Chapter 3

The Palisades were the outmost boundary of Gotham. The heavily wooded hills were set in the joint of the peninsula and coastline, nearly fourteen miles from the farthest city limit. The trees were bare and clinging for life in the midwinter chill. A light tore across the black sky, followed by the rumble of thunder. A long, two lane roadway stretched for the full fourteen miles, twisting and turning through the woods until finally approaching a clearing.

There on the crest of a large hill set right on the edge of a cliff looking over the Atlantic Ocean was a single giant mansion. Against the ink black sky, its silhouette of haunting gothic architecture was perfectly symmetrical. The mansion was wider than it was tall, though still stood six stories from the ground.

The inside was just as dead and hollow. In the halls, the storm outside echoed as flashes of lightning lit the darkened corridors. But the eeriest sound did not come from the torrent of the winter night. A bell rang from the main hall and carried throughout the mansion like a call to the dead. A lone, glow of light seeped from an upstairs corridor down the grand, wooden staircase of the main hall. The mansions only resident slowly descended the stairs. He had not yet gone to bed. For whatever reason, he had felt an urge late in the night to stay up longer and indulge on a favorite mystery novel. Once reaching the marbled floor, he glanced over his shoulder at a grandfather clock set against the wall beside an archway leading further into the mansion. 2:15 AM, not even remotely a courteous hour for a respectable house visitor. As he approached the tall, mahogany double doors, he diverted away to a single drawered table topped with a lamp sitting on a dark red cloth cover. Pulling open the drawer, the forty-eight year old man collected the Walther PPK stored inside.

The small, semiautomatic handgun had been his own personal protection pistol for nearly twenty-five years, though he no longer felt the need to wear it, it remained available when his suspicion had seized the nights. In his brisk, proper, English fashion, he approached the door with the PPK held behind his back as he opened the left side door. The storm had intensified as rain now poured from the black sky. Standing hunched at the doorway was a large dark figure.

"May I help you?" he inquired with a prickly tone, obviously perturbed over the late hour. Lightning flashed again as the drenched visitor weakly managed to lift his head.

"Alfred," he groaned with great effort. Everything changed. The butler immediately forgot about the gun in his grasp, letting it clatter to the floor as he reached out to catch the man's teetering form. His stern face softened and sharp grey eyes widened with utter shock.

"Master Wayne!"

Feeling the needle of Alfred's stitching in his shoulder, Bruce Wayne looked about the pristine kitchen of his family's home. Every counter was cleaned spotless, every pot and pan, shining in its respectable place. It was just as Bruce had left it ten years ago. He could only imagine that the rest of Wayne Manor was just as orderly and well-kept as the kitchen having been under the charge of the loyal family butler, Alfred Pennyworth. Not much had been said for the last twenty minutes of Alfred tending to Bruce's wound, but it was a silence that didn't last long.

"So, are you finally going tell me where you've been for all this bloody time?" the butler asked sharply, his stern tone returning.

"Too many places to count," Bruce answered simply. "South America, Russia, Italy, France and just about all over Asia," he listed as if deep in thought. Alfred seemed unfazed as he continued to work.

"Last I knew, you went off to boarding school, finished early then I received a letter saying someday you'd come home. And here you were, trotting all over the globe," he added. "So how long have you been back, I assume from the bullet wound, you didn't just fly in."

"Twenty-seven days," Bruce answered. He felt Alfred pause his work on his shoulder, imagining the look on his face in being told he'd been back for nearly a month. As he cleaned dried blood from Bruce's shoulder with a wet rag, a heavy quiet fell between them. "Well at least you look fit," Alfred observed. Bruce was no longer the scrawny child that the butler remembered from ten years past. With Bruce's black tunic removed, Alfred could see for himself just how large and muscular Bruce had become. It was like nothing Alfred had ever seen except for the sculpted works of renaissance era artists. The twenty-five year old man was nearly unrecognizable, yet much of his facial features resembled greatly that of his father.

"I was training, Alfred, preparing to come back so that I can fulfill my promise." Bruce stood up from the chair and turned to face the man whom had raised him. Alfred could see it in his eyes, determination; an unbreakable, iron forged will. He sighed deeply, realizing that the time had finally come.

"The mission," he said. "Yes of course, Master Bruce." Bruce gathered a clean shirt Alfred had collected for him and pulled it on.

"The letter I sent you eight years ago, the instructions?" he inquired. Alfred suddenly fixed Bruce with a stern look of concern.

"Completed, sir," he answered. "Has been for three years now." As Bruce nodded, Alfred exhaled, changing his tone. "Now, why don't I draw you a nice warm bath and prepare the master bedroom," he offered with a smile and welcoming demeanor as he sidestepped to the door, retaining his proper, English professionalism.

"No, Alfred. Show me the cave," Bruce replied. The butler's warm demeanor sunk away as it all became quite clear. This was no mere phase that his master would grow out of. Nearly twelve years later, and he was still as driven as ever to fulfill the vision of his childhood. Eight years ago when Alfred had read Bruce's instructions for the first time, he had hesitated for some time before putting the plan into action, reluctant to appease the absurdly, emotional demands of a child. But in the end, it was after all Bruce's money, and Alfred, a humble, loyal butler had little more he could do.

