Inspirations
The manor was exceedingly impressive on the drive up. The road to the estate took you directly through a long winding trail lined by a series of over shadowing oak trees. He felt like he had driven back a hundred years, like he was the last man on earth. He wondered if that is what the Batman felt when he would drive this same path, if as if this road way was his only true sanctuary from the things he hunted at night. This road way was a limbo for him, between the world of the Batman, and the world of Bruce Wayne. It was probably the only place were he was truly free from his past, from his pain.
Alex wished he could share in just a moment of that, but to him his past, his pain was as ever present as the scars he bore on his body. As if they existed only as devil, to sit forever on his shoulder and whisper taunting things in his ear. To be free of those whisperings, for even an instant would be something Alex was willing to kill for, something he was prepared to kill for.
Slowly, through the trees a faint image appeared. A huge mansion that hung over the horizon and blocked out the sun. Seeing the massive line up of cars that were crowding in from an adjacent road Alex realized that he must have taken a path that was not open, or even visible to the other tourists. Interesting, he had inadvertently come across a path that differed from the norm, but ultimately lead to the same destination.
He snuck his car into the front of the massive line up of people dieing to gawk at the fabulous Batman museum. A few people honked at them, but like most good citizens that was about as far as they were willing to go to defend something. He was again lucky to find a parking space fairly close to the manor.
He parked the black rental and stepped out. When he began to approach the manor's front doors he felt as if he was a ten-year-old kid again, reading about Batman's great adventures protecting Gotham city from the likes of the Joker and The Scarecrow. Another thing lost in the old days, super villains. There hadn't been an official super villain in the world in nearly 20 years. At least not since the JLA became a global organization and started serving as the official world police. World secret police more like.
Once Alex entered the manor he was instantly overcome by a sudden feeling of nostalgia. The place had been perfectly preserved, the main hall a grand place. A large staircase that wrapped up around the floors, a still bright red carpet beneath his feet. Over hanging chandeliers and cast dots of white light around the room. The place was a fine example of splendour and nobility.
Small crowds gathered near several tour guides. They commanded people to come over, and informed that the tours would begin in just a few moments. Wondering around aimlessly with a bunch of tourists from Milwaukee gawking at things they have no respect for wasn't exactly what Alex had in mind when he came her. Instead he quietly slipped away from the groups, choosing instead to focus his attention on the various paintings hanging around the main floor.
To be honest he didn't feel like he had all that much interest in Batman, but rather in Mr. Wayne. We wondered what a man who lived in this kind of house must have thought about. The answer to that question was undoubtedly simple, "being Batman". Passions can be consuming, Alex knew just as much about that as Mr. Wayne did. As the main hall began to empty as the masses of tourists entered the Bat cave exhibit through the door behind the large grandfather clock. Alex snuck back into the hall, not being noticed by a single person. At the very far end of the large foyer was a double wooden door. He became very curious about this.
Quickly he moved towards it, mindful of anyone who might be watching. He reached for the brass doorknob. Curiously it was unlocked. He twisted it until he heard the click of the bolt, the door became ajar.
Inside was dark, Alex could barley see anything. He was only able to make out a few vague shapes and objects. He ran his hand on the wall beside him looking for a light switch, instead he came across a plastic knob. He began to turn it, to no effect. Then he had an idea. He clicked it in.
Suddenly a huge ball of fire ignited at the other end of the room. As the flame receded he realized that the fire was coming from a large stone fireplace, and the knob was the control for the gas output. He let his racing heart slow down before he continued closer to the fireplace.
The flames of the fire were like little demons, dancing an evil dance of pain and remembrance. He could still remember the feel of the flames that tore the flesh from his back, and left him covered in burn scars. His back was a leathery ocean of skin grafts and burnt skin, rippled and stretched. When he was on fire, those many years ago, all he could think to do was protect his hands and his head. He did that very well, as they were among the only few parts of his body untouched by the flames.
During the fire he bent down, running out of the scorching halls in a hobbled position. The broad of his back bore the worst of the burns, and along his left arm as well. But not the face or hands.
