A/N: I wasn't happy with the original ending; it just didn't fit right. So, here I present the new and improved ending.
He saw her on the terrace from three buildings away, dressed in elegant white silk pajamas that glowed in the light of the full moon like a ghost. She stood with both hands on the railing, staring off across the Gotham skyline. He swung a line and landed on the terrace floor ten feet to her left with little more than displaced air currents to mark his arrival. Silently he walked towards her, but without even turning she said, "Ah, the Boogie Man pays a visit once again." He came up along side her and took a similar stance, facing outwards with his hands on the rail.
"I just wanted to let you know he was captured tonight."
"Oh?" she said with little emotion. "Who was he? Do they know why he did it?"
"His name is Dante Russo. He believes his mother had an affair with Wayne and abandoned her family eight years ago."
From the corner of his eye he saw her frown. "Did she?"
Batman slowly shook his head. "The police believe Dante's father killed her and made up the story to cover for her disappearance. However Dante never forgot, and has been plotting revenge ever since."
She bowed her head. "I won't ask if he was injured during apprehension. That wouldn't be very ladylike."
Batman allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction as he said, "At least five broken bones and three missing teeth. Not that you're asking."
"Good," she responded softly. They stood there for some time, not looking at each other or speaking, until she finally mused as much to herself as to him, "I've been wondering a lot why he didn't kill me like the others. He had plenty of opportunity."
"I believe his goal was to humiliate Wayne, personally and professionally. He had heard the rumors of a possible marriage that could lead to a merger of Wayne Enterprises and Raven Airlines. Instead of martyring you to the cause, he wanted you to aide him by publicly rejecting Wayne."
She let out a loud breath. "I guess that's exactly what I've been doing too. Though to be fair I haven't heard from Bruce in weeks either. I don't think he wants anything to do with me anymore."
"You told him not to contact you," Batman said abruptly, regretting immediately the impulsiveness, but she seemed not to pick up on his faux pas.
"Well yes, but you'd think he'd at least make an effort." She sighed and hugged her arms. "Not that it matters. I might as well start practicing my nunnery vows."
"You're not Catholic," he reminded her.
"I know, but I have to have something to fall back on. I'm damaged goods now." There was a bitter humor in her words that brought out his ire.
"You are not damaged goods," he said forcefully, turning to face her.
Turning as well, she replied, "I'm not?"
A gloved hand came up and he gently drew the backs of his fingers down her cheek. "He could never damage the real you. Don't start down that road, you'll never find your way back." The hand fell away and he pivoted around, walking to the end of the terrace without another comment.
"I'm never going to see you again, am I?" she called after him.
"I'll be around, watching in case you ever need anything."
"What if I need this?" she pleaded.
"Call your boyfriend, that's what he's for." Then with the soft pop-swish of the grappling gun, he shot a line and launched himself into the air.
"Dante Russo!" the harsh voice of the guard called. He opened his one good eye to look up. The other was swollen shut, accompanied by a myriad of cuts and bruises on his face. His right arm was in a sling from the dislocation and his left leg was in a full cast. Tight bandages wound around his chest to keep his fractured ribs secure, making it an effort just to breath. The pain surged through him unrelentingly. The prison medical staff was approved to administer a minimal amount of medication to relieve the suffering, but it was never enough.
Without waiting for his reply, the guard signaled to a nurse for a wheelchair and then looked back at him with barely concealed contempt. "You have some visitors."
"I'm not really up to company," he tried to say, though his split lips moved hardly at all.
"Not really your decision."
With the nurse's help, they loaded him onto the chair and his was rolled from the hospital wing to a visitor's room. A bright overhead light illuminated the table, where a man was seated. Dante recognized him as the detective who'd shown up to arrest him last night, Penway. "Hello Dante," the detective greeted mildly as he was pushed up to the table sideways to accommodate his leg that jutted straight out. The nurse and guard stepped back against the wall in case they were needed. Aside from the blinding cascade of light from above, the rest of the room lay in shadows, yet he could make out a figure waiting in the corner behind Penway. A tingle ran down his spine as this mysterious spectator simply stood there, observing for some unknown reason.
Penway cleared his throat. "Feeling better?" he asked, without much actual concern.
"I'll live, I guess," he choked out. "What do you want?"
"You're in a lot of trouble, you realize that don't you?"
Dante tried to shrug, which only aggravated the injured shoulder.
Penway opened a folder that was on the table in front of him. He pulled out an x-ray and slid it across to Dante. "What do you make of that?"
Dante squinted at it. The x-ray was mostly dark with a white blob in the middle. With a little concentration, he could almost make out the shape of some human bones. He stayed silent.
