As the midnight hours dwindled away, Bruce slid into the back seat of his car and gave a slight groan. "Alfred. Why…why must I always get sucked into these things?"

"What things. Master Wayne? Giving money away to the community? I have absolutely no idea why you do it, but you should stop. Giving money to charity, puh…who needs it? They certainly don't." Alfred drawled from the driver's seat. Bruce couldn't help but smile.

"Alfred, I'm sensing a hint of sarcasm. Besides, I wasn't complaining about that. I was just…well, there was a charming girl at the party, but she just disappeared. I wanted to talk to her afterwards, but she…she just left."

"Ah, the fantastic Bruce Wayne lost another catch. I'm sorry sir, but you only bring those sorts of hardships to yourself."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Bruce leaned his head back and looked down at his coat pocket. The pocket bulged oddly and the young man pulled out a spherical red object.

"Hey, Alfred?"

"Yes Master Wayne?"

"How the heck do you eat one of these?" He stuck out his hand as it clutched the pomegranate and waved it in Alfred's face. Alfred twisted his neck, trying to keep an eye on the street.

"You cut it open and eat the seeds. Master Wayne, I can't see the road…"

Bruce pulled back his hand. "Sorry about that, Alfred. Say, do you have something I could open this thing with? I need something a little sweet right about now. The dessert they had wasn't the greatest."

"I'm afraid I don't carry around large sharp knives, Master Wayne. Perhaps one of your little knick-knacks that you use to swing around the city may help."

Bruce rummaged through his pockets and found what he was looking for. One of the sharpened 'batarangs' would have to do. He began working through the fruit, slicing it open little by little. "Aha!"

Alfred looked up in the mirror as Bruce held up a perfectly cut half of the fruit. "It worked?"

"Thanks for the advice Alfred, now let's see how these things taste…" Bruce raised one of the blood-red seeds to his lips and popped it in his mouth. "Hmm. Not bad."

"Honestly, Master Wayne, did you steal that from the banquet?"

"Nah," Bruce chuckled as he popped another into his mouth, "the girl I mentioned, the one that disappeared, she gave it to me. Says it helps with grief or something."

"I thought I told you not to take things from strangers."

"Come on Alfred, I couldn't just refuse. She was doing it because her husband died and she had to give away little mementos of him. This just happened to be one."

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, Master Wayne."

Bruce dropped a few more seeds into his mouth. They were quite delicious, after one got used to the taste. But something felt strange. He could feel his ears warm up, then suddenly his fingers and toes went cold. Goosebumps crawled over his flesh and he swallowed hard. His throat felt a little tighter. Perhaps his bowtie was on too tight. Bruce wiggled the thing around his neck, but then just decided to untie it. That would be less complicated.

Still…the creeping cold sensation grew up his legs, as well as flaring and freezing temperatures.

"Let's just hope you didn't have too much to drink. You recall what happened LAST time…right?"

Bruce said something, but no words could be heard. All he felt were his lips moving. Even Alfred's words started to fade out of his head.

His eyelids grew droopy and sweat began to bead on his forehead.

Alfred looked up in the mirror. "Master Wayne, are you listening? I asked you if you enjoyed the meal." The elderly man's eyes focused on Bruce and he frowned. "Sir…are you feeling alright? Your face looks ghastly pale."

"Alfred…something…" Bruce murmured, his lips growing into a sickly blue color. "Something wrong…with me?"

Alfred watched in horror as Bruce's eyes rolled and he slumped over in his seat, the halves of pomegranates falling to the floor of the car. Alfred quickly pulled over and hurried to the back seat, straddling over Bryce and shaking his shoulder as hard as he could.

"Master Wayne! Master Wayne you get up this instant!" Alfred flew back to the driver's seat and hit the gas, peeling out of his spot. He had to hurry if he was going to get Bruce to the hospital. If something happened to him…Alfred shook his head. Something was definitely wrong. Something had happened to Bruce.

