Black cape flapping behind on the wind currents, Batman swung easily onto the ledge. The window was never locked, and even if it were, it wouldn't matter. Besides, who in their right mind would try to break into Gotham City Police Headquarters?
Idly he retracted the line as he waited for Gordon to finish a telephone conversation.
"There's definitely a connection to Wayne. I'm going to have to have a serious conversation with him. Yes sir, I promise I will be tactful. I'll keep you posted. Goodnight."
As soon as the call was terminated, Batman slipped through the window and silently eased out of the shadow with a practiced economy of movement that made it appear as if he were a night wraith, instead of a normal man. The costume was designed to instill a superstitious fear, but it was the raw power beneath it, the threats left unspoken, the rock-solid resolve, that made him truly terrifying to behold.
James Gordon had worked with the vigilante for years, trusted him in a way he had no other, but there was always that one moment when he looked up to see the cowled head peering down on him that he felt like he had been earmarked by Death herself.
"Batman," he said, trying to cover the disquiet the unannounced appearance always caused him. "I'm glad you're here, I was going to call you in on this." There was only a nod in response, so Gordon passed the file across the desk to his unofficial partner. "A woman was brutally beaten and raped tonight at one of those uptown parties, and apparently she wasn't just a random victim."
A gloved hand flipped purposely through the evidence and reports already gathered. It paused at the plastic bag with the grim, if mocking, question. Gordon saw the interest. "Bruce Wayne. You know, president of Wayne Enterprises."
"I know," was the rumbled reply.
Gordon sighed. "The victim is his current girlfriend, 26-year-old Rebecca Raven, as in Raven Airlines. Wayne's a nice enough guy, though he does seem to go through women rather quickly. Odds are he stepped on some toes at one time or another. Probably a jealous former boyfriend."
"Perhaps." He moved on to several photographs cataloguing the girl's injuries, pictures that would later be used by the District Attorney if the rapist were ever brought to trial, photos that showed a beautiful face distorted into a visage of pain. Gordon wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a tensing of the other man's back as he shuffled through them.
"There's a lot of hatred there," he commented. "Hatred for her, Wayne,…"
"Whoever jilted him," Batman finished.
Gordon nodded, pleased they were on the same wavelength. "I've already instructed one of my officers to go back through unsolved cases of sexual assault. This may not be the first time he's struck out."
"But it's the first time he's left a calling card and hit close to home."
The tired and overworked commissioner nodded again. "It's a bold move. Maybe he's looking to get caught, but more than likely he's trying to make Wayne sweat. I don't know. How can you understand the mind of someone who could do anything like this? I have to talk to the Ravens after they get in tomorrow. They were skiing in the Alps. I can't imagine anyone hurting my child like this," he said sadly thinking about his own redheaded daughter, but she already had been hurt. With a twinge of shame he was secretly grateful she had been spared this ultimate violation.
"No DNA evidence recovered?" Batman asked, pulling him out of his reverie.
"No. At least he believed in safe sex. Hairs and trace fibers have been sent to forensics for analysis. Though she did say she bit him, if there was any blood it may have splattered on the sheets along with hers, we may pick up something there. Hopefully if she did bite him hard enough, he required stitches. I've got units combing the surrounding hospitals and clinics for any type of bite wounds. And there was one smudged fingerprint on the note. Other than that he was lucky. We're just hoping for some witnesses."
The cover was firmly closed on the case file. "You didn't interview the party guests after she was found."
"No. We weren't exactly sure what we were up against at the time. Couldn't reasonably detain them."
"And all the better to keep the scandal quiet."
Gordon frowned. "Police procedure was followed." He reached up and massaged the bridge of his nose, feeling he'd been somehow been upbraided by the Dark Knight in those few words of quiet admonishment. It was a difficult situation for him to be in, walking a tightrope between maintaining the girl's privacy and hunting down the animal who'd hurt her, not to mention a very politically charged problem involving wealthy and influential families. The mayor had already called him. Twice. "We'll go back and talk to them one by one over the next few days."
"It might be too late by then."
The file was slid back across the desk quickly. Gordon dropped his palm on it to keep it from going over the edge. "I don't think so…" but when he looked up, there was nothing standing in front of him, no night wraith, no agent of Death, no man hiding a wounded soul behind a mask.
He entered the hospital like he did every other situation – purposefully, quietly, and unseen. The reading lamp was still on in her room, casting a protective glow around her bed in a three-foot radius, leaving the surrounding area in darkness. This camouflage hid him as he glided over the windowsill and then stood motionless to watch her prone form, breathing gently, if audibly, beneath the thin sheet. Assuming she was fast asleep he stepped forward into the light circle to get a closer look. But he wasn't afforded this quiet observation opportunity. Her eyes flew open and she sat up, giving a small startled gasp.
"Don't be afraid," he assured, raising both hands into her view.
She settled back into the pillow easily enough. "I stopped being afraid of the Boogie Man a long time ago." Her normally silky voice had gained a rasp and her words were only partially formed as she spoke around the broken teeth and swollen mouth. She regarded him, and then declared, "I know who you are." Somehow he remained stoic, until she explained, "I've read about The Batman. 'Gotham's Protector' and all that. Are you here to protect me?" He could detect no trace of irony in her voice, but it didn't stop the jolt of emotion that ran through him.
"I want to find out who did this to you." He thought about her immediate fearlessness. "How can you be sure I'm not him?"