He slowly looked up from the flames, noticing they had cast a strange glow on something, something rather large. Hanging above the fireplace was a very large, very old painting of a rather noble looking gentleman, and his beautiful brown haired wife. Around her neck hung a string pearl necklace. It was that item that made Alex realize who the couple was. He began to look at the painting with a slight sadness, as if he could feel a pain emanating from it. That pain must have been unbearable for the former resident of the manor, yet he must have stared at this piece of art with such diligence.
"What do you think your doing in here!?" Alex heard the feminine voice emanate from behind him. The room was suddenly filled with light. He turned around and saw a rather stunning red haired woman about his age. She was standing at the doorway, her finger still on the light switch next to her. Her face had a rather stern look on it. "This room is off limits to visitors" She exclaimed harshly to Alex, who had a rather modest expression across his face.
"Oh I apologize, I uh was just rather curious" His voice was sincerely apologetic, he began to walk to wards the woman, on his way to exit the room. "I just was interested in Mr. Wayne, I guess I let my curiosity get the better of me" He moved past her and was about to exit the room when she grabbed on of his arms and halted him.
"Hold on a moment, Mr. Wayne?" she asked, her face abound with a slight look of confusion. Alex had his own look of confusion. "You said "Mr. Wayne", that you were interested in Mr. Wayne, and not that you were interested in Batman" apparently she was flabbergasted by the idea that someone saw the man of this house as who he was, and not who his alter-ego was.
"Yeah, that was who lived here right, Mr. Bruce Wayne?" he asked slightly sarcastic. The gentle read haired woman smiled and let go of his arm. She extended her hand in greetings.
"Samantha Grayson, but everyone just calls me Sam" she introduced her self, Alex went over the name in his head. He took her small hand and shook it in friendship.
"Alex Madsen..." he introduced himself, he paused for a moment then looked into Sam's eyes. "Did you say Samantha Grayson?, as in Richard Grayson?" Sam nodded bashfully, she flicked back her red hair from her eyes.
"Yes, he was my Grandfather. In fact I run this place. I inherited the manor after my father's death. You see Bruce Wayne didn't have any children or spouses, so he willed the estate to his former ward and protégé... my Grandfather, who willed it to my father, who willed it me. I've tried to keep the place in a preserved condition over the years, and I keep it funded by the Batman museum down stairs. Everything in it I also inherited along with the estate" She chuckled and brushed her long hair away from her eye's again. "but forget about me, tell me Mr. Madsen. What interests you so much about Mr. Wayne"
Alex moved past her and back towards the large painting. He looked it over then turned back to Sam.
"This mainly" He exclaimed. "I just find it so refreshing to see that someone who has been deified into some God amongst men was himself just a man overwhelmed by some past pain. That is what this painting represents, past tragedy" he gestured to wards the painting as he spoke, analyzing the brush strokes and use of light with his hands.
Sam noticed this, she watched his hand gesture over it. Deducing all the while about this man. Trying to figure him out. Being a detective ran in her family, old habits passed down from generation to generation. She approached the painting and stood next to him, looking it over. She had looked it over many times, trying to see just what it was that he saw all those years ago.
"It really does say so much, with so little. I imagine that when the artist painted it he had no idea that it would become such a symbol for both pain, and justice. To him it was no more then a pay check, but to Bruce, it would become an icon for his life" here words struck deep into Alex's heart. He held a solemn look over his face, as if it were carved from stone. He lowered his eyes to the floor, then he looked over at Sam, searching her face for answers.
"Pain can be a hard thing to live with, especially when it runs deep. I imagine that Bruce Wayne had no choice. Sometimes our only defence against the pain is to make it a part of us. And pretty soon the pain takes over, and all we have left is the will to appease it. I just wish that everybody who has suffered could find a constructive a way to deal with it" He chuckled, if that were the case there would be a hundred Batman's in Gotham. Everybody loses someone. But not like him, no one should ever lose anyone like him.
A panicky feeling suddenly came over Alex, he had to get out of there now. His mouth was dry and the room was swelling. He gulped back on the dry lump that seemed to be closing his throat.
"I... I have to go!" he stuttered, pulling away. Sam protested.
