Gotham Archives

4. Poison And Windows

"We're quite sure this Pusher character is the same man that killed Martin Rivet," Gordon told Bruce, who was now at the police station with dozens of officers ready to put their lives on the line for him.

"I thought you said it was a suicide," Bruce replied, feigning ignorance. Of course Pusher had forced Rivet to commit suicide, just as he had made Summer Gleeson say that odd news broadcast. Now he was going to make some other innocent citizen try to kill Gotham's wealthiest resident. Bruce could only wonder how he planned to take down Batman.

"Well, we have reason to believe Pusher may have made him commit suicide by force. We're not sure how, but we have professionals examining Miss Gleeson, so we should have some answers soon," Gordon explained. "You're in good hands, Mr. Wayne. For now, we're going to send you home with a few officers to keep guard."

The few officers were four beat cops to patrol the grounds of Wayne Manor, and Montoya and Bullock to stay inside with Bruce.

As they walked outside the police station, dozens of reporters crowded the stairs, trying to get to Bruce. Summer Gleeson was, of course, not among them.

"Mr. Wayne, do you know why Pusher has targeted you?"

"What measures are being taken to protect Gotham's richest heir?"

"Is there any idea as to who this Pusher is?"

"How can you be sure the police protecting you won't fall victim to Pusher's powers?"

This last question came from Alexander Know, who had fiercely elbowed his way through the sea of reporters to get to Bruce. The other reporters gave him dirty looks. Only Knox would ask such a dumb question, assuming that this guy had supernatural powers. Of course, he'd been right about Batman; he never let anyone forget that.

Bruce frowned, not sure how to answer. Montoya cut in. "Listen, everybody, the GCPD is taking every precaution possible to ensure Mr. Wayne's safety. No further comments."

Montoya and Bullock ushered Bruce into a squad car, while the other officers took separate vehicles. It didn't take long to escape the crowd and drive up the vast hill to Wayne Manor.

"So this is how the other half lives," Bullock said, as he got out of the car. Montoya elbowed him in the ribs and he glared at her, looking ready offer a rude hand gesture or two.

Great, Bruce thought. As if I wasn't already responsible for my own safety and theirs, I have to worry about these two acting like a competitive brother and sister. How am I going to protect everyone…

The beat cops set up a perimeter around the mansion, while Alfred escorted Bruce, Montoya, and Bullock into the house.

"May I offer you all some beverages? We have coffee, water, many varieties of tea, juices…"

Both Montoya and Bullock said coffee was fine, while Bruce asked for some of the energy shake he'd made earlier. It was a revolting green substance with an even worse aftertaste, but Bruce knew he needed all the strength he had if he did eventually have to fight off armed cops without hurting any of them. He assumed that was what Pusher had planned.

"Everything is going to be all right," Montoya assured Bruce with a smile, seeming to sense his deep thoughts. Bullock nodded reassuringly.

"Yeah, no psycho's gettin' into this house," he said, leaning back into the couch. "We can promise you that."

Alfred came back in with the drinks on a silver tray and calmly set them down on the small coffee table. He then left the room.

Bruce marveled at how calm Alfred could stay in these situations. They were all in danger, yet he remained so composed…so tranquil.

Perhaps he is upset, he considered. He left the room so quickly, didn't even stop to speak-

"Don't drink that!" Bruce yelled suddenly, jumping to his feet. Bullock froze with the mug inches from his mouth, while Montoya dropped hers to the ground in surprise.

The cops started to speak, but Bruce sprinted from the room.

"Alfred!" he called, glancing in each room he passed. Finally, he reached the kitchen and found his butler, a small glass raised to his mouth.

"Alfred, don't!"

The older gentleman looked only for a moment, with blank eyes. He then went to drink. In what seemed like a millisecond, Bruce was by his side, wrestling the cup away from him. Alfred struggled with unusual strength; finally, the millionaire shoved him with all his might, so that he fell backward, his head connecting with the hard counter.

The police all ran in to find Bruce panting, clutching a glass so tightly his knuckles were white, and his elderly butler lying unconscious on the floor.

"The…the only way," Bruce gasped, eyes wide and sweat pouring from his face. "It was…the only way."

"I'm so sorry," Bruce repeated for the umpteenth time, his head in his hands. He was seated across from Alfred in one of the many living rooms. His dear friend was holding an ice pack to his head. Despite his protests, doctors insisted this was the best thing to do.

"I repeat Master Bruce: I do not mind your violent actions in the least. I'm only grateful I fought Bruce Wayne rather than you-know-who," he added with a wink. Bruce smiled; they were alone and it was safe to speak freely.

"It was the only way to keep you from drinking it," Bruce reiterated. "I have no doubt you would have fought to the death to fulfill Pusher's motives."

Alfred nodded solemnly. "Thanks to you, no one was hurt."

Gordon entered the room, looking anxious and disheveled.

"Mr. Wayne, I heard there was an emergency. Something about poison? Montoya gave me the basics, but honestly, most of the cops here are as confused as I am about what happened."

"Pusher was here long before I even arrived. He must've come in shortly after I came to the police station. He made Alfred wait until I got home with the police to offer us drinks. He knew I would accept, somehow."

Alfred took up the story. "Under his power I poisoned each of the drinks, laced them all with arsenic…" He trailed off, thinking once again of what he would have done if he'd killed the closest thing he'd had to a son.