"You're too much of a gentleman?" She plucked at the sheet as her attempt at humor died around them, then reached over to the bedside table and picked up a Styrofoam cup filled with ice water and gently laid the straw between her cracked, red lips. He noticed the skin around her eyes had grown even more puffy and bruised as her body slowly reacted to the recent trauma. Finished taking the small drink, she replaced the cup and refocused on him. "You're just a little taller than my boyfriend. The, uh, guy, when he grabbed me, he sort of picked me up – you know, one hand on my mouth and an arm around my waist, pulling me off my feet from behind. I could feel his breath on my cheek so I know we were about even, but my toes dragged on the carpet. I think he'd only come to your chin." He nodded and she breathed deeply, perhaps regaining strength. "You know, I think this guy really has it out for Bruce," she said looking off in the other direction.
He frowned. "Did he mention him? By name?"
She nodded and he feared she would offer no more information, but then she faced him fully. "He said some pretty filthy things to me, like how could I be turned on by such a dimwit, I must get off on all that Wayne money or Wayne thinks he can buy anything, but he's not a real man, etc, etc, etc." She sighed unhappily. "He thinks I'm mad at him now, but I just didn't want to hurt him, and I know he'd be devastated if he knew. He's such a great guy. That man called me Bruce's whore, and you know what's really funny about the whole thing, and I mean funny ha-ha? I was still a virgin." She smiled sheepishly at him, or at least it would have been a sheepish smile if she could have moved her lips easily. "No one knows, not even Bruce, but he was always so polite it never came up. It's not like it was this prudish, old-fashioned morality thing, I was just waiting for the right time, and I really thought the right time was almost here." The apparent lightheartedness of her words was belied by the single tear that ran down her cheek. She reached up and plucked it off, almost confused to find it there.
Batman lowered his eyes, feeling the horror of his deception in a way he hadn't since first donning the cape and cowl. As he did so he saw that the hospital gown she wore had dropped down on the right side, revealing the slope of her breast, where he noticed the dark discoloration contrasted against her pale skin. The ugly bruise only peaked above the hem, and it was impossible to determine the entire size of it. She reached down and slipped the garment back into place. "He had quite the death grip on me," she explained plainly. "I'm sorry to embarrass you with my rambling, but somehow you're easier to talk to. Must be the anonymity of the mask, or maybe the black clothes, like confessing to a priest, not that I'm even Catholic." She coughed in a manner that could have been considered a laugh.
He wanted to touch her, hold her hand, comfort her in some manner, but in this guise that just wasn't possible. "I'll find him," he told her firmly instead. "He won't go unpunished."
"That's sweet," she said sincerely. "I don't know why I deserve such attention, unless of course it's because my father owns the biggest airline based out of Gotham?"
"It has nothing to do with money."
"In my world it has everything to do with money." She tried smiling again, but the expression turned into a grimace of pain and she gently laid a palm against her cheek. "I think I'm overdue for a pain pill. I'm going to have to call a nurse in a minute. Not that I'm not enjoying our little chat, but you may not want to be here when she comes."
He agreed, but her last comment had triggered something and he wanted to ask her one more thing. "Becky," he started without thinking, stopping as she turned to him with a quizzical look.
"No one ever calls me that, except for Bruce. It's always just Rebecca."
"I apologize. It's a common nickname," he said trying to cover his blunder. "The man who attacked you, I want you to think very carefully: how he smelled, the feel of his clothes, the way he spoke, do you think he was affluent, part of your social circle?"
She closed her eyes, taking his question with all due seriousness. "Well," she began slowly. "Aside from the vulgarities, I think he was more or less educated, not a lot of grammatical errors. The smell? Hmm. Cologne, possibly, or aftershave, not cheap, but not the expensive stuff either." Her brow furrowed and she whimpered ever so slightly as she tried to recreate attack in her head. "I think he was wearing a tux or some other kind of suit, but it wasn't quality, maybe a rental. It had that slick feeling, like it had been dry-cleaned too many times." She opened her eyes and several more tears leaked out. "Is that helpful?" she asked hoarsely.
"Yes," he said softly. "You've been very brave."
"I don't know about that." She frowned. "After I bit him, he hit me. I've never been hit before. I must have blacked out for a moment, because when I came to, he was…" she shuddered. "I asked him why he was doing this to me. He says I'm a faithless bitch, a dirty whore, selling out to the highest bidder. I just cried. I just lay there and cried. I didn't scream or call out for help, I just cried. And when he was done he said he'd make sure I couldn't cash in on my face anymore, that I'd spend the rest of my life alone, like I deserved. That's when he really got mean. I tried to get away, but it was so dark and wherever I went he was right there and I couldn't defend myself, I couldn't stop him." Whatever façade of control she had been maintaining slipped away and she started sobbing uncontrollably. This time he didn't resist the urge and placed his hand on her head. "How could I let this happen? How could I just let it happen?" she cried loudly.
"It's not your fault," he tried to console her. "You didn't let anything happen."
Suddenly she reached up and gripped the edge of his cape. "You said you'd find him? When you do, hurt him. Hurt him like he hurt me. Please?"
"He'll be dealt with," he managed to say while looking down into her haunted, pained eyes. Outside he heard footsteps and voices, and knowing it was time to make his exit eased out of her grasp, back stepping into the shadows as a handful of orderlies and nurses paraded in circling her bed in concern.
"Miss Raven, are you okay?" one of the staff asked.
"It was just a dream," he heard her respond weakly. He slipped out the window and was sailing though the air before they could even detect the incoming draft.