Luck Run Out

Selina tries to deal with Bruce's increasing frustration while Peter begins to unravel.

First National Bank, June 17th, 10:31 a.m.

 

When he had woke to the sound of a car driving by, he had instantly known that he had overslept. What he hadn’t known was that he had slept two hours more than usual.

 

To any normal person, it would have been an opportune time to curse and then quickly try to fit all the morning rituals into less than fifteen minutes. But he hadn’t slept in since he was twenty-two, and that had been when he was recovering from a bad bout of pneumonia.

 

In order to make it to work on time, he had to pass up his morning run and the leisure time he took to read the newspaper and to listen to the weather and traffic reports. If he had the time and had done so, he would have known that there was an overturned tractor-trailer on Route 21, which had practically clogged the road with backed up traffic. And when he saw the hundreds of taillights, his first thought was that he was being punished for not controlling himself.

 

And during the hour that it took him to get to work, he apologized for his behavior to the silence of his car. To himself. To his mother. Occasionally, when the traffic would inch forward, he would still be motionless and it would take a few horn honks to bring him back.

 

Just before the turnoff for downtown, he was held back by a traffic officer who then motioned for another group to move forward. Horns blared angrily behind him when it was his lane’s turn to move again. He glanced in the rear view mirror to see a woman behind him in a red sports car as she pounded on her horn. In conjunction with his oversleeping, lowered control and tardiness for work, he leaned out his window and called out, “W***e!”

 

Her face waned in sudden fear and then returned to its previous scowl as she flipped him off. Without hesitation, he unbuckled his seat belt and quickly opened his car door. Just as he placed one foot on the pavement, he realized his error of judgment. But unfortunately it was too late.

 

“SIR!  Get back in your vehicle!”

 

“No,” he muttered to himself as he turned to face the officer that stood three yards in front of the car. “Never argue with a law enforcer, no matter what,” he continued, repeating words his parents had branded into his young mind. As he thought to himself, the officer took a step closer, hand touching the snap of his holster. He noticed and quickly nodded, “Sorry, so sorry,” and then quickly returned to the driver’s seat.

 

As he passed by, the officer had eased a bit, but still watched scornfully.

 

It was decided for sure, he was being punished.

 

When he stepped through the employee entrance at the bank, exactly ninety-one minutes late for work, he had yet to regain his normal and balanced form. After clocking in and seeking out his manager to inform him of his tardiness, he still had not settled. Whenever he had been in any public situation, he had to keep every fiber of his being under wrap in order to keep out the bad thoughts and to maintain his composure. As a child, it had been a priceless skill so that he could ignore the harassment of his peers in order to survive the school day.

 

But as he watched over the bank lobby, he felt the uneasy sensation in his gut that he had the night before. The same feeling that had stirred when he had heard the W***e’s voice for the first time. Something was happening to him. He reasoned that he was obviously not doing enough to carry out his mother’s wishes. He knew it was wrong, but whenever he took control of one of them, it felt so right. So justified. It was his duty to make sure no one had their lives ruined as his had been.

 

“Yes, Peter,” a whisper registered in his mind, “Do what you must. Remember, she did this to me.” He was hardly able to contain the shudder that ran through his spine.

 

But just as he reasoned with himself that it was his mind playing a trick on him, he felt the soft touch of a finger on his arm and heard, “Hey Pete, missed you this morning.”

 

He blinked hard and looked up to see Christine, dressed in a dark skirt and coat with a soft smile and concerned eyes. Although he wanted to thank her for saying so, he couldn’t do more than nod and offer a slight smirk.

 

She then tilted her head towards the door, “So what kept you?”

 

He paused, “Traffic. The accident.”

 

“Right, I saw that on the news this morning, crazy wasn’t it?”

 

He nodded as he felt his throat dry. Although Christine was most likely thinking of the insanity that the accident had caused for the traffic, he only was able to recall the witch that had honked at him, almost causing him to lose it. He suddenly was aware that Christine had been waiting for more of a reply, “Yes, took forever to get into town. Made it worse, I had a late start.”

 

She nodded, “Me, too, it’s always hard for me to get moving on a Wednesday morning. Didn’t even get to eat breakfast.”

 

“Me either,” he lied, then silently apologized for doing so.

 

She glanced around the empty lobby, “Well, not much to guard, you want to grab something in the break room?”

