Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. There really is a good excuse, though. I've had research papers out the wazzoo in most of my classes, and I got a lead role in a play at the local theatre. So everything has been chaotic and quite hectic! But hey, here I am, getting ready to update for you guys! Thanks for sticking with me!

Chapter Ten

Doorknob

I didn't go home that night. Instead, I stayed at the office, researching nothing in particular. I had an article to do for the Gotham Gazette, and my deadline was quickly approaching. Batman said he'd do some investigating and would ask around. Well, technically he was okay with it, whatever that means.

When the sun had risen well above the city and its skyscrapers, revealing smog and clouds of smoke pouring out of factories, I decided that it would be a good time to go to a local hardware store and purchase a new doorknob.

Batman, at least, had warned me to get a new one. It was well after three o'clock when he left my office. We didn't do much or say much of anything. I went to make a copy of an article about the death of Daniel Ashman from a rival newspaper and by the time I returned to my office, Batman was gone.

While leaving the hardware store, I attempted to hail a taxi (my car was still in for repairs). But as the third cab flew by me without so much as a second thought, an older gentleman caught my eye. His appearance seemed so familiar to me: he was slightly balding and extremely tan with an air of dominance about him. The man had exited a building across the street. Immediately the name came to me but before I could shout after him, he called out to me. "Ms. Bertinelli!" It was Benjamin Hawks, a man I met at the charity fundraiser.

After a spat of heavy traffic, I ran across the street next to him. "Mr. Hawks. I'm surprised to see you out and about on this side of Gotham."

"And the same goes for you, Ms. Bertinelli. Weren't you supposed to write about that charity event we had not too long ago?" I nearly forgot about his cocky smile. It irritated me. I began to wonder why I crossed the street to him in the first place.

"Yes but I missed the deadline."

"Oh, how unfortunate." His mock pity made me even more irritated. "An incredible journalist such as yourself?"

"We all have our moments, Mr. Hawks."

He smoothed out the invisible wrinkles in his jacket. "I won't lie to you, Helena. Is it all right if I call you Helena?" I nodded, slowly. "Well, I won't lie. Your articles are essentially the only reason I read the newspaper anymore. It's all too depressing really. All people ever seem to care about is war and obesity. But not you, Helena. You—you write the truth. And it's been quite a disappointment these past few days and weeks when I haven't seen a single one of your articles published."

He definitely knew how to turn on the charm. "That's very flattering, Mr. Hawks."

"Benjamin," he stated plainly.

"Well, Benjamin," I emphasized, "my boss has put me on a rather large story. It's taking up most of my time nowadays."

"Has he really? And how is Ricky?"

"Good, good. Do you two know each other?"

"No." And he left it at that.

"Oh…" I trailed off, slightly confused. "It just…it seems as if you know everyone."

"I do, I do—at least the significant people."

"Am I really that significant?"

"You'd be surprised how important you are."

"Important to what, exactly?"

He leaned in closer to me. It made me slightly nervous to see him so close. His cold, steel eyes seemed angry. "Everything." Benjamin placed his hand on my shoulder. The iciness had disappeared "Now I saw you hailing a taxicab. Am I correct?"

"My car is in the shop. I should be going home, actually. There's a lot I need to do." I took a step back but he continued to clutch my shoulder.

"Nonsense! I can give you a ride." He tapped on his car door. A man from the inside pushed it open, staring blankly at me.

On the way home, I continued to think of how uncomfortable the situation was. I didn't want to be in the car with Benjamin Hawks, one of the oddest and most conniving men in Gotham City. But there I sat, between Benjamin and a man who continued to stare at me. The driver occasionally stole a glance at me in the backseat as Benjamin continued to hurl questions at me—questions that I didn't want to answer. Where are you from? Italy but raised in Gotham. What school did you go to? NYU. Do you like to write? Of course. Who were your parents? Guido and Carmela Bertinelli.

"Guido Bertinelli? You must be joking!" I certainly wasn't laughing. Instead, the scowl on my face that was at one time a smile grew deeper and more frightening to look at. But Benjamin Hawks didn't seem to care.

"No, I'm not joking."

"But…that can't be possible! His entire family was—"

"Murdered. Trust me, I know the story."

"Well…either you are lying, or the story is just not true. There wasn't a whisper about it in any newspaper, the police wouldn't discuss it. Everyone had pushed it aside, claiming it to be a rumor. People said Guido fled the country."

"Take a right," I ordered the driver. He did as I instructed and I looked at Benjamin Hawks. "People will believe what they want to believe, regardless of what I say about it. And I don't like to say anything about it."

