Gordon stepped back into the safety of the police station, sighing and rubbing his head. "It's like a pack of animals out there." Gordon pointed at the young man sitting at a nearby desk and then forked his thumb over his shoulder. "Next time, Mr. Wayne, you do the conference and call those hounds together. I'll sit out."
Bruce chuckled and shook his head. "I'm sorry to put you through this, Gordon, sir. But…I just want to let the public know how close we are to catching this girl. To think I even bought her a drink at the party…" Bruce rested his chin on his palm, scratching at his face, and peeked at the composite in the police sketch artist's hand. He shook his head, frowning, and pointed to the eyes. "No, her eyes were a little less…bright. Yeah. Like that. She had that sort of tired look to her. She didn't really look too happy to be at the party. Sort of empty. Cold." Bruce pursed his lips and motioned to her hair. "She had a flower in her hair too. She looked so normal. I still can't believe it."
Commissioner Gordon paced behind the police officer making the composite and peered over his glasses at the drawing of the young lady. There was something familiar about her. Perhaps the eyes, or the overall face…but something was sticking to Gordon's head. He cocked his head, squinting, when an image suddenly flashed into his mind. His jaw dropped. "Oh my god."
The sketch artist lifted his eyes as he added the final touches to the picture. Gordon was staring down as if he had seen the very name of the mysterious girl. "What is it sir?"
Both Bruce and the artist jumped as Gordon snatched the paper from the desk and practically shoved it in Bruce's face.
"Are you absolutely SURE this is the girl who gave you the poison?
Bruce stared up at Gordon for a moment, looked at the picture, then returned his eyes to the commissioner.
"Y-yeah. I'm sure. Why? Is that a bad thi—"
"Did she give you a name? A number? Anything?"
Bruce's mouth opened and closed. Last night's events were still a bit blurry. He could recall sitting by the girl…what did she say?
Bruce could feel the chill run up his spine…the same chill he got when she looked at him and gave him her name. He looked up at Gordon and scowled.
"Adriana."
Gordon cursed, rushing to his office. He rummaged through his office, searching every photograph, every document, everything. Some people stood outside the office, watching as Gordon worked at a feverish pace.
Finally the commissioner flew out of the room, his face reddened from running around, and slapped a photo onto the desk.
Bruce looked down and frowned, his jaw going slack.
"That's her…wait. Who…who is—"
"Adriana De Soto." Gordon pointed madly at the man in the picture. "Her husband, Carlos, this guy here, was the officer that was killed about a month ago in a hostage situation." Gordon looked at the photo with a sick feeling. There was a slight relief now that the killer was identified. But…how could it be? Looking at the photo…it was a picture from the couple's wedding…they were so happy…
Bruce's expression also fell. He remembered that night the officer died. He remembered it very well.
"She's the last person I would expect this from." Gordon paused, taking a deep breath and bracing himself against the chair beside him. He held his hand over his face and shook his head. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he motioned to some of the officers around him and picked up his coat. "Let's go. She must be at home still. It's only ten thirty. Mr. Wayne—"
Bruce held up his hand and shook his head. "No, no I know. I'll get going. I'm feeling a little sick still anyways."
Gordon started towards the door. "I'll call you when we get her. Don't worry Mr. Wayne. We'll get her."
Gordon walked out of the building, the feeling in his stomach growing worse. He had to go and arrest an old friend's wife…not to mention she was an old friend herself…for murder. He could still see the young lady on her wedding day. Gordon lifted the photograph of the happy couple and frowned. She was so fair and wonderful, so innocent.
Then he remembered the day she was donned in black, clutching to her husband's badge. It was the only thing she had left of him. She remembered when she gave him a look, drawing her eyes from her deceased husband's casket and looking at him. She looked sad, but Gordon saw a dark hatred in her look. He knew Adriana blamed him for her husband's death. At times, Gordon also wondered whether he was to blame for the death of Carlos as well.
