Chapter 11: Day's End
The four horsemen of the apocalypse, brutish creatures which the human imagination cannot even begin to describe, permeate each facet of our society in ways unseen to all save a very few. With his dark hair slicked back, grey suit and tie in place to conceal his true nature, he takes a deep breath of pure city air before entering the lobby of Gotham General Hospital. Pestilence and death, two of the horsemen, comb these halls and he can feel their icy grips beyond each door he passes, beckoning to him. He ignores their enticing calls and slowly saunters to the registration desk. He smiles politely at the nurse who looks back wearily. "May I help you?" she asks, near comatose. It's been a long shift. He flashes a badge, "Detective MacMurtney, GCPD."
"So?" The nurse is tired and in no mood for an interruption that may lengthen her work day, like this one. Then she notices the frightful gleam in his eyes and he grins with satisfaction as he realizes she understands. "I'd like to know what patients a Dr. Thaddeus Marcus was involved with during his time here at Gotham General. He was murdered last night and we're searching for motives."
"Of course," the nurse nervously smiles back. She types a few words into her terminal and prints the result. She then hands it to the detective who leafs through it as she agitatedly looks on. He grins once more and her terror filled heart nearly stops.
A lumbering shadow then presents itself beside the detective. It is an unkempt, overweight, trench coat and fedora wearing man who rests against the reception desk. He flashes a badge and manages a half-hearted smile at the nurse on duty, "Hi there, toots. Detective Harvey Bullock, GCPD. We want some info on a Dr. Thaddeus Marcus who used to work here and..."
The nurse gives Bullock a bizarre glance and turns her eyes towards MacMurtney, whose only response is yet another grin. He looks Bullock in the eyes. "I believe this is what you need, detective," MacMurtney coolly remarks as he slides the computer printout over. Bullock sneers back as he eases his right arm to his holster, "Detective MacMurtney, I presume?"
"Only by day," MacMurtney grins. Bullock whips out his .45, but it's already too late. MacMurtney is on him, grabbing the barrel of the gun and pointing it straight down as he delivers a brutal punch to the rotund detective's stomach. He falls to his knees. Bullock has taken many punches in his life, and this one bested them all. He grunts in pain as MacMurtney makes his way out. Bullock, to his credit, manages to shake off the punch faster than most men and is outside the hospital scant moments later. MacMurtney is nowhere to be seen.
"Batman," Bullock gurgles before going back inside.
...
It's the late afternoon and the sun has begun its slow descent, bringing with it long, menacing shadows that traverse the landscape. Bruce Wayne notes the phenomenon as he carries a narrow wooden crate across the manor grounds. Sunset has always been his daily dénouement, and already his inner ghosts were crying for release. However, this night will be different. One way or another, it will end, he can feel it.
He gently drops the crate to the ground and turns towards a nearby bush. Kicking it in just the right spot it clicks. He grabs the thorny vegetation and pulls it up, revealing a black hole leading deep underground. Bruce grabs hold of his precious cargo and steps in, pulling the bush back down behind him, resealing the trap door. He flips a light switch and continues downward, passing by tarp-covered mementos. All of these were taken out of the manor recently, after his police guard was appropriately distracted, and after other matters had been taken care of.
He pauses at an empty corner of the underground passage and lays the final memento on the floor. He takes a moment to open the top of the crate and slowly removes a large, protective plastic case. Bruce looks within the clear barrier in his hands and stares at the painting inside, the original portrait of his parents, and shakes his head forcibly. "Shot through the heart," he closes his eyes and tries to listen to his own heartbeat, "So was I."
...
"He slugged me!" Even in his most sated state Harvey Bullock is near unapproachable. Right now he's one step away from certifiable, squeezing the barrel of his gun as he tries to calm down. Bullock learned long ago that metal is the only thing that won't bend to his will, and he grits his teeth as he repeats his words, "HE slugged ME!"
Commissioner Gordon tries to ignore his detective's complaints, intently focusing on the hastily constructed file on Dr. Marcus, but even he has his limits. Gordon lowers the file and gives Bullock an annoyed glance, "You're sure it was him? It could have been the Joker in disguise."
"It was Batman," Bullock replies in a low growl.
"Maybe he was one of Joker's henchmen?"
