#7: Grim, Pt 2 (Villalobos / Paugh)

Do you see? Do you see? Do you see?

Since he was a young boy, these words would fester in the back of Bruce
Wayne’s mind playing over and over again like a cracked record stuck on the
worst part of the song. His mother and father died when he was only eight
years old; at that age he had to overcome his fears; at that age, he was
plucked from his dreamlike life and forced to live in one long nightmare.

As he sat on his knees crouching over his dead parents, he felt their warmth
seep from their bodies in puddles of red liquid. He wished the darkness
would just go away. Everywhere he looked was black, whereas before the
colorful city lights had illuminated his childhood. That moment he cried.

Alfred always thought that the night his parents were shot and killed was
the night his innocence was pried away from him but it was not. No, he lost
his innocence four days later. It was raining and people gathered in droves
to see it, like it was the circus. He was a little boy clutching to Alfred’s
wrinkled hand trying not to cry, trying to look brave as he stared at the
floor. Then it was his turn and he was forced to let go of Alfred’s hand and
walk to the center of the musky Gotham City Cathedral. He walked up with his
head down slowly dragging his feet and dropped a single white rose into the
casket. Each step he took killed a part of him, each one was closer and
closer to realizing that his life would never be the same. The people
whispered under their veils and behind their hands. Bruce looked around the
packed room for someone he loved as much as his parents but found no one.
Alfred had been pulled away by a sea of people and on the alter they mutter
those three words to him as he tries not to look up at the open coffin.
Did you see? Over and over. The truth was he didn’t want to see.

So many people in the room, and not one would ever be as important to him as
his parents. No one would ever hold him when he was scared again. At that
moment, he realized that he was alone in the world. He knew that of the
billions of people that walk the earth, the only two that ever mattered to
him were gone.

Gordon wakes up to the smell of ammonia fumes. A fat cop on night duty holds
smelling salts to his nose. Gordon has seen his kind before. This is the the
type of cop that joins the force at a young age and slowly looses the
fantasy of police work when they have to sit for hours waiting and filling
out paperwork, the kind of screw-up cop they put on Gordon's team everywhere
he goes. This one goes by the name of Ray. “Yo chief,” He screams in his
thick Jersey accent, “Yo chief. I saw the whole thing!” Gasping for air and
holding his side he continues, “The bat, he was insane! Total cheap shot:
BAM! Right across the back of your head I was gonna stop him but he had a
look in his eye, you know Gordy?”

Gordon squints his eyes at the fat officer above him and pushes the salts
away. “Oh sorry about that Jimmy, I got caught up y’know? The Batman, he was
like, possessed or somethin'. When I looked in his eyes it was like I was
staring into the devil himself. But then, you would know right? You have to
keep the psycho in check all da’ time and whatnot? Who do I think I’m
talkin’ to right?”

Gordon reaches in his coat for his glasses and before he can say anything,
the cop goes on, “Oh, right I found these, they ain’t cracked or nothin’, I
saw them over there by where da bat dropped you. I’m telling you Gordy, he
had that LOOK!” Gordon grabs his glasses from the night officer’s hand and
wipes them off on his shirt before putting them on. Most of the smudges were
from his “aide’s” thick sweaty fingers. Gordon lifts the glasses, and rubs
the bridge of his nose, and is about to speak when the cop begins again.

“Yeah, he was nuts, I come out here to make sure youse was okay and I sees
the bat choking you like this,” he says gesturing an awkward bear hug with
his thick arms, “and I says to him, I says, ‘HEY, You there! Put ‘im DOWN!’
and I grab my gun, well I drop my Krispy Kreme and THEN grab my gun and I
raised it, right? And he just up and disappears! ”

Gordon shoves the officer aside and makes his way inside the stairwell.

The portly cop begins to speak again when Gordon cuts him off.