Godron started up his car, rubbing his eyes. He didn't know how he was going to bring himself to do this. He couldn't bear the thought of going up and slapping cuffs on her fragile wrists. She had changed so severely, from what he heard. She was thinner, fairer, and more volatile. He remembered Carlos, whom he had treated with the deepest respect. He was one of the few uncorrupt policemen on his force, and he respected him for that. Gordon could see how losing a good man like Carlos could affect Adriana. He even felt a sympathy for her.
"But nobody…nobody is above the law," he murmured begrudgingly and pressed the gas, his car speeding through the streets of Gotham towards a loft across town. He knew the address well enough. He just wished it was someone else going for the arrest.
Adriana threw the door closed behind her with an ear-shattering bang and flew down the hallway of her building. She pressed the elevator button wildly, muttering as the thing took forever to climb to her level.
She wasn't going to get caught. No, not after coming so far. After memories began to waft into her mind, she could picture one thing clearly: Carlos calling her weak. She knew her husband would never say that to her, but something deep inside pulled at her heart. She had to be strong for Carlos. She had to fix things…for him.
Adriana shifted her purse, stepping out of the building at a quick pace and looked over her shoulder nervously, trying to see if anyone was watching. She stalked down the street and raised her hand, desperately trying to hail a cab. Adriana reached for the door, hesitating as small droplets of water began to drip around her. She could hear mournful wailing sirens a few blocks away. They'd be there soon. It was now or never.
Adriana slid into the back seat and looked behind her through the rain-splattered back window.
"Where to?" The cabbie barked gruffly, smoke pouring into the back seat from his lit cigar. Adriana coughed, waving her hands to clear the air.
"Cemetery. Please hurry. It's urgent." The car took off immediately. She gave a sigh of relief and sank into her seat, trembling slightly.
"You look sick." The driver muttered.
"You don't look so hot yourself." Adriana snapped back. The driver gave what looked like a forced smile and pulled the cigar from his lips.
"You late fo' sumptin', Miss?"
Adriana's gaze shot to her purse, but quickly returned to the rearview mirror where the man was looking at her.
"Yes, I'm late for something. A funeral."
"Pretty dressed up fo' a funeral, ain'tcha?"
"Just keep your eyes on the road." Adriana spat venomously before falling into silence. The cab driver took the hint and picked up speed, heading towards the gray green hills covered with headstones.
"You see Master Wayne? Don't take things from strangers. I try and try to tell you. Do you listen? No. Look what happens when you ignore me." Alfred scathed Bruce as the young billionaire fixed his mask over his face.
The cave echoed with soft chattering of the bats hanging overhead, as well as the thunderous sound of water splattering against the rocks. Alfred didn't want to see Bruce go out there, not in this condition. He was still a little sick from the poisoning, but he refused to be checked in the hospital. Once he got the antidote, he demanded that he was taken out of there. Alfred could do nothing but chastise him all morning.
Bruce didn't want to hear it. "Alfred, I didn't think she'd try to kill me! She looked so depressed that I thought perhaps she wanted some company. I had to take her gift, Alfred. How would you feel if you turned down a gift from a widow?"
"As you say, Master Wayne." Alfred drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Bruce frowned and whipped around, his black cape fluttering behind him.
He headed to his black vehicle, deemed the Batmobile, and gave one last look around the cave. He had almost lost this once before in the fire, he almost lost it again last night. He had to be more careful if he was going to survive, Bruce Wayne or otherwise.
"Please take care Master Wayne. She tried killing you once…I doubt she'll show leniency this time."
"Oh come on Alfred…she's just a girl. I'm not going to lose a fight with a girl." Bruce's kind demeanor sunk into his dark, rough nature. He scowled hard and got into his vehicle.
Alfred shook his head, throwing a towel over his shoulder as he headed to the shaky elevator and listened to the Batmobile careening out of the cave.
"She's just a girl with enough motive to kill you twice over, Master Wayne. Listen to me for once."