"Wait, why?!" she yelled. Reaching for him. In a moment of reflex she grabbed him, clasping onto his pocket. Alex tugged again and the old jacket pocket tore from his body, spilling its contents on the hard wood floor. Among them keys, half a pack of Rolaids, loose change, and a single 22-calibre bullet. Sam looked at it in horror. She bent down slowly and picked it up. Her eyes immediately darted up to Alex, who had that same stone face he had earlier. "What is this?" she exclaimed, holding the bullet up so Alex could see. Alex turned away from her for a moment, ashamed of what he had done, or rather what he was going to do.
"It's a bullet for the gun I have in my glove compartment," He whispered over his shoulder, turning his head slightly back to her. He dropped his shame filled eyes to the floor. "The gun I'm going to use to kill a man named Eddie Mallow. I was going to put a bullet, similar to the one in your hand between his eyes" Sam gasped and recoiled, her face covered in shock.
"Why, why would you ever want to take the life of another human being!?" She truly didn't understand why anyone would want to kill another person, she had always been raised to respect life, no matter who's it was. Alex spun around to her, a fierceness in his eyes.
"Because he stole everything from me!" His rage poured out, all the rage he had held onto for so long, out in an instant. His heart began to slow and he calmed his nerves, swallowing the rage back down, deep inside of him.
"Everything?" Asked boy wonder's descendant, approaching him slowly, compassionately. "what could he have possibly done to deserve such hatred?" Her voice was soft, caring, truly empathetic. Alex removed his jacket and tossed it on a nearby char. Slowly he began to unbutton his single long sleeve shirt. At first Sam was confused, but once the picture began to emerge she slowly realized.
Alex slipped the shirt of, his bare torso exposed to her. He turned around slowly, just catching out of the corner of his eye, Sam's face dropping in a morbid look. She saw the massive burns all over his back, crinkled and red. Like someone had taken a combine to him. Large patches of transplanted skin from his legs and buttocks were grafted onto the severely burned parts. It was a horrifying sight Sam would remember till she died. She put her hand over her ajar mouth and backed slightly away.
Alex turned back to Sam, his eyes coated in a fine mist.
"Five years ago I was a lead dancer in a Ballet troop. A man named Albert Allan's ran the troop. He was world renowned for his choreographing and artistic style. He built a recital house, "The Sapphire House". It quickly became very popular, and with that attracted a lot of elements that could see themselves profiting from us. One of these elements was a man named Eddie "The Hammer" Mallow, a thug and mobster. He tried to make himself silent partner, but Albert wouldn't have it. The Sapphire House was more then a business, it was our home. We lived in a series of apartments on the top floor. One night while we slept Mallow and his punks set fire to the main hall" Alex paused for a moment, choking back tears. "The fire spread, and pretty soon it was everywhere. I tried to get everyone out, but on my way out I the roof gave out. I was rained on by pure flame, burning me over my body. The House burnt down, and Albert was sent into bankruptcy. The troop was disbanded, and Albert killed himself a few months later. Mallow did all that, and for it he should be punished like no one before him!"
Sam sat down in a nearby chair, overwhelmed with the story she just heard. She clutched her heart, the stress of the situation had gotten to it. Reaching in her pocket she pulled out a container full of heart medication. She downed a few pills and looked back up at Alex, who had also collapsed into a nearby chair.
"So what, you're just going to walk up to him and blow his brains out?" She asked, monotonous, as if she was physically exhausted. Alex shook his head, he sniffed back the loose emotions and wiped his eyes with his thumb.
"No... I mean yes but..." he shook his head again and wrapped his fingers around his face. "I just don't want it to be that easy, it can't be that easy. I have to do something else, it can't just be a pull of the trigger and it's over. Mallow, he's the kind of guy that, even if he looking down a gun, he wouldn't be phased. I want to make him feel something, I just... I just want him to... to..." Alex looked up from his thoughts. His eyes once again wondered to the large painting of the Wayne's. Something came over him, a sort of epiphany. His eye's widened and he at up intently in his chair. The finally with a whisper he uttered.
"I want him to fear me"