“Listen, I really don’t give a damn what you saw! This is the last thing I
need right now! If you saw the whole thing, why the hell didn’t you stop it?
Why didn’t you waddle up here and point your little gun and wave your little
badge sooner?” His partner, Raymond Halford tries to come up with an excuse,
but Gordon waves him away. "You think I need to hear you blabbering right
now? I got the commissioner breathing down the back of my neck about the
Batman enough as it is! Now can we stop standing around up here, or are you
enjoying the breeze?" Gordon walks past the officer, brushing against his
shoulder as he makes his way inside.

Batman paces back and forth across the steel platforms of the Batcave. The
musky atmosphere of the cave is flooded with the sound of shrieking bats and
flapping wings. Bruce Wayne presses a key on the massive console in front
of him and speaks roughly, “Computer, Search: Caspian, Judson,” prompting
prompting text and graphics to scroll rapidly down the enormous screen—too
fast for any human eye to read until it stops suddenly. Before him on the
monitor, is the file on Judson Caspian, also known as The Reaper. Caspian
was committed to Arkham about fifty years ago, and released into society
twenty years later. After his alleged rehabilitation, he moved to Crime
Alley and he just sort of disappeared, never to be heard from again. That in
itself was not an uncommon occurrence for a denizen of Crime Alley. Tenants
occupy buildings, customers frequent the stores, and the government
distributes welfare checks, but they are all faceless masses of Gotham. They
have no names and no voices. Somewhere in that mass is a dangerous killer,
Batman just has to find him.

Bruce Wayne studies the mugshot. Caspian has a bald head with large ears
that stick out. His nose stabs downward and comes to a distinct point, like
the beak of a vulture. Wrinkles seem to grow like roots from his eyes and
cheekbones and cover his entire face. His eyes are two nearly perfect
circles bursting out of his skulls with icy blue pupils suffocated by red
veins that completely cover any white that might have been there in the
past. His expression is frightening in its lack of emotion as he stares
blankly beyond the camera.

“Alfred…”

“Yes, Master Bruce?”

“Caspian should be dead. There is no way that the man whom I fought out
there tonight was one hundred and three years old. I have probably faced
stranger and definitely older, but if Caspian is not a meta, then there has
to be another explanation.” Batman rubs his chin and stares intently at
glowing screen.

“Was there a question I was supposed to address, sir?”

”Hmm?” Bruce responds finally breaking his concentration from the file.

“Nothing, Master Bruce. Might I suggest a night's rest? Perhaps letting your
wounds heal for longer than fifteen minutes before you go out and open them
again…” Bruce looked up at Alfred again, silencing him with a single glance.
He looked down at the new bandages around his ribs.

"I just... He got away Alfred," Bruce says lowering his head in shame and
falling into his chair. There are bats chittering loudly overhead and the
constant buzzing from various machines around the cave, yet the moment of
silence shared between Bruce and Alfred is the most deafening sound of all.

"I know Master Bruce." Alfred says consolingly. A bright light flashes on
the giant screen informing the two that a group of drug dealers brought in
the night before has been found murdered in their cell. Bruce lowers his
cowl and pulls down his shirt. "Master Bruce..." Alfred begins, wanting to
tell his employer to get some rest but stops short.

"Prepare the Batmobile." Bruce says raising his eyes to the notice flashing
red on the screen.

"Very good, Sir." Alfred says as he returns to the computer and begins to
type. "Please try to keep your wounds closed."

Slowly the Reaper hooks his deadly scythe onto the edge of the wall and uses
his momentum to swing himself into the small window on the edge of his
building. He walks slowly into the kitchen, examining the contents of his
apartment, sliding his hand along jars as he quickly moves his head around.
He sees a tall one in the middle, most likely a pickle jar, and he pulls it
out and inspects its contents more closely. Nothing. His eyes roll as he
presses the jar against his face and crouches, curling into the fetal
position, the better to bask in the glory of the new treasure he has just
stuffed into the empty jar: a recently-removed gall bladder from a drug
dealer in a county facility awaiting a transfer to a state prison.

