Close Encounters

When push comes to shove neither Bruce nor Peter can handle it.

City Hall, June 28th, 9:02 a.m.

 

He stood towards the left rear of the group that had assembled before the front steps of Gotham City Hall. Although rain was in the forecast, the sun shone brilliantly and dry, warm air made several beads of sweat to form on his brow. Thankfully, he had worn a light short-sleeved cotton shirt with dark khaki pants.

 

Casual dress for his now casual attitude, now that the burden had been lifted. At least temporarily.

 

With the entire day off, he could have been less worried about time that morning, but even still he stuck to his schedule, as he would have on any other day. Save for a little spring in his step, everything was as normal as could be. His run that morning had been perfect, not a single nick while shaving and the sky was clear for miles. And to top it off, as he walked pass City Hall on his way to a bakery for a late morning breakfast, he spotted the gathering and decided to investigate.

 

A tall, dark skinned man dressed in a midnight blue suit stood somberly before a microphone-bearing podium. The closest twenty people held out recording devices and flashed cameras while shouting out questions. The man looked towards each of them and continued to reply that he had no comment and that the Deputy Mayor would be speaking shortly.

 

Obviously something was up, and a tingle of curiosity rose within him.

 

Eight minutes after he had stopped and found himself a place amongst the other members of the crowd, over a dozen men and women, clad in dark business suits and sunglasses, stepped out of the front doors and approached the podium. A middle aged, balding man with a pale face and grief stricken features walked on as the others paused and stepped up to the microphone.

 

Everyone grew quiet in a hushed anticipation. The man cleared his throat and spoke, his voice tired and stressed, “Good morning, people of the press and concerned citizens alike. Another tragedy has befallen this city, another victim left dead on the street. Another young woman has lost her life to the hands of faceless madman that has terrorized this city for too long. The young woman was a talented, beautiful artist... My step-daughter, Andrea.”

 

As he listened, he expected himself to grow angry at this man’s harsh descriptions of himself in addition to the treacherous lies he told about the W***e. Although beautiful, she was an artist of lies and seduction. He smiled, thinking that the Deputy Mayor had left that part out of his speech.

 

“And although our police force is staffed with driven and talented detectives,” he looked over his left shoulder at a small group of the suited men and women, “We have called upon outside forces in order to bring this killer down and to make our streets safe once more,” as several members of the group applauded softly and began to shout out questions, the Deputy Mayor looked over his right shoulder at the remaining individuals that had followed him down the steps.

 

“I present to you, Special Agent In Charge Richard Caffery, a special crimes profiler from the FBI in addition to being known as one of the most successful and ruthless agents in our time.”

 

As he stepped back, another man approached him, shook his hand briefly and then proceeded to take his place at the microphone. After removing his sunglasses, he spoke sternly yet confidently to the group, his words crisp and sharp, “People of Gotham City, I promise you that this man, this monster that haunts the night will be brought to justice.”

 

A tall, nasal reporter shouted out, “So, what does this man/monster look like, Agent Caffery?”

 

A few chuckles emerged from the crowd and Caffery quickly silenced them, “We are currently looking to several possible suspects at this time in addition to further developing the profile of the killer--.”

 

“Agent Caffery,” the same nasal voice called out, “What suspects do you have?”

 

“None in custody as of yet. When we have him, I’ll let you know.”

 

There were several more demands for names of suspects and information that had been so-called “hidden” by police, but he didn’t hear them completely. A suspect? How could he be considered as a criminal, a wanted man...? It wasn’t right. They didn’t understand what he was doing. And he wasn’t sure how else to make his work any clearer.

 

Just as he was about to step back and recede from the group, the agent at the podium locked eyes with him. The words that he spoke faded as his glare hardened on him.

 

“He knows, Peter,” his mother’s voice whispered in his ear. He turned to face his right side, but there was only a young woman writing on a small notepad. After facing forward again, the agent was still looking at him, his lips moving soundlessly as a sharp smile formed. “He knows what you did. He’ll punish you.”