 

The last time he had shared any sort of meal with a woman had been three years earlier. And that had been with his Aunt Regina on her birthday. He suddenly felt as if every soul in the city had their eyes on him, even though the only pair watching him had been Christine’s.

 

She was not one of them, he told himself. She couldn’t be, could she?

 

He managed a quiet, “Okay.”

 

^V^

 

Wayne Enterprises, June 17th, 6:21 p.m.

 

“I take it you are done for the night?” Lucius chuckled as he stood at the half-opened door of my office.

At the time, I was lying on the leather couch in the rear of my office, coat long since removed with my tie loosened substantially, not to mention that my shoes were somewhere over by my desk. My head rolled over and I glanced at him, “I was done a long time ago.”

 

He settled into a wide smile, “Well, I’m leaving. Anniversary dinner.”

 

That brought a smile to my face, “Well for once you’ve got more planned for the night than I do.”

 

“Is that so?” he asked as he stepped forward, “No private dinner at the Ritz?”

 

I shook my head as I sat up.

 

He nodded at me briefly before he stepped back into the hall, “Goodnight Bruce.”

 

“Night,” I replied after he had walked out of hearing range.

 

After drawing in a deep breath, I stood, stretched my back by extending my arms skyward and then proceeded to tighten my tie and gather my belongings. In less than an hour, I would be hunkered down in the Cave, preening files that I had already memorized. The night before, Barbara had run complete background checks on all the victims to date and had compiled a chart for us to go over that night. Afterwards, it was a tour of the city with Robin and Batgirl, one that would hopefully not end in another tragedy.

 

Interviews conducted at the bar had yielded little, that there had been no unusual behavior and only regular patrons had visited that night. In fact, the only new face had been that of the victim. Detectives in charge of the case were already setting out to locate the people who had been in the bar that night in order to further question the events that took place before the murder in the parking lot, hoping for anything to lead them in the right direction.

 

I shut off the lights after putting my shoes back on. Before moving out the door, I stepped into the bathroom, splashed water on my face and then quickly dried off. As I patted my face with a towel, I heard footsteps at my door. “What’s the matter, Lucius, she bail out on you?” But instead of my second in command’s form at my office door, I was surprised to see Selina, leaning against the doorframe.

 

Her hair was down, partially covering her face and one of her bare shoulders. The dress she wore was a dark shade of violet and shimmered in the light originating from the hall. As she looked me over, her expression faded from pleased to pissed within seconds.

 

Oh, no.

 

“You forgot, didn’t you?” she growled as her brows arched angrily.

 

I stammered quickly as I slicked back my hair, “No, I didn’t forget. I was just distracted.”

 

“No, you forgot,” she sighed, “Because you were distracted,” she finished as she stepped in and closed the door behind her. Selina walked past me and sat herself on the couch and looked up at me, trying her best to hide her disappointment.

 

A new impressionist gallery had been added to one of the finest art museums in Gotham and we had planned, weeks earlier, to tour it after a lengthy dinner together. It had been an important choice, for it would be our “simple, nothing fancy” first year anniversary celebration. And in the midst of my work, I had forgotten all about it.

 

Just as I was about to apologize, she shook her head, stood and stepped towards me, “Don’t. Don’t beat yourself up. It was no big deal, anyway.”

 

I shook my head, “We can still make the opening, dinner’s pretty much shot though.”

 

“It’s okay, really, who wants to look at hundred year old paintings anyway,” she went to turn for the door as I reached out and touched her shoulder.

 

She looked up quickly, flashed a brief smile as I said, “You did.”

 

I felt as her fingers encircled my wrists, “Hey, you know what I just realized?” I tilted my head and questioned her silently. She leaned forward and spoke in my ear, “Don’t you have a hundred old painting in your bedroom?”

 

After I cleared my throat, I said “It’s only eighty-six years old.”

 

Her lips grazed my ear lobe before saying, “Close enough.”

 

^V^

 

Right Start Fitness Center, June 17th, 10:39 p.m.

 

Although they closed promptly at ten-thirty, Mandy was good friends with the girl who worked nights at the desk and had all the time she needed to get ready to go home. After cycling for thirty minutes and almost forty-five minutes on the treadmill, she took a well-deserved shower. Since she was the only one in the locker, she had full use of whatever the hot water heater could kick out.