Suddenly, a bat from Hell comes crashing into his jar, shattering it
instantly. The green moldy liquid flows out onto Reaper and shards of glass
impale his flesh. He rolls around and finally finds a small piece of sharp
metal on the floor. It seems to be shaped ever so slightly like... he raises
his head with a black toothed smile, and twists his neck back and forth
maniacally calling out his name. He rises to his feet now, grabbing from
behind him a shiny scythe. He turns, waiting for Batman to make his move.

Reaper whirls as another jar behind him breaks. Batman chooses that second
to pounce. He launches himself upon the Reaper, but as they hit the floor,
Reaper uses the Batmans’ force against him, rolls out and finds his footing.
With his scythe, the Reaper regains the offensive and slashes across
Batman’s chest as he tries to rise.

Batman feels the blood soak his chest, but the adrenaline drives him to
fight through the pain and he rises up from the attack, to delivers a punch
to the Reaper's jaw. It sends the crimson-clad psycho back onto the ground.
On the floor, the Reaper waits for the Batman to leave himself open for
another attack. As the caped crusader looms over him, the Reaper presses his
knees to his chest and kicks out at Batman’s chest using his momentum to
roll back onto his knees. Batman flies backwards, cape trailing behind him.

A resounding “thud” fills the room and brings a smile to Reapers face. Again
he grabs his scythe from the floor and stands tall, lifting his deadly blade
to attack. He holds it above his head, intending to impale the wounded
Batman. As he brings it down, Batman rolls out of the way, and the blade
slashes his cape as it stabs into the rotten wooden floor.

Batman, barely on his feet again, lifts his fist and sends it crashing down
on the Reaper's head. This time the punch stuns his enemy, and the Reaper’s
knees shake the under the impact of the blow. Batman raises his fist high
again and delivers yet another punch to the Reaper who is still trying to
pry out his scythe. To no avail. It remains tightly wedged in the floor.
Another punch to the Reaper's head finally sends him crumpling to the floor.

The Reaper squirms on the floor. As Batman moves goes in for another hit, he
catches an elbow in the nose. Blood begins to gush from Batman's nose. The
Reaper quickly shoves him onto the floor and lifts his fist to attack. A
number of options run through head. Most include knocking him down. some
involve some minor injuries like breaking his leg in to two pieces some
involve major injuries like punching him in the throat and causing his
trachea to collapse, but the only ones that he even slightly considers are
the serious ones; the permanent ones. Batman dodges the punch easily enough,
and as the Reaper is caught off balance from the force of his blow, Batman
smashes his foot into his opponent’s mid-section. The sickening sound of
brittle bones breaking beneath his foot gives him satisfaction. Had he aimed
a little to the right, he could have paralyzed him completely, but the
Reaper was lucky; the kick narrowly avoided puncturing his lungs.

The Reaper's will seems to fade away at the cracking sound and he instantly
falls to hits the floor. He screams, but the sound of his cries are drowned
out by the siren outside the window. Batman whips his head around as the
wailing grows nearer. It’s unusual to hear a cop in Crime Alley; the place
is practically run by the underworld. He knows there is a reason that the
cops chose to come here tonight. Odds are he found out the Reaper’s location
at the same time they did. He just got here faster. He looks down at the
Reaper and pulls a pair of lightweight cuffs out of his utility belt. The
drooling lunatic grabs onto his legs and he kicks the hand and bends over to
cuff him. As he reaches for the Reaper, a set of teeth clamp around his
wrist and strong jaws bite down. Apparently, the broken ribs weren't enough.

Batman quickly shakes off the bite and kicks the Reaper in the ribs again.
The Reaper rolls back onto his back and Batman mounts him and cracks an arm
to lower his opponent’s defenses. The Reaper is like a deranged animal
trying to viciously kick the Batman off of him to free himself. His efforts
are met with an elbow to the face. Batman then raises his fist and punches
The Reaper’s skull-masked face. Reaper’s head bounces off the floorboards of
his apartment, and Batman punches again even harder. Now the Reaper's
struggles diminish, and Batman punches harder, alternating between his left
and right fist. He feels the skull mask begin to crack underneath his fists
and finally it breaks into shards that jab into Reaper’s face, mixing with
blood and skin as the Batman continues his methodical medley of punches.