"It was THE Batman," Bullock answers, his voice slightly raised.
"With the Mad Hatter's devices in his grasp, Joker's henchmen could have increased strength..."
Bullock slams his fist onto the desk and screams, "IT-WAS-THE-FREAKING- BATMAN!"
Gordon doesn't even jump. He just looks back into the file. "It's almost like this MacMurtney character was giving us a trail to follow. He keeps the same alias and disguise, and asks about the same doctor while visiting Arkham, the First National Bank, and Gotham General. He must have known we'd be going to the same places after Marcus was murdered. Anyone could figure out that much. I mean, why would the vigilante killer..."
"Batman," Bullock interrupts.
"...unknown vigilante killer go after a psychologist and former Gotham General resident? Heck, why switch from resident to psychologist in the first place? Does psychology pay that much better, especially when it's done at Arkham?"
"I wouldn't know," Bullock answers in a surprisingly calm voice, "Look Commish, the sun's setting." As Bullock mentions the fact Gordon's office develops long shadows across the walls. Gordon doesn't keep the indoor light on during the day and the room becomes a macabre collection of dark pools with angled edges, inching from one side of the room to the other. A shiver crosses Bullock's spine as the shadows reach the centre of the room, creating the effect of a police commissioner sliced in twain, between his light and dark halves.
"You know, I don't think I've been in here when the sun's setting," Bullock whispers, "It's kinda creepy."
"Is it?" Gordon answers, distracted by the file, "I've never noticed." As he looks down, sections of the shadow-covered text begin to develop an eerie radiance thanks to an application of glow-in-the-dark ink, MacMurtney's handiwork. His highlighting outlines several large deposits that correspond to changes in Dr. Marcus' life, a familiar name on the Marcus patient list, and something else, written as a note on the side, which turns Gordon white as a ghost.
"I'm leaving," the Commissioner mutters, his face stoic and unmoving as he gets up.
Bullock rises as well. "You're going to go see the Bat, aren't you? I'm going with you!"
Gordon knows how stubborn Bullock can be and doesn't argue, "After you." As the rotund detective turns he feels the full weight of an expertly wielded gun butt strike his skull from behind. He slumps to the floor in a heap, unconscious. Gordon then casually tosses his gun into his trench coat pocket and removes his badge. He takes a quick glance, frowns, and tosses it onto his desk. Adjusting the sling supporting his still sore right arm he storms out of his office, slamming his door shut behind him. As it crashes shut the window cracks across the center...
...
The officer has decided that he hates driving this road. Having just been relieved in his shift at Wayne Manor, by the Commissioner of all people, the officer finds it near impossible to relax. He continues to mutter obscene curses at Bruce Wayne for forcing him on such a useless errand earlier that day.
"I thought I heard something, in the west wing. Could you check it out?" the officer mimics his charge in a child like voice. It took him over three hours to scour the entire wing, and then another hour to find his way back to Wayne!
'Why does Mr. Bigshot get a police guard anyway?' he fumes, 'Most folks who need it can't get one, but the Commish says Mr. Bigshot got a threat and BAM, I'm standing like a dope in his front yard.' Oh, don't get him wrong. He enjoys the scenery provided by the rural route, and its calming effect. In fact the drive is quite pleasant at certain stages, like the coming turn where you can see one of the largest trees Gotham has ever produced. Truly it's a wonder. It's Bruce Wayne who fills his stomach with bile. And it's the next stage of his trek that makes him lock the doors and become a little more leaden with the gas pedal. To his right there's an inscription carved in near ancient stone, the source of his anxiety, 'Arkham's Asylum for the Criminally Insane.'
Without warning, as if falling from heaven above, a beautiful red headed woman lands before the startled officer's vehicle. Her eyes seem as blazing embers as the headlights strike them, spooking the officer. He mutters another curse and tries to swerve his squad car out of the way. Instead of careening off the road a giant wall of roots and vines sprout from the earth, which his car crashes into with a ferocious impact. The wall then vanishes as mysteriously as it came. The red headed woman begins to walk towards him and it is at this moment, dazed and bloodied from the impact, that the seat-belted officer notices how green her complexion is.
'She's not human, is she?'
