took one long, steadying breath and then exited the patrol car.
Several other G.C.P.D. vehicles had lined up nearby with officers looking as stunned and terrified as Bullock felt. The fire seemed to be growing with sickening speed and there were no G.C.F.D. trucks yet on site. He ran toward the patrol car nearest his own.
"Hey!" he called out, "What the hell happened?"
"Damned if I know!" the other officer called back, "And damned if I'm going in to find out!"
A new burst of heat caused all the officers to duck for cover as a section of the main floor exploded. A new volley of screams echoed across the courtyard. Bullock raised his eyes as soon as the immediate danger had passed.
"We gotta get these people out of here!" he yelled and began to move toward the asylum. He did not wait to see if anyone had joined him.
People were running for the front gates in a stampede, white coats and striped uniforms blending into a wave of humanity. Bullock tried to bark orders to the evacuees but it was impossible to be heard over the cacophony of fear.
He reached one of the main entrances where there were dozens of people trying to shove through. Grabbing arms and shoulders and anything else he could reach, Bullock pulled on bodies until they spilled out onto the pavement. The terrified mob scrambled away as the first sirens from the G.C.F.D blared onto the asylum grounds.
Stepping back, Bullock could hear cries and pleas for help from beyond the darkened door. He did not want to think how many souls may had been left behind bars when the alarms rang. He pulled off the black jacket of his uniform and threw it over his head. If he could get to a control station, then maybe he could save some of them.
Before Bullock could enter the burning hospital, a hand fell onto his shoulder and squeezed into a painful grip. The jacket was yanked from his head and he turned to face a plain clothed older man, G.C.P.D. badge clipped to his belt.
"Don't be stupid, kid," the detective growled.
As if to confirm the detective's words, flames rolled outward from the entrance, highlighting a column of dark smoke. The older man was shorter than Bullock but had enough strength to drag the younger man back toward the line of patrol cars.
"We can't just leave them in there!" Bullock protested.
"And what are you?" the detective shot back, "Fire proof? Can you breathe smoke? You'd be dead before you got ten steps in that door!"
Bullock shook free of the other man's grasp, "Well, what then? We just let people die!"
The older man got in his face and screamed, "Listen here, you dumb punk! This isn't the time for god damned, wanna-be heroes to..."
A new noise began to rise around them, cutting off the detective's words. It was a grinding, like old machinery coming to rest. Bullock looked back at the building, convinced the walls of the old asylum were beginning to crumble. Instead, he and every other person witnessed something that would haunt them for years to follow. One of those Gotham legends everyone knew but no one wanted to talk about.
The fire had stopped. It had not been extinguished, despite the efforts of the G.C.F.D., but it had stopped. Like someone had hit pause on the raging inferno. The orange and yellow flames danced but progressed no further. Then, the fire began to roll back into the building, like its had used up its fuel and was making a retreat. The smoke remained, but the eerie firelight was fading out.
Several horrific seconds passed before Bullock heard the detective at his side choke out a few words.
"What...what the ever living Christ...is going on?"
Present day... about two weeks after the Wayne murders.
Detective Harvey Bullock sat back at his desk, spinning a worn football between his hands. The general noise of G.C.P.D. headquarters hummed around him but he had learned to tune it out years ago. He was staring at the front page of the newspaper on his desk, the Gotham Gazette.
CHILD SNATCHERS! The headline screamed in its accusatory way which nearly always seemed aimed at Gotham's police force. Luckily for the cops, this paper was a few days old. Bullock and his partner Gordon had found the abducted children and brought in the perps before they could ship the kids to god knows where.
Bullock's mind was not on the recent kidnappings, however, and his expression did not convey someone who was content with a job well done. His eyes shifted from the main headline to one just below it.
Arkham Survey Report Delayed. Simple and straightforward, overshadowed by the drama of the paper's main story. However, it stirred up memories in the weary detective that usually needed a few shots of bourbon to get out of his head. Arkham. He hated that place. Yet ever since Ed Nygma found that the child snatchers had used the drug ATP to knock out their victims, thoughts of the old asylum kept coming back to him.
And if that were not enough, the rescued kids had reported overhearing the name of the kidnappers' employer. The Dollmaker. It was enough to make Bullock take swigs from his bottle of antacid more often than his tarnished silver flask. The morbid nickname reminded him of someone he had encountered after the Arkham fire. Could have been a coincidence, especially since so much time had passed. But he had a feeling in his gut that he just could not shake.
Bullock squeezed the old football again and his fingers ran along a ragged seam, a repair he had done himself a little less than 15 years before. He thought of the day the football had been damaged, and a small smile formed on his face. That was a better memory, though not unrelated to the flashbacks of the Arkham fire.
Bullock was broken from his ruminations as a voice called his name. He turned around in time to see a young woman heading up the rounded steps toward his desk. He grinned and tossed the football back onto a stack of case files.
"Hey, kid," Bullock said warmly, "What are you doing on this side of town?"
Claire Selton smiled back at the detective and held up two white paper bags. Her auburn hair was pulled back in her typical braided style but she was clearly a little wind worn from her travels through the city streets.
"Dropping off some fliers for the museum at city hall. I stopped to get some lunch and figured I see if you were here," she said, taking the seat next to Bullock's work station and passing him his share of the food.
