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Post by Romans Empire on Nov 21, 2007 1:07:21 GMT -5
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Post by Romans Empire on Nov 21, 2007 1:08:09 GMT -5
Batman
Issue #24: “Trauma” Part Four (of five)
Written by Grant LaFleche
Cover by Sylvain Swimer
Edited by John Elbe |
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Post by Romans Empire on Nov 21, 2007 1:09:47 GMT -5
There was something Dr. Thomas Elliott always found comforting about Arkham Asylum. He never told anyone though. They would have thought him quite mad.
After all, the old hospital was a crumbling cesspool by modern health care standards. Mold on the walls. Substandard security, lighting, and plumbing. Orderlies who might have been just as insane as the inmates. The last time the good doctor was here, the asylum was also home to a colony of rather large and aggressive rats. It was all enough to drive a sane man into a frothing fit.
But there was something that just soothed Elliott’s soul.
“Ah yes,” he said to himself, slowly walking down the hallway of the maximum-security block. “The screaming. The lovely screaming.”
He knew exactly where to go:
Cell block 13, 8th floor.
Cell 13.
Patient file DCLXVI.
Legal Name: Unknown.
Place of birth: Unknown.
That’s what the files says. But Elliott knew this patient’s names well. Death. Pestilence. The pale horse of Gotham City.
“Hello Jay.”
The patient in Cell 13 sat with his back to the Plexiglas cell wall. His arms wrapped in a straight jacket and his left ankle in the grip of an iron cuff linked to a bolt on the floor.
“Why hello, Doctor,” he said. “How nice of you to drop in and see me. I was beginning to think all we had was Paris.”
“How are you feeling, Jay? How are you holding up?”
“To be frightfully honest, Doctor, I am getting a bit restless. I keep having a dream where I am in a tunnel of love sorta thing with that old windbag Gordon. He’s naked for some reason. Eww. What do you suppose that means? But the strangest part is the man in the long beard and ka-ray-zee long hair who seems to be controlling the entire scene from a type writer,” Jay said. “I rather think it’s time I left Arkham. Not that I don’t love the old girl, but you know what they say. Distance makes the heart grow fungus! Hehehehe.”
Elliott leaned one shoulder against the Plexiglas and peered in at the patient who still had not moved.
“Well, I’m glad to hear that, Jay. I think some therapy sessions outdoors might do you some good,” he said. “I think I’ll make the arrangements.”
“If you let me out,” Jay said without so much as turning his head. “I’m going to eat your brains raw in a delightful Alfredo sauce….”
“Now, now,” said Elliott. “Is that anyway to talk to someone who saved your life?”
“Oh look at me. I’m Dr. Elliott. I removed one tumor and now I think I own your ass,” Jay said starting to wiggle inside the straight jacket. “Beat it, bunky! All business between us is concluded. Besides, you bore me. You never laugh. Never get the joke.”
“Well, here is the thing, Jay. I have a…business relationship with an out of town associate. He has his own agenda for things here in Gotham and I’m afraid he might interfere with my work. My work is far too important to be disrupted, you understand….”
“Mmm. Yummy, delicious brains….”
“...now his whole plan depends on things being kept orderly. As orderly as Gotham gets anyway. He’s moving much too quickly and I need to add an unstable element to the equation in order to buy myself the time I need to complete my work,” Elliott said. “And nothing sows the seeds of chaos like you do, Jay.”
Jay writhed a moment in the jacket, contorted his body with a jerk and burst free of his restraints. He spun around and lunged at the Plexiglas wall, his pale hands and yellowed finger nails reaching for Elliott’s throat. The chain on his leg snapped tight and Jay slammed face down on the ground.
“Be careful, Jay…”
“Hahahahahaha!!!! Oopsy-daisy!”
“Jay, you need only do what you do. Kill. Spread fear into the heart of Gotham,” Elliott said. “Just don’t touch the Bat.”
Jay picked himself off the floor and wiped blood from his nose.
“Don’t touch the Bat? You are going to let me out of here and expect I won’t touch the Bat? And they call me crazy! BWHAHAHA!”
“Because if you do, Jay, then you’ll have to deal with me. Personally.”