 

As she hummed and rinsed out her hair, she thought back to the nice looking guy who had worked on the treadmill next to her. He had started before her and ended afterwards, running at a steady pace and had easily kept up with the preprogrammed inclines and speed fluctuations. Just as she was finishing up her run, she had flashed him a smile, but had been interrupted as Kevin, one of the body builders at the gym, had walked up and pinched her. She had squealed as expected and flirted a bit. The man on the treadmill had glanced over once before returning to his neutral position.

 

At the time, she had thought he was checking her out.

 

Just as she was about to shut the water off, she heard the locker door open. “Michelle, I’ll be out in a few, just have to get dressed.”

 

Once she had stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her form, she leaned over the sink and squeezed the excess water out of her hair and let it trickle down the drain. Since she was bent over, Mandy didn’t see that it wasn’t Michelle who had come into the locker room. She couldn’t see when the tall man dressed in black came up behind her quickly, grabbing her hair firmly in his fist before slamming her brow repeatedly into the porcelain sink. Perhaps it had been luck or fate, but he had knocked her unconscious which prevented her from seeing her own demise.

 

^V^

 

Wayne Manor, June 18th, 5:36 a.m.

 

I should have been there.

 

I shouldn’t have been in Bristol, sharing dinner with Selina, no matter what the occasion. As we had made our way through the chicken marsala while laying on my bed, twenty-three year old Mandy Kemper had been killed in the solitude of a fitness center locker room.

 

Barbara had called the second she had heard it over the scanner, far too late for anything to be done.

 

Leaving Selina and the remainder of dinner, I had hastily suited up and driven to Gotham, my mind plagued with the fact that he had struck again so quickly. A few days early was expected, but having two victims within a handful of days of each other

 

In spite of my preferred unknown involvement, I had met with Gordon behind the facility and had been lead in after the locker room had been cleared out. As he stood guard at the door, I was allowed fifteen minutes to find what I needed.

 

First had been security tapes. There was one camera in the hall, but none in the locker room itself.

 

However the one in the hall only taped in a single direction, allowing anyone to sneak in unnoticed. From there, I searched the areas of the room, from the locker rows to the showers. The body had been found propped up on a bench in a handicap shower stall, with icy water raining down on her and washing away any hope for fingerprints as well as her own blood. The victim had already been removed, but Gordon had informed me that the attacker had added a head injury to the assault after I had pointed out the blood on the sink.

 

Bolder indeed.

 

While I searched, he had an officer retrieve a list of members that had visited the center that day and contact information on each of them. Surprisingly, he returned moments later, saying the manager had already been in the process of drawing up such a list while the police had been working. Keeping his mind on something simple as to forget the fact that one of his clients had met her death in his building.

 

There had been a partial boot print on the tiled floor of the shower area, a mixture of soap and blood somewhat disclosed by a fallen towel. Seeing how this was a much more public place than a bar lot or a park, he would have rushed to get away from his “work.” After taking a few digital photographs and touring the room once more, I nodded to Gordon and found my way out to the ‘Mobile.

 

After driving fifteen blocks, I punched the steering wheel, allowing the shock of the blow ride up to my shoulder. While distracted, a dark colored SUV passed me and I almost hit its rear bumper when I accelerated. My blood pumped angrily and I knew driving wasn’t the safest mode of transportation at the moment.

 

Eight minutes later, after securing and concealing the car, I was already moving through Marker’s Alley. I had contacted Oracle and told her I would be out for a while. She had surprisingly inquired as to how long but I ended the connection instead of answering. She knew how long. Long enough to let loose the pent up frustrations that had been compacting for months.

 

I ignored Robin and Batgirl’s calls and proceeded on a one man’s war on the city.

 

So when I walked into the bedroom a little before five in the morning with bandages dressing over a dozen fresh wounds, Selina hardly looked surprised. She sat with me as I went on about the night’s events, beginning at the latest murder and ending with the miserable ride home. I had never been comfortable verbally or emotionally expressing problems, but at the moment, it seemed to be the right thing to do.

When I finally stopped talking, she reached over and gently touched a covered gash on my bicep, “Bruce... There was no way of knowing.”

 

I shook my head and faced the dark windows, “There is a way, and I should have known.”

 

Instead of arguing her point, Selina sighed as she reclined on the bed.

 

I felt her hand on my lower back and brushed it away before standing up and pacing the room. Instead of beckoning me to rest, Selina crawled under the covers and fell asleep. Dawn would break in less than an hour and shortly after that, Alfred would be coming to announce breakfast.