"That x-ray was taken early this morning of the southwest cornerstone of the TigerCom building. You've heard of the TigerCom building haven't you, Dante?" Penway asked conversationally. The name itched at a memory buried deep in his subconscious, but he pushed it away. "Sure you do. That was the building your dad's company was working on when your mom disappeared, wasn't it?" Dante shuddered involuntarily. The detective's voice kept its low, easy tone as he continued. "As a matter of fact they were pouring the foundation the day after she supposedly ran off." He reached over and tapped at the x-ray in front of Dante. "Know what I think? I think that's your mom. That's where your father dumped her body after he killed her."
"No!" Dante screamed, his ribs burning with fire. He clenched the arms of the chair and squeezed his eyes closed. "She ran away! She abandoned us!"
"He beat her, Dante. Just like all the other times, only this time he didn't stop until after she was dead, isn't that right? He was jealous wasn't he? Often accused her of affairs with men she met through work. I'm guessing around this time Bruce Wayne joined the board. Lots of rumors about Mr. Wayne. Your dad couldn't help himself could he?"
"No! Stop it!" he screamed.
"He killed her and dumped her body and we're going to find out." Penway leaned back and sighed. "Unfortunately this x-ray came from an unauthorized source. Judges don't like evidence that's dropped off by men in capes and cowls. That could be a bit of problem, since without a warrant we can't go digging up private property. And owners typically don't voluntarily allow us to cause millions of dollars in property damage." He smiled. "Luckily for us the TigerCom building has just come under new ownership." His head turned. "Mr. Wayne, what do you think?" he asked to the figure in the shadow.
Taking several steps into the light, the well-dressed corporate head, and much-gossiped-about playboy, entered the light with a steady glare directed at Dante. "Dig it up," he replied firmly.
"No," Dante replied half-heartedly.
"Yes. I'm sorry about your mother, but she was a victim, just like all those women you hurt. It has to stop."
Penway closed his file and stood up. "Unfortunately, this changes nothing. You'll be spending a long time in prison considering what you've done."
Together the detective and the millionaire walked out. Dante was wheeled back to his bed in the infirmary where he lay for a long time thinking of a hundred different ways he could kill Bruce Wayne.
The call came not unexpectedly, what was unexpected, however, was the bundle of nerves that settled in Bruce's stomach as he waited for an answer to her doorbell. Then she was there, in a pair of lilac pants and matching cashmere sweater. "Bruce," she said happily. "It's really good to see you again. Come in."
He stepped inside and handed her the bouquet of flowers he'd brought, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek. Liberal use of makeup had hidden most of the remaining signs of her attack. "You look beautiful," he said sincerely.
"Thank you. Have a seat while I find something to put these in." She disappeared momentarily, only to return with a large cut crystal vase with the flowers arranged perfectly that she set on a low table.
"Where are your parents?" Bruce asked.
"Shopping. I asked them to give us some time alone." She turned to him with a smile and a wink.
"I'm glad. We really need to talk."
"I know, but later. Come on, I've got some lunch put out. Let's eat."
After a light lunch with polite conversation they retired to the living room with cups of rich Italian coffee. "So," Bruce started while she took a sip, "I suppose we should stop pretending this is a normal luncheon date."
Rebecca nodded. "You've heard they caught the Trash Man?"
"Yes. I want you to know that even though I may have met her once or twice at the museum, I was never involved with his mother."
"I believe you, Bruce," she said with a sweet smile. She swallowed hard and looked down. "Father wants me to go to a spa in the south of France to recuperate."
Bruce frowned. "Oh?"
"It's not an order, mind you, but without an incentive to stay, I might just take him up on the offer." She looked up at him from beneath her lashes in a manner that was both docile and aggressive.
"Incentive?" he responded weakly.
She pushed her hair away from her face. "I'm not trying to pressure you in any way, please don't misunderstand me. But I have," she paused and clenched her eyes for a second, "I have loved you since I was fourteen." He kept a mild expression on his face while she continued. "I saw your face on the cover of the Gotham Times when you came back from studying abroad. I even remember the headlines. 'Gotham's Prodigal Son Returns,'" she quoted. "You looked so determined, yet so lost at the same time." She sighed. "I cut the article out and put it in a scrapbook, along with hundreds since then. Even when I was stuck in Geneva, I had papers imported just so I could keep track of you. It sounds silly, but I fell in love with you then, and I'm afraid I still am. I had hoped that maybe you were starting to feel the same way."
She looked so vulnerable, like a flower about to be crushed under his shoe. But he had no choice.
"I don't."
Her face fell dramatically. "You don't?"
"I'm sorry, Rebecca. I'm afraid I've been stringing you along all this time. I can't give you what you need. But I think it's better if you know the truth now. Go to France."
"You can't mean that," she whispered.