He desperately stumbles for his sidearm only to feel her gentle fingers remove it from his hand at the very last moment. The officer tries to hide his fear as he feels the noxious aura around the woman permeate the very air he breathes, dulling his senses. She smiles playfully and places one hand about his throat and the other points the gun at the side of his temple. Strangely, he's unafraid of the gun.
"You like me, don't you?" she asks in a very alluring tone. The officer nods as best he can; unable to understand why this is the only answer he wants to give. His arms ache and blood is pouring out of his nose.
"Good," she continues, "then we can be friends, can't we?" Again he nods. He wants to please her, and he doesn't know why.
"So tell me," she pauses and the officer could swear that for an instant her skin's hue changed to something more natural, more human. She shakes her head and continues, "So tell me, where is Commissioner Gordon?"
The officer's eyes jump from the gun to the woman's face. He needs help, but none is coming. And she's so beautiful. "Wayne," is all he can whisper before darkness claims him. She then removes the officer's limp form from the cruiser and binds his more severe wounds with hastily grown leaves and vines. She then returns to the car and turns the ignition. It still works. Reversing the car's direction she speeds down the road, her face contorted in rage, "Soon."
...
Darkness seems to arrive on the wings of some bizarre demon that night. The stars appear to lose their lustre next to the more dull and sinister moon, its usual bright glow replaced by a strange yellow light, giving all of Gotham's denizens reason to fear for the future. 'It's a night when men do strange things,' thinks Commissioner James W. Gordon as he treads upon the steps of Wayne Manor, 'and none stranger than what I'm about to do.'
Gordon approaches the officer currently charged with Bruce Wayne's protection. He smiles and orders the man to take the rest of the night off. The officer looks confused but obeys his superior. Gordon waits for him to drive off and onto the main street before turning towards the massive oaken doors guarding the manor entrance and knocks firmly. He then tries to slip his hand into the pocket containing his revolver. Before he can do so the door flies open and there, standing before him in full black and gray, is the dread Batman.
"This can't be good," is all Gordon can muster before two powerful arms drag him in. With a kick the doors close, immersing both men in absolute darkness.
TO BE CONTINUED...
The four horsemen of the apocalypse, brutish creatures which the human imagination cannot even begin to describe, permeate each facet of our society in ways unseen to all save a very few. With his dark hair slicked back, grey suit and tie in place to conceal his true nature, he takes a deep breath of pure city air before entering the lobby of Gotham General Hospital. Pestilence and death, two of the horsemen, comb these halls and he can feel their icy grips beyond each door he passes, beckoning to him. He ignores their enticing calls and slowly saunters to the registration desk. He smiles politely at the nurse who looks back wearily. "May I help you?" she asks, near comatose. It's been a long shift. He flashes a badge, "Detective MacMurtney, GCPD."
"So?" The nurse is tired and in no mood for an interruption that may lengthen her work day, like this one. Then she notices the frightful gleam in his eyes and he grins with satisfaction as he realizes she understands. "I'd like to know what patients a Dr. Thaddeus Marcus was involved with during his time here at Gotham General. He was murdered last night and we're searching for motives."
"Of course," the nurse nervously smiles back. She types a few words into her terminal and prints the result. She then hands it to the detective who leafs through it as she agitatedly looks on. He grins once more and her terror filled heart nearly stops.
A lumbering shadow then presents itself beside the detective. It is an unkempt, overweight, trench coat and fedora wearing man who rests against the reception desk. He flashes a badge and manages a half-hearted smile at the nurse on duty, "Hi there, toots. Detective Harvey Bullock, GCPD. We want some info on a Dr. Thaddeus Marcus who used to work here and..."
The nurse gives Bullock a bizarre glance and turns her eyes towards MacMurtney, whose only response is yet another grin. He looks Bullock in the eyes. "I believe this is what you need, detective," MacMurtney coolly remarks as he slides the computer printout over. Bullock sneers back as he eases his right arm to his holster, "Detective MacMurtney, I presume?"
"Only by day," MacMurtney grins. Bullock whips out his .45, but it's already too late. MacMurtney is on him, grabbing the barrel of the gun and pointing it straight down as he delivers a brutal punch to the rotund detective's stomach. He falls to his knees. Bullock has taken many punches in his life, and this one bested them all. He grunts in pain as MacMurtney makes his way out. Bullock, to his credit, manages to shake off the punch faster than most men and is outside the hospital scant moments later. MacMurtney is nowhere to be seen.
