CHAPTER Il- THE MAUSOLEUM
Alfred Pennyworth wandered through Wayne Manor, his Italian shoes made an echoing clack against the hardwood floor in the long hallway. Ms. September just wandered out the front door half dressed.
Alfred knocked on the door of Bruce Wayne’s room, and got a long delayed response, “Not decent!” Alfred shrugged and rolled his eyes, “As always, sir.”
He heard Bruce shuffle around inside, “Just a second!” he shouted, “Come on in.” Alfred entered and looked around at Bruce’s scattered clothes. He shifted one of his eyebrows in a very subtle taunt. “You’re promiscuity never ceases to amaze me, Master Wayne.” Said Alfred. Bruce threw on his shirt “It’s harder than it looks, Alfred.” Before he put on the shirt, Alfred caught a glimpse of a big bruise on his chest. “And how went you’re confrontation with Bane last night? I take it Ms. September didn’t give you those bruises?”
“For your information, her name is Veronica, and thanks for letting me know about that robbery without waking her up.” Said Bruce. Alfred looked down at a shoe that Ms. September had left behind. He picked it up, “Should I mail it to her or are you actually planning to talk to this one again?” Bruce looked at him with a look that said you already know the answer. “Very well, sir.” He put the shoe in his pocket and left the room. “Breakfast is on the table, sir.” He shouted from down the hall.
Bruce was tall, lean, with dark hair and grey eyes. But Bruce Wayne was a disguise, a millionaire brat mask to cloak the Dark Knight. Bruce had become like the city he had sworn to protect, hollow.
Bruce sat down in the empty dining room, the long table fit for twenty people was only seating one these days. He sat down and ate breakfast and thought about the current condition of Gotham. The Penguin had left town over a month ago, Croc was given the death penalty, doctors were working on a vaccine to turn Ivy back into a normal plant lover and the Joker was locked up tighter than ever. And of course, Bane was in the hospital, all his Venom confiscated and nearly every bone in his body was broken. Maybe he could be the real Bruce Wayne for a while. He hadn’t visited his parents’ grave in a long time. And so, it was decided.
Bruce threw on his coat and pulled out in the Rolls Royce. The gravel made popping noises beneath the tires. He felt impatient behind the wheel, used to the speed and authority of the Batmobile, he would often find himself flooring the pedal before reaching a red light and screeching to an immediate halt.
Bruce was baffled as he went into the heart of the city. It had been a long time since he had seen Gotham in the day. The thugs and master criminals may have been behind bars but the rich kingpins were still looking down at the decaying, long lost glory of Gotham City from high in their towers. They owned Gotham, the corruptors and the corrupted. Rupert Thorne had the mayor and half the Police force in his pocket. Not to mention, he could hire anyone. Bruce had quickly deduced that Bane and those two goons had been hired by Thorne, and had most of the press gunning for Batman, too. Enough. These were Batman’s worries.
Bruce picked up a bundle of flowers for five dollars too much from a perverted looking guy he swore he had arrested before at a stand outside an Italian restaurant. He parked on the curb as filth and trash leaked into the drain. Bruce got out and nearly stepped in the drainage waste before stepping up onto the sidewalk.
The iron gates, headed with sharp points on every rung, sloped up until peaking at the main entrance of the Gotham Cemetery. The grand gate stood against the pale grey sky promising rain. Bruce swung the gate open and sauntered into the grim burial yard where the groundskeepers had given up on keeping the grass green and the gravediggers had become tired of burying the innocent.
Wayne Mausoleum was cold and heartless, nothing like the people inside. Bruce placed the flowers next to the plaque reading Martha Wayne1946-1985. He sat on the concrete steps and took a deep breath. “It’s been a long time.” He whispered, “I’ve been kinda busy.”
He paused, choosing his words. “Dad, I’m sorry. I brought shame to this family. But I can’t do them both right. I can’t be Batman and try to change the world as Bruce Wayne. Please. Just tell me I’m doing what’s right. Please.”
Bruce stood up and turned from the mausoleum. He shrugged and looked back, “Good to see you again, Mom.” He nodded and walked off as the sun set on Gotham. As everyone flocked to get home from work, he was just about to get started.
Batman stood atop a gargoyle on the Clark Building, one of the oldest remaining skyscrapers in Gotham. This was a great vantage point, with the night-vision lenses installed in his cowl, he could see everything, and yet the city was silent. But the night was young and Batman stayed persistent.
Soon, his patience was rewarded as a lone vehicle screamed through the empty city streets, tore around the corner and picked up speed. Maybe these were just punks who had no idea how fast they were going, maybe they were truly on their way to partake in bad business, either way, Batman decided to keep an eye on them.
Leaping from the gargoyle, Batman spread his cloak and it went rigid, becoming a singular wing and he glided at high speed after the car. Wind curling under his cape, he flew for a mile straight before reaching the ground and by that time, the car had slowed and finally, drawn to a stop. It was at that time that Batman realized they had lead him back to the cemetery. Four large, lumbering men got out of the car and Batman dashed, jumped up onto the gate and with great agility flung himself over. They didn’t hear a thing as Batman hit the grass on the other side. He tapped the side of his head and activated the audio transmitter and with a quick static crackle, he could hear their conversation clearly.
The four men opened the trunk and grabbed shovels and bags. “I’m tellin’ ya,” said one of the men, “These rich types bury all kinds of stuff with ‘em. They can’t handle the idea of people touchin’ their stuff.” He grabbed a crowbar from the trunk. “First on the list…the Waynes.”