"I'm sorry. I just can't change who I really am."
"A heartless pig?" she spat.
"If that's what it takes for you to get over me."
He stood up and straightened his jacket. With a curt nod he turned and walked to the door. As it closed he heard the crash of the flower vase shattering against the other side. Then the sounds of soft sobbing. Head held high, Bruce left the high-rise.
Two months after he'd put away the serial known as the Trash Can Man, Batman returned home at the crack of dawn from a long night of patrolling. The Penguin had set up a stronghold on the south side, and he's spent most of the time observing the activities before finally wiping out the illicit business completely.
"Long night, Sir?" Alfred asked holding a tray carrying a cup of coffee and looking as fresh as always despite the early hour.
"No longer than usual," he answered grimly.
While he was entering a log of the night's events, the Manor's phone rang. Through the intercom, Alfred said, "It's for you, Master Bruce. Commissioner Gordon."
Frowning, Bruce answered the call, stifling a real yawn. "How can I help you, Commissioner?"
"I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, Mr. Wayne. Dante Russo, along with four other inmates, broke out of prison about three hours ago. Several guards were killed or injured in the escape." He sounded tired as well, no doubt roused early due to the incident. "I'm issuing a directive that your house is to be monitored at all times."
"Thank you, Commissioner," Bruce answered hollowly.
Immediately upon disconnecting the call, he dialed Rebecca's number. There was no answer. Then he called the main phone line for the building, which would be answered by the doorman during off-peak hours. He let it ring twenty times before hanging up.
Pulling the cowl back on, he leapt into the Batmobile and headed back out. Twenty-five minutes later he landed on the balcony outside the Ravens' apartment. The French doors stood ajar. He stepped forward and pushed them open fully. What he saw in the room caused his breath to catch in his throat. Blood was everywhere like a Jackson Pollock painting. No wall was spared. Ahead, lying side by side in front of the sofa were the elder Ravens, eyes wide and empty, gaping wounds in their throats and abdomens. To the left was the corpse of the unfortunate doorman, equally mutilated.
A small noise like the squeak of a mouse drew his attention to his right. Dante Russo, naked to the waist and covered with smeared blood, stood in the hall entranceway, having come from one of the bedrooms. He left hand grasped a handful of Rebecca's hair as she kneeled beside him. She wore a tattered dressing gown, also covered in blood. Her face was bruised and swollen, and her eyes held a dazed, defeated look. She held her right arm against her body protectively, possibly due to a fracture.
"Nice of you to drop by, Batman," Dante said grimly. "But I'm sure you weren't invited."
"Let her go," Batman demanded coldly.
"No, I don't think so." He looked down at her with a fond smile. "She's quite a lot of fun once she's been tamed."
Rebecca's eyes rolled in his direction. "Help…me…" she rasped.
At the words, Dante shook her head viciously. "Did I tell you, you could speak?" he snarled at her. She whimpered softly in response.
Beneath his cape, Batman readied a Batarang. "I won't tell you again. Let her go."
Dante looked around as if Batman hadn't spoken. "You know, I do good work. I can't wait to slit Wayne's throat…"
Batman took his shot, aiming for the arm holding Rebecca at the forearm just below the elbow. He prayed she wouldn't flinch. The Batarang found its mark and Dante let her go with a howl of pain. Rebecca sagged sideways having lost his support. Batman lurched forward and grabbed Dante's right arm, flipping him neatly over his hip. Dante landed on the sofa and tumbled ungainly off onto the cooling bodies of Mr. and Mrs. Raven. He pushed himself up angrily, but Batman was already flying towards him. The two men fell into a heap onto the glass table and it shattered beneath them. Dante screamed as glass shards imbedded themselves into his exposed torso.
The screaming pierced her ears, and Rebecca moaned unconsciously. She started to pull herself towards the balcony just to escape the commotion, but her hand slipped in a pile of blood and she fell hard on her injured arm. Stars burst in front of her arm as the pain bit into her. She lay there for a few moments as the battle waged across the room. In the dark she could barely make out Batman in his black garb, but her assailant was easily visible as the light bounced off the bright blood. Her parents' blood.
Steadily, she began to pull herself along again, slow and carefully. She crossed the balcony's threshold and tried to pull herself up by hooking the railing with her left hand, but there was a loud crash as the doors were destroyed and the combatants flew towards her. She was shoved hard against the rail, feeling a sharp pain in her side, and slid down to cower against the wall while she watched punch after punch. Batman had the other pinned against the railing, landing a barrage of blows like a whirlwind.
Breathing started to become difficult and she began to gasp for air. She felt like she wanted to cough, but couldn't pull enough air in. It felt like a huge weight was pressing against her chest. She lowered her head to the floor as the blackness came, and really what was the point of fighting it?
