Part 2

December 8, 1984

I had done my best to forget about that night. Nine years ago, my parents had been slaughtered in front of me by an anonymous thief. I had watched as my father had bled out on the cold pavement that evening. I had listened as he told me to "not be afraid." To this day, I don't think I've figured out the full meaning of this phrase. Was he worried for my future? I was given billions when he died. Alfred was definitely smart enough not to let me blow all of that. Was he worried I would waste away? For awhile, I had secluded myself away from the world but eventually, my drive to live up to my father triumphed. Just like everyone else, I had graduated from high school at age eighteen. However, not like everyone else, only three years later, and just last week, I had graduated from Princeton with degrees in Psychology and Criminal Justice. I had been invited to attend nearly every law school on the eastern seaboard, most of them for free.

Was he worried I would blame myself?

If so, he would have been right. I didn't think about that night very often, but when I did, a sense of overwhelming guilt flooded over me. I didn't have a good reason. We hadn't left the movie early and we hadn't gone that way because of me. However, I couldn't help but feel that for some reason, the death of my parents was my fault. I could have begged for the man not to kill my parents. I could have done something. Instead, I stood, frozen in fear, as that man gunned down my parents.

That man who killed my parents was named Chill. Joe Chill was his name and just a week after the murder of my parents, he had been found and confessed to the crime. He plead to a reduced deal that only guaranteed fifteen years in prison. Except even that wasn't guaranteed. The current District Attorney had granted a hearing for Chill to discuss the option of an early parole for him. Not only had he been on his best behavior over the last nine years, but he had shared a jail cell with Rupert Thorne, the suspected head of organized crime in Gotham. After some legal maneuvering, the hearing had finally been set. Today, Joe Chill could walk free.

Alfred had let me know about this in early November about this. I wasn't surprised. Gotham had slowly slipped into chaos after the death of my parents. Their death showed the people of Gotham that even the rich could be hurt. People stopped trusting the police and the police as a result began to doubt their own abilities. So, corruption become the common place. Judges, lawyers, and police officers were being paid off in Gotham City more than anywhere else in the world. In fact, most people believed that both the judge who would oversee the hearing and District Attorney who requested that Chill be given an early release, were on Thorne's payroll. Just five years ago, Thorne had been convicted of extortion, fraud, blackmail, and racketeering. Earlier this year, he was released. Obviously, someone had gotten richer and Thorne had gotten out of prison.

No one had doubted that whether he had been before or if he was a recent addition, Chill was now one of the many names on the payroll of Rupert Thorne. I didn't have any doubt that he was going to be released today. It just made too much sense.

I drove the most subtle car I had in the garage, a black Mercedes. Alfred had offered to drive me, thinking that I planned to make a huge appearance. I had quite the opposite plan. I wanted to sneak in. I wanted them to do what they were going to do, regardless of whether I was there. Luckily, I had done a pretty good job of keeping my face out of the papers and so while everyone in Gotham surely knew my name, I could get away with showing my face.

I parked in the parking lot behind the giant Gotham Courthouse. Once I reached the back door, I paid the guard to allow me into the back entrance. Once I explained who I was and why I was here, and that I had five hundred dollars in my pocket, he was eager to let me in. I guess paying people off works everywhere in this town. I quickly ran up the back staircase and reached the fifth floor, where the largest courtroom was. As I expected, news crews were everywhere, hoping to catch anyone related to the story. Apparently, the parole hearing for the killer of the most famous philanthropist in Gotham history was a big deal.

While no one was paying attention, I quickly slid into one of the side doors and took my seat towards the back. Almost immediately after I sat down, the bailiff spoke up.

"All rise for the Honorable Judge Harold Krum." he said with a bold voice.

Krum. By most accounts, he was the dirtiest judge in Gotham. He was often seen at Polanski's Restaurant on 45th Avenue, a hangout for some of Thorne's more reputable colleagues. At any time of day, you could find numerous judges, several cops, and at least one Assistant District Attorney. Today, he would do his boss' bidding and set free his little man.

"Today, we will hear testimony from and about one, Joseph K. Chill. Nine years ago, you pled guilty to two counts of Manslaughter in the first degree and one count of theft. You were sentenced to life in prison at Blackgate Prison, with parole eligible after fifteen years. However, we have reports of your good behavior and your cooperation with the District Attorney's Office in various cases involving organized crime. Therefore, I have allowed this hearing in order to determine that you have been properly rehabilitated and have seen the error of your ways."

This was a joke. All that legal bull about him being rehabilitated. The only thing that had been rehabilitated was his bank account. He would never have to mug anyone again.

"Mr. Hall. You may present your witnesses." Krum said to the DA.

"Thank you, Your Honor. We call Joseph Chill as our first witness."

Chill slowly stood and made his way to the podium. He was a frail man with shifty eyes. Who would have thought this could have been the man that seemed so threatening to me?

After he was sworn in, Chill took his seat. He was already sweating. I can't imagine why. If Krum had been paid off, as I assume he had, then nothing would change his decision.

"Please describe the night you killed Thomas and Martha Wayne." DA Hall started.

Then, in excruciating detail, Chill began to tell his version of what happened. He told everyone about how poor he had been and how he was desperate for money. So, he stole a gun from a pawn shop and found the first wealthy looking couple he could find. Unfortunately, that had been my parents. He told the crowd gathered about how he had accidentally pulled the trigger when my Dad stepped in front of my mom. Then, he said how he had been so frightened by the screaming of my mother that he shot her.