"Batman," Bullock gurgles before going back inside.
...
It's the late afternoon and the sun has begun its slow descent, bringing with it long, menacing shadows that traverse the landscape. Bruce Wayne notes the phenomenon as he carries a narrow wooden crate across the manor grounds. Sunset has always been his daily dénouement, and already his inner ghosts were crying for release. However, this night will be different. One way or another, it will end, he can feel it.
He gently drops the crate to the ground and turns towards a nearby bush. Kicking it in just the right spot it clicks. He grabs the thorny vegetation and pulls it up, revealing a black hole leading deep underground. Bruce grabs hold of his precious cargo and steps in, pulling the bush back down behind him, resealing the trap door. He flips a light switch and continues downward, passing by tarp-covered mementos. All of these were taken out of the manor recently, after his police guard was appropriately distracted, and after other matters had been taken care of.
He pauses at an empty corner of the underground passage and lays the final memento on the floor. He takes a moment to open the top of the crate and slowly removes a large, protective plastic case. Bruce looks within the clear barrier in his hands and stares at the painting inside, the original portrait of his parents, and shakes his head forcibly. "Shot through the heart," he closes his eyes and tries to listen to his own heartbeat, "So was I."
...
"He slugged me!" Even in his most sated state Harvey Bullock is near unapproachable. Right now he's one step away from certifiable, squeezing the barrel of his gun as he tries to calm down. Bullock learned long ago that metal is the only thing that won't bend to his will, and he grits his teeth as he repeats his words, "HE slugged ME!"
Commissioner Gordon tries to ignore his detective's complaints, intently focusing on the hastily constructed file on Dr. Marcus, but even he has his limits. Gordon lowers the file and gives Bullock an annoyed glance, "You're sure it was him? It could have been the Joker in disguise."
"It was Batman," Bullock replies in a low growl.
"Maybe he was one of Joker's henchmen?"
"It was THE Batman," Bullock answers, his voice slightly raised.
"With the Mad Hatter's devices in his grasp, Joker's henchmen could have increased strength..."
Bullock slams his fist onto the desk and screams, "IT-WAS-THE-FREAKING- BATMAN!"
Gordon doesn't even jump. He just looks back into the file. "It's almost like this MacMurtney character was giving us a trail to follow. He keeps the same alias and disguise, and asks about the same doctor while visiting Arkham, the First National Bank, and Gotham General. He must have known we'd be going to the same places after Marcus was murdered. Anyone could figure out that much. I mean, why would the vigilante killer..."
"Batman," Bullock interrupts.
"...unknown vigilante killer go after a psychologist and former Gotham General resident? Heck, why switch from resident to psychologist in the first place? Does psychology pay that much better, especially when it's done at Arkham?"
"I wouldn't know," Bullock answers in a surprisingly calm voice, "Look Commish, the sun's setting." As Bullock mentions the fact Gordon's office develops long shadows across the walls. Gordon doesn't keep the indoor light on during the day and the room becomes a macabre collection of dark pools with angled edges, inching from one side of the room to the other. A shiver crosses Bullock's spine as the shadows reach the centre of the room, creating the effect of a police commissioner sliced in twain, between his light and dark halves.
"You know, I don't think I've been in here when the sun's setting," Bullock whispers, "It's kinda creepy."
"Is it?" Gordon answers, distracted by the file, "I've never noticed." As he looks down, sections of the shadow-covered text begin to develop an eerie radiance thanks to an application of glow-in-the-dark ink, MacMurtney's handiwork. His highlighting outlines several large deposits that correspond to changes in Dr. Marcus' life, a familiar name on the Marcus patient list, and something else, written as a note on the side, which turns Gordon white as a ghost.
"I'm leaving," the Commissioner mutters, his face stoic and unmoving as he gets up.
Bullock rises as well. "You're going to go see the Bat, aren't you? I'm going with you!"