It was something about the way he said ‘personally’ that caused Jay to stutter and take a step back. He’d have to think this one through. He’d kill Elliott. Oh yes he would. But not now. Not yet.
“Hey, Doc, no worries. Hands off the big bad Bat for now. Gottca. No problem. Say, why don’t you open the door and we’ll shake on it?”
“Don’t double cross me, Jay. I’ll be watching,” Elliott said as he turned and walked away. “In one hour you’ll find access to the auxiliary service exit unguarded. It will remain so for exactly 24 minutes. Take care of that nose.”
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Post by Romans Empire on Nov 21, 2007 1:12:10 GMT -5
Little Friend;
I see you’ve noticed my return. I knew that you would. Your role in spreading the good news about the Great Work is critical. But as one who is not Chosen but not Forgotten you must tested. She brooks no weakness.
The daughter of Eastmann rests;
Under the gaze of the riddle maker of Samos;
His doubts will soon be but dust;
When the daughter takes flight.
“That's it?” Batman said.
“That’s it Matches.” Mickey Fynn’s voice crackled over the speaker in the cave. After taking a long drag off of a cigarette, he cleared this throat. “The first line obviously refers to Vale. The Wrath is pretty literal minded about these things, so I think he’s letting me know she's still alive….”
“Obviously…”
“But I haven’t figured the rest out it. But I thought our winged mutual friend might have more luck.”
“Not a problem. I’ll see Batman gets it.”
“Thanks, Matches. I’ll let you know if I come up with something,” Fynn said before hanging up.
Nightwing slumped in his chair. “Why do these losers always leave us these clues? I mean, seriously. We always figure them out. They always get caught. I mean, if I were the Riddler, there would be no way…
“The Wrath isn’t the Riddler, Dick,” Batman said. “Nigma a pitiful clown with a ridiculous compulsion. The Wrath is in the same class as the Joker.”
“Ok, so why the clue?”
“He wants Fynn to know where Vicki is. He’s done it before. It fits the pattern.”
“Pattern?”
Batman shrugged his cape off and hung it over the back of his chair and started pacing.
“Dick, every serial killer has a pattern. Like Nigma, they can’t help it. It's a compulsion. Like it is hardwired into their brains. The pattern can sometimes be broken, but only to be replaced by another,” he said. “Jack the Ripper. Son of Sam. The Zodiac. The Phoenix. Even the Joker has a pattern.”
“Ok. Gottca. So, uh, why does he want Fynn to know where Vicki is? And for that matter why not just come out and say it? Why the stupid riddle?”
“Fits the pattern. The past two times he was in Gotham, the Wrath wanted an audience for particular murders. Ones he thinks will especially please Kali. He lured Vicki, Fynn and Ja…. Redwing into a burning building to watch the murder of an innocent woman…”
“But they stopped him?”
“Yes, this is why he probably chose Vicki as a victim. During his last visit here, I believe he deliberately timed things so I would arrive just in time to witness the Redwing’s death,” Batman said, slowly pulling his cowl off. “So he again wants an audience.
“As for why the riddle? I can only guess that he has a need to ‘test’ Fynn’s intelligence.”
“Alright,” Dick said, putting his feet up on the computer consol in front of him. “But I don’t get it. How does Fynn know the first line refers to Vicki Vale?”
“You are bright man, Master Richard, but you should have paid more attention in history class as a boy like I told you,” said Alfred, bringing in a plate of sandwiches from the manor. “Eastmann is the inventor of the camera…”
“And Vale is a photographer. Got it. But the riddle maker of Samos?”
“I haven’t the foggiest, sir. Master Bruce…”
“I’m thinking…”
“Bruce, one other thing,” Dick said. “From what I understand, the Wrath is keeping to his usual pattern here. So why would he kill c-level Gotham criminals?”
Batman rubbed his head and said nothing. But he was consumed by a single thought. “What is going on here?”
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Post by Romans Empire on Nov 21, 2007 1:13:21 GMT -5
Mickey Fynn stood on the roof of the Gotham Gazette, and lit his cigarette. Jesus H. Christ and all the saints, he thought. The Wrath is back in town. Jesus H. Christ.
