Wicked – Chapter 8
By Christopher W. Blaine
DISCLAIMER: All of the characters and events portrayed in this work of fan fiction are ©2004 by DC Comics Inc. and are used without permission for fan-related entertainment purposes only. This original work of fiction is ©2004 by Christopher W. Blaine.
Dark eyes squinted, the only outward sign of determination that young Bruce Wayne would allow to show. It was the fifth camera he had discovered, cleverly hidden on the grounds of Wayne Manor and it was the fifth time he had been stumped as to what to do about it. He turned quickly, but Ted Grant, his appointed bodyguard did not bother to hide. It had been made painfully clear by Alfred that the new head of security was here to stay, at least for the time being.
He returned his attention to the camera, a rather bulky thing that had some camouflage netting over it. It was inside a set of bushes and covered one of the many ways off of the property. He wanted to turn it off or tear it out of the ground, but his eleven year old mind simply could not figure out how. He could not imagine, at that moment, how one day cameras would be meaningless to him.
The boy was patient as Ted approached. The former boxer was dressed in a dark suit and he kept his hands in his pockets as he moved towards his charge. "I don't like the cameras," Bruce told him. "They mess up the look of my house."
Ted nodded. "I tried to keep them hidden, but they don't make anything less conspicuous," he offered as an excuse.
Bruce shook his head. "Talk like you normally do, not how you talk to Alfred. Your face scrunches up and I can tell you are trying too hard."
Ted seemed to visibly relax. "Awright, is this better?"
Bruce nodded and turned back to the camera. "I'll get shocked if I try to pull the wires out, won't I?"
Ted squatted down on his haunches and picked up a twig. "Probably. Probably hurt like hell. And, you'd deserve it for being so dumb."
"You can't stop me," Bruce announced. "Nobody can."
"Kid, have you ever considered how stupid it is..."
"It isn't stupid," Bruce said, his voice giving Ted a slight chill. Before he could continue the conversation Bruce turned and started to walk away. The boy's head moved back and forth, scanning the shrubbery and landscape for any and all changes that had been made to the grounds. Security specialists had been installing the latest in surveillance equipment over the last few weeks, all in preparation for Bruce's yearly constitutional into Gotham City.
For fifteen minutes the boy walked around the large house, his trip taking him to the small cemetery that held his parent's remains. As Ted came up behind him, Bruce started talking. "They didn't put anything here did they?" he asked. Ted wasn't sure if he was talking about the burial grounds in general or about his mother's grave which he stood in front of.
It was more than obvious that the boy was harboring guilt over his inaction on the night his parents were murdered. He had somehow convinced himself that the bullet that had killed Martha Wayne had been meant for him, but common sense dictated that his mother had always been the target. "No, I made sure that this was kept untouched," Ted told him.
Bruce nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Grant." It was truly the first kind thing Bruce had said to him since he had taken on the assignment of protecting him. "Can I ask you something personal?"
Ted shrugged. He had very few secrets. Even his Wildcat identity was not something he worked very hard to protect. "Go ahead."
"You're the same Ted Grant that was a fighter back in the old days, right?" Ted coughed and smiled, telling Bruce that it was a while back, but certainly not the "old days" as he put it. "How come you're so young?"
Ted took in a deep breath, wondering if he should consider changing his name and starting life all over again. It would make things so much easier when people asked questions about his age. "Something happened to me a long time ago; it gave me a second chance at life."
Bruce nodded and was very quiet for a few minutes. Then his hand went up to his eye and Ted knew that he was wiping away a tear. The boy could not help but cry whenever he got around the graves. "Why do you get two lives when my parents didn't even get a whole one?"
"Two for the Lance party," Ben said, straightening his tie. It was the only one he had and it did not match anything he owned, but he kept it because it was one of the few things he was able to get in his divorce. The small boy next to him was the other.
His ex-wife wasn't a bad woman or a bad mother, but she had problems communicating to him. It was that lack of communication that had ended their marriage; she had another man and had not communicated it to him. Luckily the jerk she was with now hated kids and so that meant he got his son free and clear. Of course, it would be nice to get child support but the court in Texas had laughed at the notion of a woman paying a man.
"Yes, sir," the hostess said with a fake smile. She looked as if she could die and when he saw how many people were in the restaurant, he could understand why. It was very crowded and noisy and full of cigarette smoke. Ben decided to forego the small talk and grabbed his son by the hand and followed her.
They passed many of the upper median income families of Gotham City, mostly small business owners or retirees. No mafia bosses or the super rich, just normal hardworking citizens that somehow believed that because they were part of the majority demographic group they were immune to the horrors that waited outside. They were too poor to rob and too rich to be considered scum. Suddenly Ben felt dirty as he realized that he belonged to this same group.
He pulled his son a little closer, hoping somewhat vainly that he could protect him from the arrogant stupidity that was permeating the room. Before he knew it, however, he was face to face with a stunning woman of youthful features and dark hair. The hostess moved away and Dinah offered her hand to Ben. "Nice tie," she said.
"You're not a real blond," he stammered out.
"I'm the only one who knows for sure," a man seated at the table said. He stood up and took Ben's outstretched hand. He gave a hard shake. "Name's Larry Lance," he said.