"Do you see!?!" Batman screams in the Reapers exposed and bloody face, "Do
you see?!? You may be death, you may be the big bad Reaper," the punches
continue, "But I... I am the GODDAMN BATMAN!" The Reaper looses
consciousness and Batman stops the flurry of blows as he feels the struggles
beneath him subside. He searches The Reaper and finds a holster on his
torso. A gun is tucked away neatly and he pulls it out holding it up into
the light. He studies it and looks down at the Reaper’s bloody face, now
twisted into a sinister grin. He holds it out and stands up, backing away
from the Reaper.

"FREEZE!" Gordon yells out entering the room. Gordon cocks his gun at the
jagged black shadow that is the Batman. The seconds feel like hours, and the
only sound in the cramped apartment is that of a drippy faucet. Trying to
inhale as little as possible to avoid the rotting stench of death, Gordon
speaks. "Batman, don't do this..." Batman remains in the darkness while
momentary flashes of light reflect off of the gun in his hand aimed at the
bleeding pile of flesh on the floor. He should be in pain. Both of them
should be. It is certain that at least four of the Reaper's ribs are
shattered from his kick and the slash across his own chest is still seeping
blood. "Please Batman, don't make this harder for us then it already is."
Gordon says, still trying to convince Batman to drop the gun.

Batman remains silent and Gordon takes a step towards the Reaper to see the
extent of the damage. He kneels over, still aiming his gun at Batman when
suddenly, the Reaper begins to laugh and reaches for the piece strapped to
Gordon’s ankle. Somehow, the Reaper manages to stand again. He points the
gun at Gordon, who still has his own revolver pointing at Batman… who has
the Reaper's old pistol aimed at the Reaper himself. Gordon sweats as the
tension builds. He prays that nobody decides to pull a trigger. The Reaper
laughs harder, and begins to pull chunks of broken skull out of his face and
the Batman's anger grows. Batman has cracked his ribs, destroyed his face,
broken his arm, knocked him unconscious and he still stands before him with
a gun aimed at to one of the few honest men left in Gotham. Batman sees
himself in a broken mirror with a gun aimed at an enemy that should have
taken him no time to dispatch, and thoughts that he should not be having run
through his head.

Batman reaches into a pouch but there is nothing is there; he ran out of
pills last night. The pills were only a temporary solution. Once the
migraines started to fade away, he had planned on dropping them all
together. At first it was easier, though. At first he would take one or two
and the pain in his body would just seem to float away. It never affected
his "mental state" as Alfred put it. Not once did it affect his emotions or
his reasoning. But, according to everyone else around him, they changed him.
If Clark were to get hurt, all he would have to do is sun bathe and he would
be as good as new, but he is no Superman. No, the pills were effective and
they did their job. That was the difference: every time he hits one of these
villains, they come back. They escape from prisons and commit new crimes.
It’s a never-ending cycle. They break the law, he hunts them down, they go
away, and they come back. They always come back. He might as well have not
even bothered. He needs a permanent solution. He needs a change.

Gordon begins tries to reason with him, ever the police officer. It is no
wonder Barbara left him Batman thinks to himself. The Reaper will not shut
up and Batman knows that one of their arms will get tired soon enough, but
he decides to end the situation then and there. Something permanent needs to
happen to end this. Batman considers the possible solutions. He thinks of
the people he has already lost and the people he has yet to lose. He thinks
of his parents, of Julie, of Dick, of Alfred… and he knows that something
has to change. The three men stare at each other, waiting for someone to
shoot or drop a weapon, when suddenly, shots ring out and the blasts
temporarily light the room. Then everything fades to darkness...