Fynn blew a stream of smoke from his nose and pulled the crumpled paper from his pocket to read the Wrath’s email again.
“Damn it all to hell,” he said. “What does this all mean?”
“Aw, Mickey, you’re not that dumb. You’re just ugly,” said a voice from the shadow.
Fynn spun around and the Camel fell from his lips. Not that long ago he would have thought this was a booze-induced hallucination. But he’d had not a drop in years. Well except on important days. Like weekdays.
“Uh, aren’t you…dead?” He asked.
“Maybe I am. Maybe I ain’t. But I’m not saying because that would ruin the surprise.”
Fynn said nothing as the man in shadow walked slowly across the roof toward him.
“Nice guns, kid.”
“Oh they’re for shooting snakes and such.”
“Snakes and such, huh?”
“Hell ya. And you know better than most Mickey. This town has a real infestation problem,” the man said. “So whatca’ got there?”
He took the paper from Fynn and studied it for a long moment.
“Well, this explains a lot,” he muttered, tossing it back at Fynn and running to the roofs edge.
“Wait! Kid! What’s it mean?”
“Epicurus, Mickey!” The man in shadow said before leaping from the rooftop into the night. “Epicurus!”
Fynn smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Why the hell didn’t I think of that?”
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Post by Romans Empire on Nov 21, 2007 1:13:49 GMT -5
“Why didn’t I think of that before,” Batman said, pulling his cowl back on. “Of course.”
“Um hello! What the hell is an Epicurus?”
“Master Richard…” Alfred began.
“Yeah, Yeah. History lessons. Should have paid more attention,” Nightwing said. “I promise I’ll take a course at NYU when this over ok?”
“Epicurus was Greek philosopher, born on the island of Samos. He openly doubted the existence of gods,” Batman said, checking the weapons on his utility belt. “There’s a new exhibit at the museum featuring a rare bust of Epicurus.”
Nightwing pulled up a map of the city on one of the cave’s computers. “So I take it he wants to kill Vicki near that bust to what… spit in the eye of atheists or something?”
“Probably. You ready?”
“Always.”
“Good. And wear a full cowl. I don’t want you hurting your head again. Alfred?”
“Sir?”
“Suit up. You’re coming with us. We aren’t making any mistakes this time.”
“Oh dear,” Alfred said, undoing his tie and rushing into the cave’s armory. “I wonder if my Kevlar still fits.”
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Post by Romans Empire on Nov 21, 2007 1:14:48 GMT -5
Everything was ready. The woman’s body was placed on the stone slab near the Greek sculptures. Her hands lashed over her head. It was all going to be so perfect.
The Wrath looked up at the blank stone eyes of Epicurus and let out a low hiss. He did so love the irony of it all.
The Wrath pulled the long scarf from his robes and gently ran his fingers along it. Oh it was magnificent. He bent down over Vicki Vale’s face and slowly ran the scarf across her skin. She made no response, drugged as she was. But the Wrath had no doubt a woman of such excellent fancy would appreciate the fine silk weave.
He let out another hiss, this one almost a giggle. It was almost time. They were on their way. There was nothing more to do now except tie the knots into the scarf and wait for his audience.
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Post by Romans Empire on Nov 21, 2007 1:15:26 GMT -5
“Do we have anything that even resembles a plan?” Alfred said from the backseat of the batmobile, adjusting the featureless cowl on his face. “And honestly, sir, how do you get along in these dreadful things?”
“Same plan as always, Alf,” Nightwing said. “Open up a can on the villain. Save the girl.”
“No. We proceed with caution. Move slowly. Neither of you so much as scratches your nose without my say so,” Batman said, pulling the Batmobile into a back alley across the street from the Gotham Museum of Art.
“Now, Alfred and I….”
The com panel on the car’s dashboard chirped. It was Gordon.
“Jim, this isn’t the best time…”
“You got that right, Batman. I just got word from Arkham. The Joker’s escaped.”
No one in the car said a word.
“Apparently, he escaped through a service exit shortly after he got a visit from an out of town surgeon.”
“Which surgeon?”
“One Dr. Thomas Elliott. I’ve put out an APB but…” Batman closed the line.
“Elliott.”
