"At times the world can seem an unfriendly and sinister place, but believe us when we say there is much more good in it than bad. All you have to do is look hard enough. And what might seem to be a series of unfortunate events, may, in fact, be the first steps of a journey… And remember one thing my darlings and never forget it…know that as long as you have each other, you have your family, and you are home."
"The Letter That Never Came" –Lemony Snicket
Chapter Forty-Two:
Alfred had paced the same section of carpet so many times that Bruce was beginning to wonder if he wasn't going to wear a hole into it.
"I'm sure she's fine, Alfred," the young man spoke up from his place on the sofa, though he couldn't help but feel a twinge of worry himself. It was the infernal pacing of his butler that put him on edge. If only the man would stop.
"Well I wouldn't know, because she isn't answering her phone now, is she?" responded Alfred with furrowed brow and a deep frown. "It's been nearly six hours."
Bruce opened his mouth to say something when the phone on the table suddenly shrieked.
Alfred practically jumped out of his skin and leapt to answer it.
"Wayne Manor," he said with forced calm.
Bruce watched as the man's eyebrows shot up.
"I see." Alfred frowned, the creases in his forehead deepening. Bruce could tell that the news wasn't good.
"Are you quite sure? Yes. Yes, of course. Is there anything—? No. Right." A long sigh shook its way from his frame. "Thank you, officer," he murmured hoarsely as he set the phone back in its cradle. He didn't look up for a long time, his hand still resting on the phone.
"What is it?" Bruce asked hesitantly.
Alfred glanced up. "There was an accident. They found her motorbike on the bridge. Witnesses say she went into the river." His voice trailed off for a moment, and it was a while before he could add, "They're searching for a body now."
"Alfred…" Bruce began, but the butler wasn't listening.
He stood frozen to the ground, staring into nothing. Of course they'd find the bike—that bloody bike. Hadn't he warned her that it would be the death of her? He clenched his jaw and forced himself to breathe. They hadn't found a body yet. But there had been witnesses to the accident; they'd seen her go off the bridge. If a fall like that hadn't killed her, the river probably had.
Oh God.
Something pressed against Alfred, and he started out of his thoughts, glancing down at the top of Bruce's head. The boy embraced him tightly, and Alfred returned the embrace, holding his young master. They were well accustomed to such hugs, the kind meant to hold someone together when everything threatened to tear them apart.
An uncomfortable tightness squeezed his throat until he thought he wouldn't be able to breathe, but he swallowed it down forcibly. Not in front of the boy, he told himself.
Running a hand over Bruce's thick hair, he took a step back and forced a wan smile. "It'll be all right," he reassured the boy. He hadn't seen such distress on Bruce's face in quite a while.
"Do you think they'll find it? Her body?"
Alfred shook his head. "Let's not dwell on that now, shall we?" He glanced at his watch and added, "It looks to be about your bedtime, anyway."
Bruce didn't move. "Maybe she's all right," he said quietly, looking up at the butler. The hope in the young man's dark eyes nearly broke Alfred.
"Yes," the man whispered hoarsely. "One can always hope."