"Very well, sir," he answered. Alfred turned away to the door and Bruce followed. As they left the kitchen and entered the main hall, Bruce couldn't help but take it all in. He cast his eyes up and down the vast, bright walls, spanning far above to the vaulted ceiling above. A giant shimmering chandelier hung in the center above the rising grand staircase. But what Bruce truly couldn't resist were the portraits. It'd been so long since he'd seen the face of anyone he knew, let alone a Wayne, no matter the generation. They promoted an identity to him, yet now that he looked at them, that identity seemed obscure and distant. Alfred turned sharply, taking the arched corridor to the left of the staircase. The hall was dark from lack of any light to cast upon the dark cherry wood paneled walls. Alfred opened a door down the hall which Bruce immediately recalled to be the library. It was a very cold room, in both temperature and mood, but it was just as Bruce remembered it. The walls were a deep red, matching the carpet. The book cases stood like black towers, lined up like dominoes in the darkness. The library was a large chamber within the manor, nearly as vast as the ballroom. A second landing of bookshelves ringed the walls on three sides. On the far side, a blue velvet armchair was beside a small round table positioned comfortably in front of a stone fireplace. There hung above the mantel looking over the room like royalty over their kingdom were Bruce's parents. Bruce hadn't seen their faces for ten full years and yet not once did they ever leave his mind. Bruce paused in the middle of the library, staring up at the portrait with eyes that gave nothing away. Yet Alfred, the one man that knew him best, could decipher the longing in the stare of a young boy fighting to be strong.

"Master Bruce?" he called out. To Bruce it was distant like an echo but enough to steal his attention.

"Yes, Alfred?" he inquired. The butler motioned towards an ugly metal slab set in the middle of the back wall. It was a door, identifiable by the handle bolted on top. "Not very secret," Bruce observed skeptically. He approached the door and pushed it open. The heavy metal slab swung away into a cramped, pitch dark room. A brass cage like elevator occupied the majority of the space, leaving only minimal maneuvering room for boarding.

"After you, Master Bruce," Alfred motioned toward the elevator. Bruce swung open the gate like door and stepped onboard the elevator. It was far more stable than it appeared. Alfred closed the gate behind him then activated the elevator by pressing a button on the panel. With an automated creak of machinery, the cage like elevator descended through a shaft of utter darkness. Surrounding the caged elevator was a dark metal lattice barrier. The walls of the shaft were dark and rough like rock.

"I assume this was all done off the books," Bruce asked.

"As per your instructions, sir," Alfred replied. A crew of foreign miners and manufacturers cleared out the cave system and constructed the elevator and walkways.

"And you did this all yourself?" Bruce inquired.

"Mr. Fox lent his hand now and then," the butler replied. The elevator suddenly stopped in a dark room identical to the one above. Replacing the mechanical whine of the elevator were the echoes of a roaring waterfall. Alfred swung open the gate and motioned to Bruce to disembark. Bruce's curiosity took control of his feet as he stepped off the metal of the elevator and onto a natural, hard stone floor. Drawn to the sound of the waterfall, Bruce walked through an opening just and wide enough to fit his form perfectly in the dark cave wall. Standing on a ledge, Bruce looked across a chasm of darkness. "Oh, pardon me, Master Bruce," Alfred begged as he pulled a switch installed into the cave wall inside the elevator room. Somewhere, a generator cracked to life, just barely audible over the roar of the waterfall. One system at a time, lights flickered to life in the dark chasm. Pock marked randomly in the cave walls, lighting fixtures shone down the cavern. A light emitted dimly beside Bruce's foot, indicating the ledge of the outcropping. Bruce subconsciously shuffled away from ledge as he gazed about. A metal, grated staircase reached from the ledge to a hanging circular platform, suspended high above the cavern.

"Impressive," Bruce remarked, seemingly distant as he stepped onto the stairs.

"Thought you might like it, sir," Alfred said as he followed. From the platform, Bruce continued onto a vertical lift as Alfred prattled on about the specifics of the cave and the labor necessary to meet Bruce's instructions. As a means to cleverly avoid suspicion, Alfred had finished the mining operations then allowed a two year buffer before hiring on the manufacturing contractors for the lighting and elevator systems. As Alfred continued on, Bruce found the controls to the lift and descended down the towering track system that spanned from the floor of the cave to the roof. The lift passed by a landing in the cave wall as it descended before finally reaching the next stop. A short walkway lined with floor lights connected the docking of the lift to wide landing of stone set into the wall. As Bruce made his way across, he peered down to the depths below. The light fixtures above shimmered on the surface of the submerged cave floor of the cave. The water below was cold, he knew from first-hand experience. More developments and landings grew from the cave walls below. Stepping onto the landing, he looked about. Tucked in the corner was a large set up of keyboards and monitors. "The computer system you requested," Alfred explained.

"No doubt courtesy of Mr. Fox from Wayne Enterprise," Bruce remarked as he examined it closely. The assortment of screens were pitch black dead. "Is it operable?" Bruce inquired.

"No," Alfred replied. "He was in the process of completing its installment three years ago but I had him cease his efforts."

"Why?" Bruce frowned. Alfred's gaze fell to his feet before resurfacing with newfound confidence in the surety of his decision.

"I began to believe, Sir that you were not coming back. And if you were to, that you would have lost interest in this," Alfred paused, glancing about the cave. "Pursuit of yours." Bruce stared back with a solid gaze, suppressing the first reply that came to mine. Alfred would soon see for himself this was no temporary pursuit.

"Well then it's time to reconnect with Mr. Fox. I need this computer system up and running."

"In the meantime, sir, this system was set up just in case you did come back," Alfred said. The butler stood beside a table set in the middle of the landing. A four screen system was established as a workstation. The capability was limited but for Bruce it was better than nothing.

"It'll suffice," he said as he made his way to the workstation. The screens were plain desktop monitors, all linked together with various keyboards and functions. Alfred watched in dismay as Bruce immediately placed an office chair behind the tables and booted the computer systems.

"Might I now repose my offer of a warm bath and a bed for the night?" he inquired.

"There'll be time for that later, Alfred," Bruce replied with his eyes glued to the green glow of the screens as they awoke. There was work to be done.