“Sir, while you were out earlier, Dr. Elliott arrived unannounced. He helped me treat Master Richard.”
Batman ground his teeth. “Dick, take your cowl off.”
“Bruce?”
“TAKE IT OFF!”
Nightwing pulled the cowl off Batman gently ran a finger long the bandage wrapped around his young partner’s head. A bandage he needed because Batman had tossed into a stone wall. Within a moment he felt it and slowly tore the bandage away.
“Damnit,” Batman said. “He knows we’re here.”
“Son of a…” Nightwing said, pulling his cowl back on. “A GPS locator? The bastard’s been tracking us.”
“It changes nothing,” Batman said. “We just know who’s behind the Wrath’s robes now. No point in waiting. Alfred and I will take the rooftop. I want you to do a quick perimeter check and then join us.”
“Sure, boss,” Nightwing said, stepping out the car. “What am I looking for?”
“Anything out of place. And it do quietly.”
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Post by Romans Empire on Nov 21, 2007 1:15:52 GMT -5
Nightwing reached the top of a roof of Ubu’s Dry-cleaning Emporium next door to the museum. Slipped the night vision lenses in his cowl over his eyes. He could see Batman and Alfred scaling the side of the white marble walls of the museum. So far, so good.
THUNK.
Nightwing never heard the man in shadow approach. Never felt the blow to the back of his head that rendered him unconscious.
“Nightwing, huh?” the man said, stepping over Grayson’s body. “Loser.”
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Post by Romans Empire on Nov 21, 2007 1:16:57 GMT -5
The pair waited for several minutes on the corner of the rooftop, crouched in darkness. Alfred’s legs and arms were already cramping. If he didn’t move soon he might not be able to at all.
“Master Bruce,” Alfred whispered. “While I appreciate your confidence, I’ve not done this sort of thing for a long time. This is a young man’s game, sir.”
“Strength in numbers Alfred. I’d rather have you at my side than half the JLA. There’s a skylight at the other end of the roof. We’ll enter there…”
“Come on out Bruce!”
A figure cloaked in red walked slowly out from behind a rooftop ventilation shaft. He walked smoothly, with the deliberate stride of a trained fighter. Only a skinless lower jaw could be seen from beneath of a crimson hood.
“Come on out. You know I know you are here.”
Batman and Alfred stepped out from the shadow into the moonlight.
“And who is that? Alfred? Running out of partners are you, Bru…agh!”
A batarang had silently pierced the darkness, slashing through the death’s head mask. The blade cut deep into Elliot’s check, but the man stood his ground.
“Stick a needle, Thomas.”
“Oh good shot, Bruce. First blood's to you. It doesn’t matter though. This is the end for you.”
Elliott began to step in a clockwise circle around Batman and Alfred, pulling a long, curved sword out from under his robes. Batman didn’t move, save for pulling his cape tightly around his body.
“Why the charade, Thomas?”
“Oh I think the whys and hows will come out soon enough, old friend. Once I’ve killed Alfred, Dick and your delicious girlfriend I’ll explain everythi….”
CRACK.
Elliott’s skull exploded from the impact of the bullet. It had passed through his forehead, exiting the back of his head with a fine, red mist.
“Alfred! Get ba….”
CRACK.
CRACK.
Two more shots. Both struck Batman in the chest, driving his body back several feet before it crashed in a heap on rooftop.
Alfred, exposed and alone, pulled two batarangs from his utility belt. “Show yourself!”
The man in shadow dropped from a zipline above Alfred. He wore ash grey body armour, stripped with red in a pattern the old butler recognized at once.
“Relax, Alfie,” he said, holstering a particularly nasty looking handgun. “You look ridiculous in that get up.”
“My word…” Alfred said, feeling bile starting to climb up his throat. “Master Ja…Redwing?”
“Hell no, Alfie,” the man said, tapping a red circle with an X on it stitched on his uniform over his heart.
“Jason Todd and Redwing are dead. Just call me X.”
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Post by Romans Empire on Nov 21, 2007 1:17:36 GMT -5
TO BE CONCLUDED...
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Post by mockingbird on Jul 28, 2011 11:12:16 GMT -5
To let us know what you think of this issue, please visit the letters page here!
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