"The End and the Beginning"

Part 3 of 6

Nick Gourley

20 years ago.

So cold, he was so cold.

His father's bloodstained jacket was wrapped around him, and all he could think of was his mother and father lying motionless on the cold, wet concrete. He didn't care that people were all outside the room, flashing their expensive cameras, just hoping to get a good shot of a hopeless boy.

A dark-skinned man walked into the room. He was wearing the same blue uniform and slacks that the others were wearing. He crouched beside Bruce, and forced a smile onto his own face.

"Here, let me take care of that for you."

He reached out for the coat, which Bruce gave up willingly. The man took a blanket that he had carried in with him and wrapped it around Bruce. It was incredibly warm and extremely cozy.

"It's gonna be alright," he said in a gentle, low voice. "It's gonna be alright."

Bruce stared at the man, and asked, only now realizing something.

"Where's Jason?"

The man sat in silence, and a look of sadness crept onto his once pleasant face. "We dunno kid, we dunno."

--

The funeral was long, and Bruce felt, unneccesary. He didn't feel the need to watch his family be lowered six feet under the ground. All that mattered to him was that they were dead, and they were never coming back.

He anxiously searched the crowd for another little boy, one the same size as himself, only with raven-black hair. His search, ended in failure.

There were many people there. Mr. Falcone and his son, Carmine, attended. At one time, his father, Thomas, had saved Carmine from many bullet wounds. Carmine felt the least he could do was attend the funeral of the man who saved his life.

With him he brought his two children, Roman and Selina. Bruce knew both of them very well, for they were both a part of his class. Roman was a skinny blonde-haired kid, and resembled Bruce in appearance, but only appearance. Selina was charming, elegant, and beautiful. Even at the age of 7 she was absolutely stunning. Bruce spoke to her only on the off chance that he felt courageous that day.

Tommy was there also. He was every bit as solemn as Bruce. To Tommy, Bruce's parents were like his own. They treated Tommy as another of their children.

There were many others too, ones Bruce had only seen walk into their mansion on occasion. Many, Bruce felt, were probably former patients of his father, some business partners.

After it was over, they went to their cars and limos and left. Some came and hugged Bruce, telling him how sorry they were for him, and how it was too bad that good people like them had lost their lives.

They were gone, and that was all that mattered.

A sense of guilt and loss rushed in Bruce. He stared at the tombstones of his parents, alone now. He fell to his knees, staining his pants with grass, and he cried. Oh, how he cried.

Bruce felt the tombstones with his hands, stroking them, like he stroked his parents the night of their death. His hands were full of longing, and regret. Regret that he would never again see them, or hold them.

"It won't happen again, I promise."

Alfred walked to Bruce, and put his smooth hands on his shoulders.

"Are you alright Master Bruce?" Alfred asked in his thick British accent.

"I miss them Alfred," Bruce said, turning into Alfred's waist.

"I'm sure that they wouldn't want you to sir. They would wish for you to go on living a normal, happy life. But, somethings can't help but be missed sir."

Bruce wrapped his arms around the man whom he would come to know as a sort of father. "I love you Alfred."

In all of his life, he had never heard anyone utter those words, other than his own parents. "I love you too sir, I love you too."

--

20 years later.

The bank was virtually untouched, but it stank with a trap.

He came in through the ventilation system from on top of the building. With a press of a switch inside his cowl, his lenses came down over his eyes in nightvision.

He was told to come here at 10:00 P.M. The message was signed by a "Red Hood." He had enough evidence to now ID this man/woman, and know the ties that binds him/her to Maroni and Falcone.

There was no trace of any individual infiltrating the building other than himself. Stupid. Mistake number one. He was waiting for you to show up first.

Batman spun on his heels to find a man that matched the description that he read from the shoeprints. A man, a good 3 inches taller than himself, was swinging a hand covered in golden rings all attached to each other on his 4 fingers. Brass knuckles.

The punch landed against his right cheek and sent him reeling. A quick spit revealed blood. At a second glance he noticed the man was wearing a black tuxedo with black gloves. He wore a red cape, torn at the ends, along with a red hood.