 

Letting her sleep in peace, I returned to the cave and opened up the lists of data comprised so far. Pictures of smiling faces. Pictures of ravished bodies. All selected at random, last seen at completely different places. Killed in the same manner by the same monster. For weeks I had theorized, studied, researched and pondered and yet nothing but failure had surfaced.

 

My relentless war on crime

 

As the early morning news programs came on the air, I keyed in a command to bring them up on the smaller display screens. All had shocking news for their viewers. I watched every second of the footage and stories on every channel that broadcasted. The limited details given to the press were stated countless ways but all could be easily summarized: Gotham was not safe.

 

When the fifth morning news show came on, I heard soft footsteps descending the granite steps. When she was twenty feet away, I smelt fresh hazelnut coffee. Instead of lecturing me that I shouldn’t obsess over this woman’s demise or that I should go upstairs and rest, she set the coffee mug down on the countertop and stood to my left side. After a moment, she reached for my hand and squeezed it gently.

 

We watched the rest of the news in silence, listening on as the reporter reviewed, “This is the latest of a string of young women who have fallen victim to Gotham’s latest killer. With no leading evidence or suspects under custody, this reporter wonders just how many more will succumb to this madman’s raid. It is suggested that all young women in Gotham show extreme caution while in public places and to be wary of strange men.”

 

I waited a minute until turning off the displays.

 

I waited even longer before letting go of Selina’s hand.

 

^V^

 

Mimi’s Bar & Grill, June 23rd, 7:03 p.m.

 

After parking in the emptied lot, he felt a sudden wave of anxiety.

 

Although it had been seven days since he had last been there, in which so much had happened, he could still feel it. The anger, nervousness, and then the pure joy of having absolute control. But when he saw no other patrons and dim lights inside the bar gave him an uneasy feeling.

 

With long strides, he crossed the space between his car and the front entrance. Just as his fingers reached the doorknob, the door itself jerked back and opened to reveal Miranda. When she looked up she gasped, “Oh, Peter, you scared me.”

 

He apologized then asked, “Where is everyone?”

 

“Oh, hon, you didn’t hear? Last week we had quite an ordeal after you left. Young lady was killed just out in our parking lot. Poor thing. Mimi has us closed down until next week. Maybe longer.”

 

As she delivered the news to him, his face changed slowly, from confusion to frustration. How could it be, he asked himself, I’ve righted my wrong, why am I still being punished? He felt a sudden flash of helplessness and then brushed it aside as he drew a breath slowly. Obviously he was still not forgiven. As he turned on his heel and returned to his car, he ignored the aching question of where he was supposed to eat that night and focused on how he would be able to further appease his mother.

 

He ignored Miranda calling his name out, got in the car and sped off and out of the parking lot, not even allowing himself the glance to the rear of the lot that he had desired the second he had pulled in. No, he didn’t deserve to look. To remember on what he had accomplished. He had more important problems.

As he navigated back onto the main drag that would lead the way home, he tried to plan out the rest of his evening. Dinner would have to wait, he decided, and may not even occur that night. He would have to figure out how to justify his actions to her, because it had become far too obvious that he had done her wrong.

 

And what kind of a son did such a thing?

 

It was thirty minutes before he pulled into his short, kept drive. He had wanted to plant flowers along the drive as a border but hadn’t had the time. As a child, he remembered colorful and bountiful flowerbeds wherever room permitted. During her poor spells, it had become his task to make sure the delicate flora was tended to. At the house his father had taken him to after his mother had died, he had tried to plant flowers but his father had told him not to and said if he wanted something to do, that he could mow the lawn.

 

After parking the car within the garage, he stepped out and walked the small stone path that came off of the driveway and lead to the front door. With each step, he looked back and forth, over the lawn, down the street and every which way. Everything was just as he left it.

 

Within an hour, he had completed his journal, of which he had elaborated extensively on how the bar had been closed, checked all of the windows and doors in the house and had started to boil three eggs for an egg salad sandwich. It was no draft special and fried chicken, but it would have to do. Once his small meal had been prepared, he took it to the living room and proceeded to sit straightly on the small pale couch. With little else planned for the evening, he took his time eating and went about turning the television on to check the weather.

 

Thundershowers for Wednesday and Thursday and possibly Friday

 

It just wasn’t his week.

 

^V^