Part Three
Police commissioner Gordon stared at the map of Gotham city gravely; dozens of dots littered the city, each one indicating a location that the Joker had hit. He'd spent hours staring, in search of a pattern, until finally here and now he was forced to give up.
"Napier's too clever for that." Bullock, an officer under Gordon's command and a personal friend, exclaimed entering his office.
"Crazy would be a better term." Gordon replied grimly, "Dozens of specialists, the F.B.I., hell even a psychic, and we still have no idea where this clown is hiding. And even our search for where Napier might have gotten those explosives he used on the school turned up absolutely nothing."
Bullock approached the city map and wiggled one of the tiny thumbtacks attached to it, "These guys always get to me. It's bad enough when somebody kills someone else just for whatever couple of bucks might be in their wallets, but these serial killers, man, they're the worst."
Gordon nodded slowly, "Makes you wonder, doesn't it? How much does it take to snap like Napier? Sure a bullet might have triggered his insanity, but what about all those others, husbands waking up one morning and hacking up their families?" He shrugged, "Listen to me, trying to sound like I know what I'm talking about."
"Well, what now?" Bullock asked sticking a cigarette in between his lips already reaching for his lighter.
"I think the problem is that I've been trying to find where he is." Gordon remarked brushing his fingers against his dark mustache, "What about trying to figure out where he'll strike next?"
Bullock shrugged, "With a city the size of Gotham. That'd be a pretty big task, especially for a police force that's suffered budget cuts like we have."
"Sir, come quick!" An officer yelled as he entered Gordon's office, "Napier just sent us a videotape!"
After the initial knee-jerk reaction they slipped the tape into the television set that Gordon had set up in his office. Officers crowded all around, leaving the police station in utter silence as the T.V. came to life.
The image of a bland and almost bare room somewhere appeared. There appeared to be a girl strapped to a wooden chair at the center, her face was hidden under a white cloth. Then the Joker himself appeared, dressed as a surgeon.
"Hello, Gotham PD, I assume you know who I am, and if you don't you sure will after my latest project." He laughed for a moment, almost unable to contain his emotion, "Sorry about that, now onto the matter at hand." The Joker grinned, "Now may I add that the chocolate chip cookies she brought were exquisite." He said pulling the cloth away to reveal his handiwork. "Now how's that for a smile?"
One young officer went for the bathroom with vomit on the way. The Joker stared at the young girl's face, proudly, "Now that I think about it I guess I should have spent a few hours watching the ER. Oh well." He said before bursting down again. Gordon would have liked to have taken a crowbar to Napier's head. "Do you want to know what's really funny?" The Joker inquired. "She's still alive, my good friends, with the use of sedatives to ease her pain, and block out the screaming, in addition to some other wonderful medicines to help prevent infection my patient has survived. Although who knows what other experiments must be attempted in the name of science." He exclaimed almost stalwartly. "I'm not totally heartless, however. I shall give you a week and a half to find her before I start exploring the mysteries of the human brain. Ciao!"
The screen went blank leaving every officer in shock, all except Gordon already standing up to help recollect the senses of his men. "Get on it, people! Find out if any girl scouts went missing recently, we have to stop this maniac in his tracks now!"
Alfred moved through the Wayne penthouse making his daily rounds. He made the bed as he did every morning, even though Bruce almost never slept in it, instead feeling the need to pass out drunk on the couch.
It pained the loyal butler to see such a young and promising youth throw their life away so carelessly. If not for the death of his parents, Bruce would have become like any other man.
Alfred moved through room by room. There were only two areas that Bruce really paid attention to. A small gym had been set up full of weights, punching bags and so forth. His only passion aside from drinking was fighting and martial arts.
He passed through Bruce's other favorite room: the study and was grabbing the various empty glasses that lay strewn about. Each one of them reeked of brandy, wine or whatever booze Bruce could get his hands on. Alfred was sure of it, if the alcohol didn't the young Mr. Wayne in, his own suicidal tendencies would.
Coming to a table in front of the fire, Alfred spotted an odd drawing Bruce had made with a simple pencil. It was a sketch of a bat but contorted and twisted, it almost looked humanoid. He reeled his head back and began to realize the room was literally full of similar sketches each one darker and more morbid than the last. Alfred raised an eye worried, "Why do I stay here?"
Bruce walked down the lonely dark alleyway of Gotham, almost a death sentence for a man that wasn't part of a gang, especially one dressed so obviously as a business man. He had been drawn here, something about that cave had triggered a response in him; it had started a spark that seemed to tap into every synapse and nerve.
Before long, out of the hidden corners of the long winding alley men emerged. Bruce could already hear their footsteps surrounding him. As the first came in he twisted around and elbowed the goon in the nose.
Two more appeared before him, with one lunging forward with his switchblade. Bruce grabbed the arm with amazing speed and contorted it around until he heard a snap forcing his attacker to let loose of the weapon.
His friend clumsily swung his right arm to which Bruce blocked easily enough and landing a kick to his shin forcing the would-be mugger onto the ground grabbing the injury.
The first attacker rose back up wiping the blood away from his nose and tackled this invader from the rear. Bruce's face slammed against the wall tearing skin. But he wouldn't be deterred. He managed to grasp the man's arms and pull them away from his own torso. As the criminal struggled in his hold Bruce landed a knee against his ribs and sent another blow into a nerve in his abdomen disabling him.
Bruce stood there quietly looking at the three men who lay helpless on the ground. He could hear others running through the alley, away from him. He placed his hand against the cut on his cheek and wiped whatever blood had managed to seep through. And without saying a word, Bruce turned around and quietly left the way he had come.