Gordon knows how stubborn Bullock can be and doesn't argue, "After you." As the rotund detective turns he feels the full weight of an expertly wielded gun butt strike his skull from behind. He slumps to the floor in a heap, unconscious. Gordon then casually tosses his gun into his trench coat pocket and removes his badge. He takes a quick glance, frowns, and tosses it onto his desk. Adjusting the sling supporting his still sore right arm he storms out of his office, slamming his door shut behind him. As it crashes shut the window cracks across the center...
...
The officer has decided that he hates driving this road. Having just been relieved in his shift at Wayne Manor, by the Commissioner of all people, the officer finds it near impossible to relax. He continues to mutter obscene curses at Bruce Wayne for forcing him on such a useless errand earlier that day.
"I thought I heard something, in the west wing. Could you check it out?" the officer mimics his charge in a child like voice. It took him over three hours to scour the entire wing, and then another hour to find his way back to Wayne!
'Why does Mr. Bigshot get a police guard anyway?' he fumes, 'Most folks who need it can't get one, but the Commish says Mr. Bigshot got a threat and BAM, I'm standing like a dope in his front yard.' Oh, don't get him wrong. He enjoys the scenery provided by the rural route, and its calming effect. In fact the drive is quite pleasant at certain stages, like the coming turn where you can see one of the largest trees Gotham has ever produced. Truly it's a wonder. It's Bruce Wayne who fills his stomach with bile. And it's the next stage of his trek that makes him lock the doors and become a little more leaden with the gas pedal. To his right there's an inscription carved in near ancient stone, the source of his anxiety, 'Arkham's Asylum for the Criminally Insane.'
Without warning, as if falling from heaven above, a beautiful red headed woman lands before the startled officer's vehicle. Her eyes seem as blazing embers as the headlights strike them, spooking the officer. He mutters another curse and tries to swerve his squad car out of the way. Instead of careening off the road a giant wall of roots and vines sprout from the earth, which his car crashes into with a ferocious impact. The wall then vanishes as mysteriously as it came. The red headed woman begins to walk towards him and it is at this moment, dazed and bloodied from the impact, that the seat-belted officer notices how green her complexion is.
'She's not human, is she?'
He desperately stumbles for his sidearm only to feel her gentle fingers remove it from his hand at the very last moment. The officer tries to hide his fear as he feels the noxious aura around the woman permeate the very air he breathes, dulling his senses. She smiles playfully and places one hand about his throat and the other points the gun at the side of his temple. Strangely, he's unafraid of the gun.
"You like me, don't you?" she asks in a very alluring tone. The officer nods as best he can; unable to understand why this is the only answer he wants to give. His arms ache and blood is pouring out of his nose.
"Good," she continues, "then we can be friends, can't we?" Again he nods. He wants to please her, and he doesn't know why.
"So tell me," she pauses and the officer could swear that for an instant her skin's hue changed to something more natural, more human. She shakes her head and continues, "So tell me, where is Commissioner Gordon?"
The officer's eyes jump from the gun to the woman's face. He needs help, but none is coming. And she's so beautiful. "Wayne," is all he can whisper before darkness claims him. She then removes the officer's limp form from the cruiser and binds his more severe wounds with hastily grown leaves and vines. She then returns to the car and turns the ignition. It still works. Reversing the car's direction she speeds down the road, her face contorted in rage, "Soon."
...
Darkness seems to arrive on the wings of some bizarre demon that night. The stars appear to lose their lustre next to the more dull and sinister moon, its usual bright glow replaced by a strange yellow light, giving all of Gotham's denizens reason to fear for the future. 'It's a night when men do strange things,' thinks Commissioner James W. Gordon as he treads upon the steps of Wayne Manor, 'and none stranger than what I'm about to do.'
Gordon approaches the officer currently charged with Bruce Wayne's protection. He smiles and orders the man to take the rest of the night off. The officer looks confused but obeys his superior. Gordon waits for him to drive off and onto the main street before turning towards the massive oaken doors guarding the manor entrance and knocks firmly. He then tries to slip his hand into the pocket containing his revolver. Before he can do so the door flies open and there, standing before him in full black and gray, is the dread Batman.
"This can't be good," is all Gordon can muster before two powerful arms drag him in. With a kick the doors close, immersing both men in absolute darkness.
TO BE CONTINUED...