Ben's mind began to work overtime as he seated his son and considered the name he had been given. "You're the same Larry Lance that was a detective in the 1950's?"
The man smiled and picked up a napkin to wipe the mouth of a small child that was next to him. "Yep, might say I got the same disease my wife has. Can't grow old no matter how hard I try."
"That's your daughter, Mrs. Lance?"
Dinah laughed and gave him her real name. "Don't call me 'Mrs.' It makes me feel old."
"Honey, we are old," Larry pointed out as he picked up his child. The little girl giggled and squealed slightly and Ben was reminded of the days when his son had been younger, back before it became embarrassing to show affection in public. "This is our little Di, named after her mother."
"It was a lot easier than trying to come up with a name," Dinah admitted. Ben introduced his son quickly, but the boy was already looking around at other tables, trying to decide what it was he wanted to eat. "Tough day I suppose," she said before quickly relating the details of her investigations into the various areas of Gotham City. "I think you are on the money with the military angle."
Larry agreed and tickled his daughter. "I would have thought prison first, but then I'm an ancient old fart."
"As long as you don't disappear into thin air," Ben remarked.
"Huh?" Larry asked.
Ben sighed and told them about his visit from Jim Corrigan. "I mean, one second the guy is there, acting all creepy and then the next he's gone. And nobody saw him except me!"
Dinah turned away and her husband stopped playing with their daughter. They whispered quietly to each other and Ben assumed that they were exchanging ideas on it. What else would you expect from a detective married to a super-hero. "I tried to do a little research in Corrigan, but it ended up nowhere. Some of the older cops said he retired, others say he he's dead. Some even say he was killed back before the war."
Dinah waved the waiter over before anything else could be said. "Let's stop talking shop, okay? Tonight, let's put all of this bad stuff behind us and enjoy ourselves."
Ben reached up and loosened his pitiful tie. "Fine by me; I've had enough of this crap for a lifetime."
Wicked was in a fury.
He knew he was slipping up, that he was losing his edge. He had gotten far too comfortable in this city, with its people and the ineptitude of the local police to stop him. He had gotten cocky and the incidents the day before at the deli, both with the boy and the hot woman with the perfect butt had put him off. He needed to wrap things up in Gotham City and move on he told himself.
There were other cities he could visit, urban sprawls like Cincinnati, Star City and St. Roch. There he could start over; after all, local police departments didn't share information so it would be years before anyone tied things together. He truly wanted to go home, but Metropolis was unlike any other city in the country. Its law enforcement was top notch and free from corruption and they would hound him until he either made a mistake or confessed.
That still left him in a quandary. He needed to complete this set of murder and rape or else his reputation would be ruined. He would become a list statistic. He wanted to be greater than Bundy and to do that, he needed to prey upon the fears of the populace by attacking them on both ends of the spectrum. Then, when the common folk began to feel they were safe, he would strike at them!
And he had no reason for doing it, none at all. He simply enjoyed it.
The girl was still whimpering and occasionally he would hear her start to pray or whisper for her mommy and daddy. None of them were going to help her. Nobody was going to help her.
He looked at her, with her torn clothing that exposed her more private areas to him and he felt himself beginning to get aroused at the same time he was angry. Suddenly she became the focus of his rage and he stomped over to her and she opened her mouth to protest. He punched her, harder than he ever had before and knock out a tooth. He puled her head down and bounced her face off of his knee and then pushed her back onto the bed.
Blood was coming out her mouth, but he didn't care. What he saw was the woman with the perfect butt that had made him feel small and useless in front of the deli. "Come on, bitch, laugh at me now," he said as he pulled off his shirt, exposing his bulging muscles. The girl was fearful now, adrenaline pumping her legs as she tried to scoot away. He reached out and grabbed her by the ankle, pulling her back to him. "Open your legs!" he screamed. The girl shook her head, gaining courage from her desperation. It did nothing but excite him.
She kicked out and caught him upside the head, but he rolled with it and put his hands on her thighs. "Not so hot now, are you?" he asked as he forced them open. Again she resisted and finally voiced her opposition. "No!"
"No?" he laughed. He reached to the small of his back and grasped the large hunting knife by the hilt and slowly pulled it out. "You'll do what I say, or else you'll die!"
"I don't care!" she said, defiance growing in her voice. "My daddy told me to never be afraid...to never stop fighting!"
He moved quicker than her eye could follow, the knife blade plunging through her throat, cutting the tissue and coming out the back. Her eyes popped open in surprise, in the realization that her life was about to end. "Where's your daddy now?" he asked, removing his hand from the weapon.
She rolled to the side, bright red blood pouring out of her throat, gurgling sounds coming from the hole he had created. "Daddy can't help now! Daddy let you down! Daddy is gonna let you die!" He continued to taunt her, to laugh and make childish remarks like "nyah, nyah". He even went so far as to climb up and lick her face, asking her what it was like, knowing she had pushed him too far.
Her body thrashed slightly and then began to jerk; he recognized the signs of death as it approached, stomping on the soul as it came to claim its prize. Her eyes looked to him once more and then began to roll back into her head.
He grabbed her chilling body and pulled her closer with one hand, the other hand pulling at the clasp to his pants.