Once he said that, I looked around the room. No one looked angry. No one looked upset. Everyone looked like they felt bad for him. Like he had no other choice. I slowly realized that no one cared about my parents. No one cared about true justice. This man killed two of the greatest people in the whole world and the general population didn't care. They wanted him to be let go because he had learned his lesson.

But, he hadn't learned his lesson.

Finally, he appeared to be done. I couldn't take it anymore. Just as I stood up to leave, Judge Krum spoke up.

"Mr. Wayne?"

Suddenly, the spotlight shifted to me. Every camera and microphone in the room shifted from the witness stand to the far back corner of the room.

"Yes, Judge?" I asked.

"Do you have anything you would like to say?" he asked in return, a small smile barely concealed.

For an instant, I thought about ignoring him and leaving and then suddenly, inspiration struck.

"Yes." I said as I boldly made my way to the front of the courtroom. Once I was in front of the judge's stand, I turned around and faced the crowd.

"This man murdered two people in cold blood. It wasn't self-defense. He's not crazy. He killed them because he didn't have any money." I said with anger. Then, I turned to Chill.

"Tell me, Mr. Chill. Where did you graduate from high school?" I asked, feigning politeness.

"Does this question have any bearing on your statement?" Judge Krum asked.

"Yes." I replied strongly.

"Answer the question, Mr. Chill."

He looked at the floor as he responded.

"I didn't."

I had already known that. But, I couldn't help but humiliate him a little bit.

"Well, that must have made going to college very difficult." I replied snidely.

"I couldn't, Mr. Wayne." he replied softly.

"I know, Joe. I know. Tell me, how many jobs have you worked in your life?" I asked.

"One." he replied.

"Great!" I replied, boldly faking excitement. "For how long?"

He sat there silently.

"How long!" I insisted.

"...two weeks."

"Two weeks! How old are you, Mr. Chill?" I asked, closing in on my prey. With just a few steps, I was just in front of the witness stand.

"Fifty-two years old, Mr. Wayne."

I stopped and ran back to the District Attorney's table to do some quick math. Once I had my results, I attacked again.

"Mr. Chill, you have been alive for over 2,704 weeks. During that time, you have failed to graduate from anything and have held a job for only two weeks. Now, I read your profile. I know that you came from a very well off family and that you disagreed with them and so you moved out of the house when you were sixteen years old. I know that you dropped out of school shortly thereafter. Why?"

"It wasn't for me." he replied shortly.

"So what was? What have you done with your life? In 2,704 weeks, you have worked for 14 days. That is less than 1% of your entire lifetime. There are some fifteen year olds that have done fifty times what you have done with your life." I said with scorn.

"When you moved out, who paid for it?" I asked.

"My parents did."

"When you got caught drinking under the legal age, who paid for your bail?"

"They did."

"When you got caught with cocaine and heroin, who visited you everyday for three years in jail?"

"They did."

"What did you ever do to repay them? All they were was good to you. Did you kill my parents because they reminded you of what you had? Did they remind you of how great your parents were to you?"

"No."

"Well, then why did you kill them?" I asked simply.

"Because I needed money."

"Ok. That's what jobs are for, aren't they?" I replied. "When was the last time you filled out a job application?"

"1964 or '65."

"That was almost twenty years ago! And it was almost ten before you went to prison."

"Yes."

"The act you committed was selfish and horrible. You killed two of the most generous and helpful people on the planet because you were too lazy to do your own work and get a job. Why should we feel bad for you?"

"You shouldn't. I feel sorry for what I did everyd-"

"I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE SORRY! YOU KNOW WHAT YOU COULD HAVE DONE! YOU COULD HAVE TAKEN THAT GUN AND PUT IT TO YOUR OWN HEAD! THE REST OF THE WORLD WOULD HAVE MY PARENTS TO HELP THEM AND YOU WOULDN'T HAVE BECOME THE WASTE OF SPACE THAT YOU ARE TODAY!"

With that, I left, knowing that I had gone too far. I walked out of the courthouse as the reporters tried to follow me. As I ignored, their presence, I made my way back to my car and pulled it up next to the front entrance. I figured that within a few minutes, Chill would come around the corner and I could do what I wanted to him. I was Bruce Wayne, afterall.

Sure enough, ten minutes later, the crowds began to pour out of the entrance, with the scraggly old man at the center. I got out of my car and was making my way towards him when a short, balding man stepped in front of him.

"You should have kept your yapp shut, Chill!"

Suddenly, a CRACK rang through the air as visions of my parents' death flashed before my eyes. I ran towards where Chill had fallen and hated what I saw. Blank eyes. Though my father and my mother and Joe Chill had looked so different in life, all they were in death were blank eyes.

Then, I heard someone from behind me say, "Wow, he shouldn't have ratted out Thorne."

"What!" I said as I turned around and faced the reporter.

"Yeah, after you left, he made his final statement. That as a part of his parole agreement, he would share all the information he had on Thorne's operation with the Police and the DA's office."

"They set him up." I said quietly.

"Yeah, pretty much. Thorne wanted to use him as an example and got Hall and Krum to help him out with it. That's why he looked so nervous today. Once he heard that Hall would be presenting the case and Krum would be hearing it, he knew that he was over."

As I walked slowly back to my car, all I could think about were those blank eyes. A man that had tried to set things right, a man that I had told to kill himself, was dead.

Rupert Thorne. He was the cause of this.

Once I got in my car, I sped away, Polanski's Restaurant my destination.