Bullock opened the bag and inhaled dramatically, "Burgers from Gracie's, huh? I said you were going to regret starting to work uptown, didn't I? There ain't nowhere to eat on those high class streets that's half as good as what you'll find down here with us scrubs."
Claire nodded and took a bite from her own sandwich, "That's for sure. Though the cafeteria at the museum isn't that bad... if you like fruit platters and fancy salads."
"Ugh, I don't think so," Bullock groaned comically, then asked, "How's that going, by the way?"
"Pretty good," Claire said brightly, "It's a big change from the library and the commute's a little longer. But working at the museum has been great so far. I mean, I usually ended up spending a lot of time there anyway so now I can just check out the archives anytime I'm on break or after hours. Probably sounds insanely boring to you but..."
Bullock held up a hand, "Hey, now. Boring is good. You plus boring equals me sleeping better at night."
Claire smiled at Bullock affectionately and then her expression shifted to one slightly more pensive. The detective caught her change in demeanor and put down his burger with a sigh. He had known this young woman for 15 years and recognized immediately that he was about to get bad news.
"Okay," he asked reluctantly, "What is it?"
Claire began to wring her hands, "I got a call this morning. From Constantine."
Bullock leaned back in his chair and scratched at his beard, "Constantine, huh? And what exactly was he calling you about? Huh? Just checking in or..."
The detective trailed off and waited expectantly for Claire to fill in the blanks. John Constantine was not the type to make social calls and they had not heard from him in nearly 5 years. Which meant there was probably something bad heading their way.
Claire sighed and leaned forward, speaking in a low voice, "He called about the stone. You know? The one from Fish's night club..."
"Oh. I know," he said, his tone becoming that of an experience interrogator, "Kind of hard to forget considering it almost got us killed."
"Yeah, well..." Claire began.
"Well...what?" Bullock grilled. He suddenly felt like he needed another dose of antacid to get through the ex-librarian's next words.
"I sent it to him," Claire finally admitted, guilty tone giving way to one more bold, "I took it from the tunnel during the fire and sent it in a package to him. It was the safest thing to do."
Bullock leaned closer and waved a finger in her face, "You put the demon rock through mail? What the hell were you thinking?"
"I was thinking I had to get it out of Gotham," Claire defended her choice, "And get it to someone who could lock it away from anyone else who would want to use it."
"Okay," Bullock said angrily, "Okay then. So...why did he call?"
The guilt returned to Claire's face as she answered, "Because...he confirmed...it's not the only one."
This time Bullock did grab out the bottle of antacid, tore off the lid and took a long drink. He then pulled out his flask and had a whiskey chaser. Once the burning liquid had gone down his throat, he took one long breath before speaking again.
"So?" he asked bluntly, "What else did he say?"
"Constantine is coming to Gotham," Claire said just as bluntly, "He should be here in the next few days."
Bullock held apart his arms in a wide gesture, "Terrific. That's just terrific. When he gets in town, you tell him to..."
He paused as he noticed another individual heading toward the cluster of desks. Bullock sighed and forced a smile on to his face.
"We'll continue this later," he said quietly to Claire, then pointed over her shoulder and continued, "But while we're talking about things that will ruin my day, let me introduce you to my new partner."
Bullock stood as James Gordon rounded the stair and approached their adjoining work station. Claire followed, standing from her seat and turning to face the new arrival.
"Jim," Bullock said in sarcastic greeting, "Glad you could join us. We were just having a bite from the diner."
Claire smiled and held out her hand to the younger detective, "Hi. I'm Claire. Claire Selton. Nice to finally meet you."
Gordon grasped her hand and gave it a firm shake, a look of mild confusion on his face.
"Jim Gordon," he replied formally then shook his head, "I'm sorry, uh, Harvey didn't mention he had a..."
"Cousin," the young woman replied quickly. Bullock inwardly cringed. Claire was not a good liar but fortunately it was a lie he had been telling the entire G.C.P.D. for more than a decade. The few people who knew the truth would not be sharing it with this do-gooder, rookie detective.
"Oh," Gordon replied and glanced skeptically at Bullock, "Didn't know you had any family in town."
"Yeah, well, I'm full of surprises," Bullock said with a shrug, then layered the conversation with some truth, "Claire used to work at Gotham Public Library but she just got a job uptown at the history museum. But, ya know, the food's better this side of town."
Gordon gave a short laugh, "That's debatable."
Bullock sighed heavily and gave Claire a look of weary chagrin, "See? See what I have to work with?"
Claire grinned and grabbed her lunch bag, "Sorry, Harvey. And sorry to you too, Detective Gordon..."
She jerked a thumb at Bullock, "He gets cranky sometimes."
"Hey!" Bullock protested, "Don't you have some old vases or something that need dusted?"
Claire gave Bullock an affectionate smile and popped him once in the shoulder, "Yeah, yeah. I'm going. I'll call you later. Nice to meet you, detective."
"Yeah, you too," Gordon replied, then glanced curiously at Bullock again before sitting at his desk.
As Claire headed down the steps, Captain Sarah Essen opened her office door and walked toward the two detectives.
"Hey, Captain," Claire said as she went passed.
"Hi, Claire," Essen replied but barely gave the young woman a glance. She was fixed on her homicide team.
"Uh, oh," Bullock said and took another pull on his flask as Essen began to explain their next case involving a missing financier...and a giant balloon.