The man swung again, from the punch he could tell that this man had no fighting experience. Batman ducked and came up with a hard uppercut that caught the Hood right under his chin. He flew backwards onto his back.

Batman heard a door swing open, and he spun to greet it. Standing there were 5 men, none of them officers. He could discern that they belonged to Maroni.

"What the hell is that?" One muttered.

"Shoot it damnit! Shoot it!"

Mistake number two. A perfect setup. But not for him, for Maroni's men.

They fired ceaselessly, emptying their clips at the shapeless figure. It flew behind a table, and the firing ceased.

"Hey, Robbie, go check it out."

"Uh, s-s-sure thing."

Robbie trudged to the wooden table. The only thing running through his head was how he hoped that thing was dead. Whatever it was, it needed to be dead. That was that.

He closed in on the table and began to peer over the side. The table decided to greet him. Within seconds, the table was off of the ground and breaking Robbie's nose. Robbie, followed suit by the table, was on the ground.

Then there were 4.

Coming from underneath the table, Batman launched three black objects from his gloved hand. They each landed securely into 3 of the 4 goons' necks. Immediately, they were unconscious.

Then there was only one.

Marcetti looked out from behind the pillar. The only thing he saw was 4 bodies, 3 side-by-side, one underneath a table.

"Where are you?"

The only response to his vital question, was silence. Frustrated and angry, he walked out from behind his pillar.

The back of a black kevlar glove met him from the other side of the pillar, and he fell backwards, his skull cracking on the floor.

--

Third and final mistake.

A sharp object protruded from his shoulder, and as quickly as it pierced, it withdrew. Blood rushed out of his shoulder down his back and front. He couldn't help but fall to the floor, bleeding his life out.

"Wrong place," a voice called to him,"wrong time."

The man fled, and he could hear the sounds of sirens. With all of the strength he could muster, he rolled a smoke grenade from his belt to the door. An explosion and smoke was all that preceded. He quickly made his way to the ventilation shaft.

--

Gordon, Dick, and Flass rushed to the doors.

An explosion of smoke came the moment they got to the door. He could hear Flass struggling for breath. Him being an ex-marine, you'd think that he would have no problem. It was obvious that he was out of practice.

Dick took the situation well, and plunged onward into the smoke, looking for the source. This kid was smart, Gordon knew. Smarter than half the entire force.

Gordon's foot brushed against something spherical and seemed metal. Turning the way he came, he kicked the object out through the door and into the street. The smoke died down and was no more.

"What the hell?"

Flass wasn't referring to the grenade, but to the 5 bodies lying on the floor. One was underneath a table, and 3 were sitting in a heap right in front of him. They all seemed to have what liked like miniature bats sticking out of their necks.

Dick was crouched next to a man lying on his back, his nose was obviously broken.

"These look like Maroni's men," Gordon said.

"Now whoever did this, he knew what he was doing."

A mental image of the creature Dick saw two nights ago sprung into his mind. He stared down at the pool of blood he didn't know he was crouching in until now. The pool turned into a trail that vanished only a few steps away. Dick looked up to see an exposed ventilations system.

"Whoever did it used the shaft to get out."

"Hell," Flass said,"he might still be here." He pulled out his .9mm and fired a few shots into the ceiling.

"Damnit Flass," Gordon answered,"we don't want him dead."

"Sorry Gordon."

"Take those things out of their necks and call for an ambulance. This needs to end, now."

--

"Goodnight daddy."

"Goodnight Selina."

Selina walked out of her father's bedroom and down the hall. She passed some of their thugs, she already knew what they were staring at when she walked past them and into her room.

Pigs, all they were were pigs.

She untied her robe and dropped it onto the floor. Her opened window let in a cool breeze. The bed was warm, and comfortable. She would sleep well tonight.

A gloved hand swept onto her mouth and something sharp and cold pressed against her neck.

"We're gonna be great friends," the voice said. "We're going to be wonderful friends."

--

"Selina," Roman called from the hallway. "Selina, it's Roman."

He opened the bedroom door, and peered in.

"Selina?"

Her robe lie on the floor, her window was open, and her bed was empty. A piece of paper lie on her pillow however. It read:

Do unto others.

Sal

Roman crumpled the paper and threw it onto the ground.

"FATHER!"