Batman was caught off guard but not entirely shocked, the Wayne family was a target for muggers even beyond the grave. One of the men tugged on the bars but the gate didn’t budge. Another pushed him aside and pulled out a handgun, shooting the lock. He then simply kicked the gate open. The others shuffled in after him.
Batman dashed behind a headstone. “What was that?!” cried one of the thugs. The others claimed they didn’t hear a thing and went farther up the road. Ducking between shadows, Batman stalked them as they moved cautiously towards the Wayne Mausoleum. They came to the concrete tomb as one of them stomped the flowers he had left, grinding them into the ground under his boot. He scraped the rose mush off on Mrs. Wayne’s plaque.
The apparent leader stepped forward and wedged his crowbar into the stone cover. Through the thick canopy of dark clouds came the trickling of early rain, then instantaneously became a full downpour. They all flipped their hoods up and the leader returned to prying the cover free.
With the first crack of thunder and flash of lightning came a terrifyingly tremendous roar. “Drop your weapons!” he commanded. The four men looked around. Lightning flashed again, revealing the figure of a bat atop the mausoleum. One of the thugs spotted it and pulled out his gun, as the lightning faded, the glow of the gunshot illuminated the roof again for a split second, but there was no bat.
“What was that for?!” shouted one of his companions. The man stuttered for a moment until crying aloud the most terrifying word any low-life criminal could here, “BATMAN!”
These criminals had become wise to Batman’s first trick through pals of theirs in prison. They huddled together instead of scattering. “Form a circle!” said the leader, “He can’t sneak up on us!” And they went shoulder to shoulder forming a circle, those with guns drew them, pointing them outward, obviously nervous, the guns trembled in their hands. The others remained poised with their shovels and crowbars in hand.
Perched on a branch of a nearby tree, Batman waited, observing his prey. Night vision was activated, he assessed the situation, counting in his head. ‘Four large men. Two armed, two unarmed. Number of possible attack points: six.’ He drew a batarang, he didn’t care for the name, but it stuck. Deciding which target. Method for a perfect aim, breath out and count to three. One… Two… Three.
The rain came down heavy, battering against their thick jackets. The men became cold and weary. Lightning cast shadows that kept them on their toes, but suddenly an unseen force struck one of the gunman in the head and he fell to the ground, unconscious. The leader cautiously bent over and picked it up. Coarse metal grazed his fingertips as he clutched it. The blade was black, in the shape of… “THE BAT!” he cried aloud. They began to panic, looking around for the Batman. But as lightning struck, it was clear that he was within their supposedly impenetrable circle. He took out the other gunman first, punching him in the back of the head then grabbing his collar, hoisting him up and throwing him against the steps of the tomb. The others turned around, one swinging his crowbar. Batman deflected the iron bar with the armor on his forearm, quickly slashing at the thug’s chest with the three blades attached. As he lost balance, Batman drove his elbow upside his head.
The last man standing came charging at him with the shovel. Batman prepared to block his blow and take him down but suddenly a gunshot boomed behind him. In his momentary distraction, Batman was struck in the chest by the sharp edge of the shovel. The man kept pushing and drove him against the wall. The shovel had pierced his thin Kevlar armor as the brute pushed harder, it dug deeper and deeper. Batman raised his arm and with his forearm blades, cut the shovelhead off. He yanked the remaining stick from the man’s hands and tossed it aside. The crook looked down at the remnants of his shovel just before felling Batman’s boot crush the wind out of his lungs with one swift kick.
Batman turned to the man left on the steps. He was shivering, frozen with fear. The gun in his hand posed no threat to Batman; he simply stared down the crook. Batman’s stare worked deep into the man’s mind and he let the gun slip from his hand.
He rushed away down the trail as fast as he could. Batman knew he wouldn’t get far. The Gotham police department arrived moments later. With the muffled bang of his grappling gun, Batman zip-lined to a nearby building. As he climbed up over the ledge of the building, a far off light pierced the clouds; in the center was a silhouette of a bat. “It’s gonna be one of those nights.” He whispered to himself.
Commissioner Gordon stood idly atop the GCPD station. The Bat-signal shone with great intensity. Gordon’s brown coat flustered in the breeze. He pulled his hand from his pocket and looked down at his watch. At that moment, he heard the wafting whoosh of Batman’s cape behind him. He turned around to see Batman perched on a water tower.
“You rang?” said Batman. Gordon adjusted his glasses, “You know I hate it when you do that.” Said Gordon. Batman leapt down to Gordon’s side as he flipped the switch and turned off the signal. “What’s the problem, Jim?” Batman inquired. Gordon shrugged, “Same old, same old.”’ He said, “Joker claims he’s ready to change his ways.”
Batman considered the likelihood of that being true. Slim. “What makes you think he’s not just manipulating us again?”
Gordon ran his fingers through his bristly mustache as he spoke, “That’s what I thought at first but…” he looked down at the deep cut on Batman’s chest. “My god, you’re bleeding!” Batman put his hand over the wound. “It’s nothing.” He claimed, “You were saying?”
“Oh, uh… right. That’s what I thought at first but he says he wants to talk to you before he takes another shot at therapy.” Said Gordon. Batman turned and walked towards the ledge. “Tomorrow night, Jim. I’m tired.”
Gordon scoffed and chuckled, “I didn’t know you slept!” Batman stepped over the edge, “Goodnight, Jim.” He whispered before diving off the building and spreading his wings, soaring off into the night.
(BATMAN AND ALL RELATED CHARACTERS ARE OWNED BY DC COMICS AND WARNER BROS. ENTERTAINMENT. I IN NO WAY CLAIM RIGHTS OR OWNERSHIP OF THE CHARACTERS.)
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