Yay for another chapter! Thanks for all the reviews! I'm so sleepy, so let me know if there are any mistakes. I'll fix 'em ASAP. Woo for Batman's 1st appearance...tee hee!

Chapter Four

Dedication

Friday 4:30 P.M.

Detective Jim Gordon stood outside of a club on the East End of Gotham City. Yellow tape was squared off outside of the entrance while flashing lights illuminated the smoggy street. Quickly, he slipped on latex gloves and stepped underneath the tape. A flock of people stood on the opposite side of the street, some standing on tiptoes to get a glance of the scene. Jim rubbed his mustache, took a deep breath, and waited.

"43 year old male by the name of Daniel Ashman—no criminal record. CSU places time of death around 12 hours ago. Rigor mortis has already begun to set in." A fellow police officer approached Gordon, trying hard to keep up with his quick pace.

"Wait. 12 hours ago? It's the middle of the day, and no one cared to take notice of a dead guy outside of a club?"

"Don't forget, Detective. We're on the East End of Gotham. The people here are as dirty as the streets, and that's saying something."

"Right…cause of death?"

"Four entry wounds to the back of the head and two exit wounds in the front."

"Where have I seen that before?" Gordon asked sarcastically.

"It seems to be a reoccurring theme with this guy. As well as this," the officer pulled out a clear plastic bag. Inside was a playing card.

The detective sighed. "The Joker."

"Bingo. You got to thank the corrupt government officials of Gotham for this one. They're the creeps who let this guy out of the crazy-bin."

"Hopefully we'll catch him before he does any more damage to this city."

"You need to watch out, too, Gordon. The people ain't happy. Captain might be bringing in the big guns after this murder."

"FBI? They won't let us near this case." The officer shrugged his shoulders and walked away. Jim examined the crime scene: Daniel Ashman lied face down on the concrete, blood pooling around his head. CSU was dusting for prints on Ashman's wallet found a few yards in front of his body. He was an average sized man in good health with a full head of brown hair. For all Jim knew, Daniel Ashman could have been a family man going for walk—wrong place, wrong time. It was an ill-fated circumstance, like most of the events in Gotham City.

"Nice to see you, Detective." Jim looked around to his left, then his right and saw no one talking to him or even paying attention to him. Jim knew exactly who it was.

"Batman? If only I could say the same for you."

"It's best if no one else sees me right now, so be careful. Walk around the body and to your right." Jim followed his instructions and stopped in front of an alley. There he was: the Batman.

"You might want to clear out soon. The FBI's coming."

"So I heard. Is it the Joker?"

"Yeah. But I doubt that we'll get to investigate any further. Once the FBI's involved, they're going to knock us out of the way. The Captain's already got me under surveillance. He knows I've been collaborating with you privately. I won't be of any help in your personal investigation…nor will the police. You might have to go alone on this one."

"I wouldn't even know where to start."

"Arkham Asylum, for one. The Joker was there for a few years before getting out, thanks to our wonderful court system."

"As Batman, I can't just walk in and get information. Fear isn't going to play my hand this time around."

"Either you'll have to get involved personally…or someone else will."

"You already mentioned that you couldn't help me." Suddenly, Jim Gordon's name was called, perhaps by a fellow detective. He looked back in the direction it came from.

"I got to go before they get suspicious. Good luck finding someone." Upon looking back at Batman, Jim Gordon noticed that he went missing. The dark knight slipped away once again, unnoticed. "You'll need all the help you can get."

Friday 7:30 P.M.

For the second time this week, I was wearing a red gown with my hair tightly secured in an up-do. The only difference is that this experience was turning out to be much more ridiculous than the charity event. I waited at my desk in my office, staring at the phone while occasionally checking my email. I kept wondering whether or not I missed something—a note, message, call—anything. Ricky had said that Bruce Wayne was a punctual man, so being a half-hour late for something as important as this was outrageous.

There was a knock on my door. Quickly, I straightened myself up, fixed my dress, hair, and any little necessity I deemed important. "Come in," I said, ever so patiently. The door opened to reveal Ricky. I sighed, slouching, just slightly, once again.

"Still no show?" he asked.

"Nothing. Not even a phone call—should I be worried?"

"It's Bruce Wayne, Helena. He's got more protection than the president." I looked at him incredulously. "Okay, maybe not the president, but you get the point."

I glanced at my inbox on my computer: it still read 'No New Messages'. "Maybe he thinks he's just too important, so he forgot to call."

"Look…I know you two don't get along that well, but trust me: Bruce ain't like that. Something must have come up—I'm sure of it. Don't look too much into things. No one needs you getting all worked up about it. Especially me."

"I'm disappointed, that's all." There was a pause between the two of us, and I knew that Ricky was trying to build up the courage to say something.

"You know the Joker?" I stared at him. "I mean…well, of course you know him, but I'm just trying to change the conversation to what I need to talk to you about."

"Why don't you just say what you gotta say?" I looked at the pile of documents sitting on my desk. A tab stuck out of one, reading 'Joker'.

"Police suspect that he murdered again—Daniel Ashman. Did you know him?"

I rubbed my hands against my face. These questions were getting quite old. I heard so many of them, especially since I returned to Gotham City. It was even more astonishing since they were all coming from my boss. "No, Ricky. I didn't know him."

