The Batmobile did a sharp turn and vanished in the darkness of last early morning shadows still crawling in corners of Gotham City.
Batman exited his vehicle inside a huge garage and walked long way to the elevator passing by multiple very expensive cars.
Halles of his bat penthouse were dark and quiet. All windows were covered with thick curtains. He walked to his laboratory.
Early morning light was coming through a small opening between curtains. Three computers were working on a circle desk, a huge long table with parts of a suite was placed in the middle of the room. Batman pulled his mask off and carefully took his bat suit placing it into the special tall glass case. He took a long shower.
Last night was rough. He prevented some awful crimes from happening and got into the fight with fifteen guys. The bat suit was protecting him at all costs but still he got bruises and abrasions all over his torso. City is safe for a one more day.
He knew it wasn't the end of the day it was only the beginning. He needed to read more of the translations of Evan's notes. He felt like he got a sense of what was going on but still he had to uncover more.
Those translations were extremely helpful but they didn't contain much useful information they sounded like parts of some sort of book. Random chapters about anything but murders or maybe he just couldn't understand them. Sometimes he regretted to let her go after she translated it all because if she read these notes to him she could explain a meaning of them.
But he must let her go. And he had to finish what he started alone as usual.
- Would you like some breakfast and a fresh newspaper, master Bruce. - Alfred Pennyworth knocked to the door and walked inside the lab.
- Yes to breakfast, no to newspapers, Alfred. I have something more interesting to read.
- Sure indeed, sir.
An old butler left and the owner of Wayne Enterprise kept setting deep in thoughts with a sheet of paper in his hand.
It was a translation of a fifths note left on a dead body. The victim number five was a very rich Maecenas of Gotham City, Gregory Stonte. Thomas Wayne was a close friend with him and Bruce remembered how he was playing with Stonte's son when they were kids.
Stonte was very famous family not only because of their wealth but also because of their secrets. Bruce knew that Stonte's son had died in a very tragic and suspicious car accident five years after his own mother committed a suicide. Death was always near Stonte family generations after generations and it seemed like finally a Grim Reaper nailed that family to the ground.
Gregory Stonte's death was horrifying. Bruce Wayne looked through the victim file before reading a note. He knew all the victims and circumstances of their deaths by heart and still was reading files over and over again. Stonte's was murdered on July 6th over night and was found only two days later by his maid. He wasn't supposed to come back from a California trip he took right before July 4th. He let all his maids and servants go from July 3rd to July 8th when he was supposed to return from his trip. But something went wrong and he returned on July 5th and got chopped with a machete. His remains were hung on an oldest tree in his mansion. By the time police was called and got there those remains were partly destroyed by crows. The death note was pinched to the same tree with a machete.
Bruce took a paper with a translation and read it carefully word by word. "The steam is everywhere it is so glumly and dark. It's hard to breath so much of it you can't see the sky. You walk in it and don't see a path. Give me your hand and I walk you to the other side."
- … on the other side. - repeated Bruce
- Master Bruce, your breakfast. - coming through the door holding a tray said old butler.
- … on the other side. - Bruce didn't hear his butler he was deep in his thoughts.
- Excuse me, sir? Would you like to eat on the other side of a table?
- Ah? Oh, no, no Alfred, here is fine, thank you.
- Sir. I know you are tired and there is a lot for you on to do list but you asked me to remind you that today is six month since Mr. Stonte's death and you've been invited to say a speech on his memorial. I wrote it for you if you would like to read.
-Sure. Sure, Alfred. What time today?
- Two o'clock afternoon, Master Bruce.
- Yeh. No problem. Thank you, Alfred. I'll read it.