He was silent for a moment, reminiscing. But the silence became too painful for him to bear. "So where did you go for a year? The same year the Batman came into being?"

I sighed. This man wasn't going to give up. "I lived with my cousin Marcello and his family in Italy for a while before I came back to Gotham. Stop here," I instructed the driver. He pulled over in front of my apartment building. The strange looking man opened the car door and stepped outside, waiting for me to exit as well. As I did, Benjamin called after me.

"It was a pleasure talking to you, dear."

"Same goes for me," I shouted sarcastically over my shoulder.

I was on the third floor of my apartment building, unscrewing the older doorknob before replacing it with the new one. My landlord has received a key ungraciously just a few minutes before. Thankfully, I didn't have to explain too much to him as he slammed the door in my face before I could get a word in edgewise. So there I sat, fuming from my earlier conversation with Benjamin Hawks while trying to replace a doorknob. It was a precarious situation, as I had little patience at the time and was fuming with rage. I possess no skill with a screwdriver.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway. It wasn't the usual thud of tennis shoes, but a "clank, clank, clank" of high-society shoes. I didn't look up at the person standing at the end of the staircase. Honestly, it wouldn't be the first time a man was staring at me in an uncomfortable, frustrating position. But his voice certainly caught my attention. "Helena? Helena Bertinelli?"

My head snapped up, and the face that greeted me caused me to scowl with contempt. "What the hell are you doing here?" The voice belonged to Bruce Wayne, his cocky smile ever so prominent. He was dressed in a black suit with a white shirt and gray necktie. Bruse walked towards me, his hands placed casually in his pockets.

"I was in town. I didn't know you lived here."

"No, I live in my office. I sleep here."

He grinned. "Yeah, that sounds about right. What are you doing?"

I sighed, dropping the screwdriver. "What, you don't want to try and guess? I'm replacing the doorknob."

"Any particular reason why?"

"Someone broke in the other night." Bruce's face held mock-concern. It made me want to punch him square in the eyes. "Don't act so surprised."

"I'm not, Bertinelli. Do you see what part of town you live in?"

"Not everyone can afford mansions like yourself. But you, Bruce Wayne, have enough money to burn down your mansion and replace it with another."

Bruce scoffed. "Everyone makes mistakes."

"Well, that was a pretty big mistake, if you ask me." He took a few steps closer, picking up the screwdriver.

"You don't sound too pleased to see me." Bruce began to fix my doorknob. I just sat there staring at him as he worked in his business suit. I brushed my hair out of my eyes, watching him work.

"Do I ever? Why are you even here?"

He finished replacing the doorknob quicker than I could even imagine. Bruce handed me the screwdriver and smiled. "I had a meeting with the owner. He's thinking about selling the place."

"What?" I nearly screamed.

"God, relax…he's thinking about selling it, but I'm not going to destroy the place. Especially now that I know you live here. I wouldn't want you to write about the big bad Bruce, coming to put more people out on the streets." He stood up, replacing one of his hands in his pocket. He began to grin, staring at me in my disheveled form. It was making me nervous. People were literally bugging the hell out of me. Bruce reached out his hand, and I accepted it as he pulled me to my feet.

Matter-of-factly, Bruce stated, "I think you should find a better apartment." He still hadn't let go of my hand.

"It's all I can afford."

"I doubt that. There are plenty more apartments in better parts of this city that are cheap."

"I don't really have time to look."

"What—is your investigation getting in the way of finding a decent place to live? I'm sure your personal safety is more valuable than this Joker case."

"You'd be surprised."

"No. I don't think I would be." He paused for a moment, looking down at our hands before quickly pulling back. "I'll help you look if you want me to."

"I don't need your help with anything, Bruce. Why the hell is my personal life everyone's interest as of late?" He crossed his arms.

"What do you mean?"

"Forget it! Thanks for you help!" I snapped, getting ready to enter my apartment. My hand was on the doorknob when he shouted.

"Hey!" The tone of his voice—the inflection: it sounded so familiar, causing chills to run up and down my spine. I didn't move. He didn't move. We stood there in the silence, my back to him. "I owe you dinner."

It slipped out before I could stop myself. "Yeah…you do."

"Tomorrow. I'll pick you up at 7 o'clock?"

"Do I need to dress up?"

"Honestly, I don't care if you show up in pajamas."

"Then I'll dress up."

Bruce Wayne walked out of the building, taking slow, giant steps towards the staircase. I stood there, with my hand on the brand new doorknob, not moving a muscle.

What the hell just happened?