She awoke in the hospital, her whole body throbbing with pain. Not again, she thought sadly. She had an involuntary urge to swallow, which was hampered by a tube down her throat. It made her want to gag. A rustling sound beside her alerted her to the person sitting next to the bed. She rolled her eyes and say Bruce sitting there, reading a newspaper. She tried to speak, but only managed a weak gurgle. He looked up sharply and their eyes locked. Tossing the paper aside, he stood and pressed a button over her head. He looked down at her and grasped her hand lightly.
"Welcome back," he said quietly. She could only stare in response.
A doctor and several nurses came in and surrounded the bed, pushing him aside. "Hello, Rebecca," the doctor said to her. "We're going to take the tube out; that should make you more comfortable. Now, when I tell you to, I want you to take a deep breath and then blow it out, hard. Okay? Now."
She pulled in as much air as possible and then let it out as he pulled. It made her cough and gag, and she felt her stomach heave.
"There. How do you feel?"
She took a few experimental breaths and then nodded. "What happened?" she croaked, feeling a burning sensation in her throat.
"You had a collapsed lung due to a fractured rib, among other things. But five hours in surgery put you right as rain."
Her right arm was casted up halfway to the shoulder, and it throbbed painfully.
Noticing her attention, the doctor said, "Broken in eight places. We put some pins in. In sixth months or so you should have your backhand up to speed and be racing up and down the tennis courts." He offered her a friendly smile. "Anyway, now you need some rest." He looked pointedly at Bruce. "Five minutes."
Once the medical staff had vacated the room, Bruce stood at her side again. "I want you to know I've taken care of everything. Your apartment will be as good as new."
"Sell it," she rasped.
He nodded and avoided her eyes. "The funeral is the day after tomorrow. Unfortunately, you have to stay for at least another week."
She shook her head quickly and mouthed, going.
"I'm sorry, Rebecca. You aren't in any condition to get out of bed."
She closed her eyes. He tried to take her hand again, but she pulled it away. Eventually he took the hint and left the room.
Ten days later, she was discharged. Her arm now held a much smaller cast, ending before her elbow, but it was still a chore to dress. After managing the buttons on her blouse she ran a brush through her hair gently; the scalp was still tender to touch. She slipped on a pair of flats and sat down on the bed to make a quick phone call, her hand shaking as she punched in the numbers. The call consisted of one word: "Tonight."
"Do you have someone picking you up?" the nurse asked, as Rebecca hung up the phone next to her bed.
"I'm taking a cab," Rebecca replied cheerfully and picked up her handbag before walking out of the room. Outside, an orderly waited with a wheelchair. "Doctor's orders," he said with a smile. Sitting down in the chair she allowed herself to be pushed into the elevator.
Downstairs the orderly left her at the front door with a salute and well wishes. She hailed the first taxi that came by. "Where to, lady?" the driver demanded.
"Blackgate Prison."
He looked at her strangely in the mirror. "Are you sure?"
"Positive." She fished a fifty-dollar bill out of her bag and slipped it through the slot in the partition.
"Okay," he said gleefully, and pulled away from the curb.
Inside the prison she filled out the necessary forms and submitted her bag for inspection. The guard pulled out several prescription bottles and gave her a questioning look. "I was just released from the hospital. You can call my doctor."
"I'll just keep it here," he said brusquely and then waved her through the metal detector. When no alarm sounded, she continued to the visiting area where she waited for forty-five minutes, flipping through back issues of Car and Driver before her name was called. She was shown into the room that had been bisected by a long table with glass cutting off the two halves. She sat down at the indicated chair and waited yet again.
Five minutes later, Dante Russo was led to the opposite chair. His face mirrored her own with fading bruises and cuts. He gave her an expression of pure confusion as she smiled sweetly at him and picked up the intercom phone. Reluctantly he did the same.
"How are you feeling?" she asked sincerely.
"Lousy. My lawyer's certain I'm getting the gas chamber." His eyes bore down on her, but she continued smiling.
"No. You're not."
"What?"
"You're not going to die in the gas chamber. In fact you don't even have to worry about the trial. You're going to die tonight. At exactly 8:30 pm, your dick will be cut off and shoved down your throat. After you've been violated no less than ten times. Enjoy the next nine hours of your life. I know I will."
The smile never faltered as she replaced the phone and stood up. Behind her he screamed and pounded against the glass.
"Have a delightful day," she told the guard who gave her back her handbag.
"Ah, you too," he said, giving her a half-hearted grin.
Outside she basked in the sunshine, content that money really could buy anything. Her only regret was that she wouldn't be there to see Bruce's face tomorrow when he received Dante Russo's head in a box with her handwritten note, Wish it was yours.
The End.