"I'm sorry, but you know I had to ask." No…you didn't. You always think you do, but you don't.

"I understand. I just get tired of it." Ricky walked over to my desk. He lifted one of the files, revealing one that I had pulled out previously for Bruce Wayne. "What are you doing?"

"Sorry—I saw that you had the Joker research, and I was just wondering…"

"Whether I had continued said research? When you knowingly told me not to further my investigations?"

He scrunched his face in frustration. "I'm looking out for you! If I recall, your cousin Marcello specifically told me to do just that. The Joker is still on the loose…"

Abruptly, I stood up, my face turning almost as red as my dress. "You think I'm that naïve and that I don't know?" I snatched the file from him. "Why else would I be doing all of this? Risking my neck!"

"For revenge?"

"For justice!" I threw the file on my desk, papers spilling out and falling on the floor. At that point in time, I didn't pay any head to my obsessive-compulsive tendencies. I let the papers lie where they may and would reorganize them later. I felt so much pent up anger boiling inside, ready to spill over. It was only a matter of time before I blew my top.

"Helena…you have to face the facts. The police may never catch this guy."

"They had him…they had him! And they let him go. Now more people are dead because of their dense actions."

"Well what if he didn't kill your family?" I stopped. It was the first time he had brought up the subject of my kin since I returned from Italy. I worked for Ricky three years before my family's murder, and a few months after. He talked to me about seeking professional help to deal with the depression, the belligerence, and the anger. But I couldn't do it. My pride wouldn't let me, and was ultimately my downfall. I quit my job, packed my belongings and moved to my cousin's home in Italy. Marcello is my last surviving relative.

Tears began to build up—not from sadness, but from anger and pure exhaustion. "You don't really believe that…do you?"

"I don't know, Helena. I really don't."

"It was him. That laugh…that evil, malicious, cold laughing. I can still hear it, Ricky. Every night before I go to bed and every morning when I wake up…it's in my head all the time. I couldn't escape it in Italy and I can't escape it now." I looked into his eyes, pleading with my own. "It won't stop."

He was being stubborn-a quality that I admired in him. It wasn't easy for Ricky to give in. "What would it take for it to stop?"

"Faith…and trust from you that I'll do the right thing. I can get him and you know it. I don't care if I'm doing it alone or not. I have to catch the Joker."

"Leave the gung-ho attitude up to Batman, Helena. I'm being flexible so you can research here, got it?" Ricky's hard exterior went right back on. He circled around my desk and picked up the scattered papers before returning to his original position. "But anything you find is reported to the police, you hear? And I mean a-ny-thing. I'm looking out for you on this one."

Excitement rushed through me. I smiled genuinely for the first time in such a long time—not out of embarrassment or anything, but out of pure joy. What I have wanted to do ever since I returned from Italy was finally going to happen. Suddenly I rushed over to Ricky and embraced him. "Thank you, Ricky. Thank you."

There was a knock on my office door, which was conveniently opened. Ricky pulled out of the hug and looked at the doorway. Standing there was a somewhat discomfited Bruce Wayne. He was dressed in a black tuxedo, ready, apparently, to take me to dinner. The three of us stood in an awkward silence until Ricky scratched his throat.

"Well…Bruce, Helena…I'm going home. See you on Monday, Helena." Ricky walked past Bruce and smiled gauchely, leaving the office. I smiled as well, not caring what Bruce would say or do.

"I'm sorry."

"Why is it that neither of us can ever keep our appointments?"

He scratched his head, looking rather ashamed. "Okay, I'm really sorry. We can still go to dinner…"

"It's fine, Bruce. The reservation has probably been cancelled by now. I'm not that hungry, anyway. Have a seat," I pointed to the chair in front of my desk. He walked over and sat down rather swiftly and nervously. "Are…you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Everything's cool. I just got a lot to do and think about."

"Wayne Enterprises?"

"What?" He asked quickly. "Oh…yeah…yeah." He slouched back in the seat. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything between you and Ricky."

"No, it was fine. I just got a little overexcited, that's all."

"About what?"

I sighed. "He's letting me continue my research…on the Joker."

He narrowed his eyes. It seemed as though Bruce was concentrating very hard—on what, I don't know. His hand brushed against his chin. "Uh…is that what you want to do? It could be dangerous, you know."

I scoffed and shook my head. "I know, Bruce. Thanks for the concern."

"Do you want to tell me why you're doing it?"

I raised my eyebrows. "Doing what?"

"Dedicating all your time and effort towards this guy."

I stopped breathing for a split second, glancing down at the file spread out on my desk. "Bruce, how about we do this interview?" I pulled out a tape recorder from my desk drawer.

"You really don't want to talk about it?"

I snickered. "Not in your wildest dreams. I'm going to go change out of this very uncomfortable dress. I'll be back in a sec."

I left the room, also leaving Bruce alone with his thoughts. He had the strongest urge to grab my file on the Joker and leave, but something was holding him back. Perhaps it was the fact that he was concentrating rather hard on whether or not he should do something unknown to me.

Little did I know, I would be dragged into a series of events uncontrollable to me. I could help him somehow with the knowledge I possessed, the skills I had. But presently, I continued smiling as I walked down the hall of offices and entered the restroom.

So I think everyone should review and make me happy, because today wasn't the greatest day in the world...:( Headaches are no fun!