"Luckily, I knew something was up," Bruce said. "Alfred always waits to ask if the drinks are all right. This time, he didn't. I found him about to drink his own glass of poisoned water, but managed to get it away."

"That was very brave of you," Gordon said, obviously impressed.

"Yeah well, without Alfred, I'd have to clean this place myself," the playboy millionaire said with a smarmy grin, always quick to keep up the Bruce Wayne persona.

Gordon rolled his eyes. "We'll be in touch Mr. Wayne. We're keeping cops around the mansion to protect you, but I suggest not getting to close to anyone. We can't be sure who Pusher's next pawn will be."

Coleman Reese was shredding the final unneeded papers of a long day. It was extremely late; why, in a few hours, workers would be at Wayne Enterprises to start another workday. He'd finished actual work hours ago, but had stayed later to study the Pusher situation. He had figured out Batman's identity, maybe he could shed some light on this terrorist.

"Time to hit the road, buddy,"

Coleman turned around with a squeak. He saw a man who looked oddly familiar, with light brown hair and sunken eyes.

"Maybe if you weren't here so late, you wouldn't be so jumpy," the man observed, smirking at Coleman's reaction.

The embarrassed employee blushed. "That's none of your business. Who are you anyway? Why are you here so late?"

"I'm the night custodian." Suddenly, Coleman noticed the man's tan jumpsuit and cleaning supplies. How had he missed them before?

"Oh, well, I have to be on my way then," he said, thoroughly creeped out. The man placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Actually, Mr. Reese, I have a favor to ask. You see, by helping me, you'll help the company. And I can tell you really care about your work."

Coleman nodded impassively, his eyes growing dull.

"Great," the man, Pusher, continued with a smile. "This is going to completely change Wayne Enterprises as we know it…"

"Are you sure you should be here at work?" Lucius Fox asked his companion on the elevator with concern. "There have been attempts on your life. Aren't you worried?"

Bruce shrugged. "Mr. Fox, I've been through much worse. I don't let little things like death threats worry me."

Lucius sighed. "I wouldn't brag about something like that."

Nevertheless, he got off at a different floor, for he had a increasing amount of work to do. Bruce got off at the twentieth floor.

"Any messages for me, Maxine?"

"Um, several checkups from different people from the police station, making sure you're all right. I told them you weren't in yet and I would call back as soon as you arrived. A Miss Bianca Swanson also called and said she was 'literally going into hypodermic shock just thinking about your handsome face being in danger.' She also said you should fire your butler."

Bruce grinned. "Ah, well, maybe I'll call her back at a later date." He paused at his door and turned back to his secretary.

"Do you think she even knows what hypodermic shock is?"

Maxine laughed.

Bruce entered his office, feeling the tiniest bit better, but his mood quickly dropped at what he saw.

Coleman Reese was standing on the window ledge, facing outward, seemingly prepared to jump.

"Mr. Reese, what are you doing?" Bruce asked cautiously, instantly realizing that this had to be Pusher's doing.

"I'm helping the company," he responded in a monotone voice.

Bruce edged closer until he was only a few feet from the window. He didn't see any point in trying to reason with the man, but he supposed he should give a warning.

"Look, I'm going to try to get you off this ledge-"

"I'll jump," Coleman said, still not looking at Bruce. "But you can save me. You can save the company."

"How's that?"

"Shoot yourself. End the turmoil you've put Gotham through. He left a gun in the top drawer."

Bruce went to his desk to double-check this statement. Sure enough, there lay a small pistol, with three bullets in it. He looked back at Coleman, who was leaning even farther out the window.

"Come on, Reese. Snap out of this. You're way too arrogant too kill yourself. Get out of the window."

"You're not willing to die to save a life?" Coleman said in the same deadpan voice. Obviously, Pusher had fed these lines into him before leaving him to die. He still faced away from Bruce; his dangled one foot dangerously out the window.

"Fine. If that's what it takes to get you off that ledge, fine. I'll do it."

Coleman remained standing where he was as Bruce pointed the gun unwaveringly toward his head.

The sound of a gunshot split the air. Maxine dropped her coffee and gasped. She jumped from her seat and ran into the office.

"Mr. Wayne, I heard a- oh my God!"

"Help me!" Bruce yelled over his shoulder, as he struggled to pull Coleman back through the window by his ankles. Maxine hurried over and, although she certainly wasn't strong, it was enough to pull him through. Coleman lay on the ground, eyes fluttering and mumbling incoherently.

"Is he okay? What happened? Should I call the police?" Maxine spoke quickly, looking around like the whole room would collapse.

"He'll be all right. Call 911," Bruce replied. She left the room and Coleman just lay there unconscious.

Thank God I got to him in time, Bruce thought, rubbing his head. He'd shot the gun into the air, expecting Coleman to jump at the sound of his suicide. He did, but Bruce barely got to the window in time to grab him.

That's it. No more games. You're going down, Pusher. No one's going to die because of your sick sense of entertainment. I'm going to find you and stop you…tonight!

Author's Note: So, yeah, that took way too long to update. Thankfully, school's out and I should have more time for writing. :) Anyway, I think this was the most action-packed, in-depth chapter so far. So that makes up for the wait, right? As always, please review; they mean so much. Next chapter will be the end of the Pusher story and the start of the next plotline. BTW I have a Superman story called Project Kal-El that I just came out with. Please R&R it too! Thanks! :)