Adriana groped around where she lay, straining to feel for any clue, any hint to where she was exactly. Her thoughts swam with memories of last night. She could picture the banquet as well as a drive to some slovenly looking house with…that man…what was his name? Jacob something? Jordan…no. Adriana clutched her head as it throbbed with a dull sensation. She opened an eye cautiously and pouted, her mouth slightly open.

She was home.

Adriana picked herself up and noticed that she was in bed, her sheets tangled around her legs. Her hair was tousled and her overall appearance was slipshod. She was, however, still dressed in her fancy white cocktail gown, but her necklace, earrings, bracelets, rings…all were removed and dumped on the nightstand nearby.

Adriana slipped out of the sheets, wincing as an overwhelming pain bore into her skull. She braced her body against the wall and took a deep breath. What was wrong with her? She felt along her forehead, finding a large bump. She must have hit her head and probably knocked herself out. But how did she end up here, back home?

Adriana shuffled out of the bedroom and stood in the hallway. The television was on, tuned in to the local news station. On the kitchen table lay a spread of food; Fresh cut fruits sat in a clear bowl alongside orange juice, a bowl of cereal, and a plate of toast. Adriana stepped up to the chair and stared at the food in bewilderment.

"What the…"

Adriana looked around for any sign of anyone in her home who could have prepared it. But there was no one there. She looked back to her great breakfast mean and spotted something nearby, tucked beneath the cereal bowl.

Adriana frowned, pulling the paper out from underneath. It was folded into a neat little square, and as she unfolded it, she saw neatly written words across the very middle.

The message was simple:

Thank you for our little chat last night. I got a lot of needed information from it. Enjoy the meal and I suggest a cold compress to the bump on your head will bring down the swelling.

—Jonathan Crane

Adriana blinked. Crane. Yes, that was it. Doctor Crane. He must have been the one who helped her home after hitting her head. But how did he know where she lived? She must have been awake, telling him where to go. She just couldn't remember.

Adriana reached forward, grabbing the bowl of fruit and a fork, and crossed over to the couch in front of the television.

Jonathan…what a creep. Now he knew where she lived. A complete stranger.

Adriana's thoughts were interrupted as her attention grew focused on the television.

One of the reporters was standing outside the police station mentioning something about a press conference starting soon over the attempted murder of someone Adriana immediately recognized. Bruce Wayne.

But that's not what caught her attention. What she couldn't understand was why the reporter said "attempted murder". Attempted?

Adriana grabbed the remote, turning the volume higher as Commissioner Gordon stepped out in front of the flashing cameras and various microphones placed on a large wooden stand. He looked a little wary, but cleared his throat and the dull hum of voices went silent.

"For the past few weeks, various murders around Gotham kept us all in a state of heightened awareness and fear. We have had no leads or witnesses come forward out of the fear that they would be targeted as well.

Last night, resident billionaire Bruce Wayne was sent to the hospital after collapsing in the back seat of his car by his driver. He was brought immediately to the hospital, where, thanks to the diligence of the doctors and staff, he made a healthy recovery. The catalyst for his collapse is thought to be poison, due to the fact that doctors needed a very specific antidote to help Mr. Wayne.

Mr. Wayne, still a little sickly from his hospitalization, has managed to come down here to the station and is now working with a sketch artist in order to identify who may have done this terrible act. The attacker is described as female, wavy brown hair, green eyes, about five foot six with a thin appearance and pale complexion. She was seen at the Mayor's gala last night, and several people, including a security guard, corroborate with Mr. Wayne's story. Once more information is uncovered, I will be sure to notify the good people of Gotham City. We are determined to find this "femme fatale" by and means necessary.

Thank you."

Adriana didn't feel the bowl in her hand clatter to the ground. Nor did she bother to pick it up. All she could do was stare at the throngs of reporters barking questions to Gordon.

Bruce Wayne was alive. Alive. How could she have been so stupid? The other men, well, she had seen them fall before her very eyes. But with Bruce, she only assumed it would work. She shouldn't have gotten so smug, so comfortable. The tiniest mistake would blow up in her face.

Just like it was doing right now.