 

“No,” he managed and shook his head. After one final look at the man on the steps, he about faced and walked away as quickly as possible, humming in order to drown out any voices. As he stepped into the bakery across the street, he felt relief as his eyes scanned the room, of which was fairly full of patrons. Instead of taking one of the remaining tables to himself, he sat at the glossy counter on a padded stool. After ordering coffee and a blueberry muffin, he reached down the counter and retrieved a half-opened newspaper.

 

Out of a morbidly bad habit, he flipped back to the society pages and found the obituaries.

 

The comfort one can only find in the misery of others.

 

^V^

 

City Hall, June 28th, 9:10 a.m.

 

“This guy is definitely giving me the creeps,” Tim muttered as he leaned against a flagpole.

 

He had decided to meet me at City Hall, in order to see what the city’s new recruits had to say on the latest victim and what their findings had been. My hopes weren’t too high but to learn things first hand seemed to be a priority these days. I had wanted to stop and pick up a coffee at the bakery down the street, but after a late start that morning, I was lucky to make it to the press conference in time.

 

Agent Caffery had just finished speaking, going on about how evil was about to be brought to justice and I had just about as much as I could stomach. I had almost begun to step back to leave the Deputy Mayor stepped back up to the microphone, a tired and angry face belied by glassy eyes. I’d seen similar expressions on parents who had lost their children to senseless acts of violence far too many times.

 

His wife, Andrea’s biological mother, stepped forward, the resemblance uncanny. As he placed his hands on her shoulders, supporting her, she looked out to the cameras as tears streamed down her face, “Please, if anyone knows who hurt my baby... Don’t let him hurt someone else’s child... Don’t let him get away with it again...” Her body weakened with quivering sobs and her husband turned her to face him before he took her into an embrace.

 

As the reporter closed in on the podium, each shouting for a chance to be heard, I nodded to Tim and we stepped out of the pack of jackals. Within a few steps, he caught up with me and matched his pace with mine, “Did you meet with Caffery last night?”

 

I nodded, “We shared words. He bailed out before it got far, though,” I replied quietly. Some of the bystanders that had stopped to watch the speech had dispersed as well and were off in varied directions. I spotted the bakery and asked Tim if he was up for breakfast.

 

He looked at me for a second; confusion marked on his brow, and then nodded, “Sure thing.”

With the small round tables already filled with mid-morning patrons, we secured two seats at the counter and waited to be served. Of the ten padded stools, five were occupied, excluding ourselves, each engrossed in their breakfast plates or newspapers. I ordered a cup of bitter coffee and an omelette while Tim splurged on a breakfast plate of eggs, bacon and French toast.

 

While he ate, I sat and stared down at the tabletop, my mind unable to clear. I had given myself too much time on this case and it was unsettling to think of what I might have been able to do had I not been distracted by my personal life. I had tried my best to keep my mind prioritized with my work first and then pleasure, but I was still unable to convince myself that was completely true. Whoever was out there had been for four months and showed no signs of leaving. Plenty of young women in Gotham, enough to last him years.

 

My thoughts were interrupted when a waitress walked in front of me on the other side of the counter, “Friggin’ creep.”

 

At first, I thought my gaze may have drifted inadvertently, but it hadn’t, for my eyes had still been focused on the counter. I looked in the direction she had just come from and saw a tall, curly haired man smoothing out his shirt as he walked to the door. He had been reading a newspaper when we came in and had left it on the countertop. Nothing outstanding about him at all, near middle age, well built, plain face.

Tim was staring as well, his mouth chewing slowly and his eyes sharp as razors as he watched the man walk out of the bakery. After a moment he looked over at me and shook his head. My stern face questioned him what had happened without words.

 

He shrugged and stabbed a crumb of scrambled egg, “Nothing really. Guy touched the waitress’s, um, backside as she walked by, he leaned right over the counter and everything.”

 

I nodded, thinking of all the times that Bruce Wayne the CEO undressed women with his eyes and how many lame sexual innuendos he had dished out over the years.

 

Friggin’ creep.

 

After paying the bill, we stepped outside to see that the City Hall steps had cleared and that pedestrian traffic had clogged the sidewalks. I stepped just to the left of a fire hydrant and conferred with Tim, “Tonight, we’ll meet at the Clocktower. Ten sharp.”

 

He nodded and fished out a pair of sunglasses, “Sure thing,” and then stepped off into the mass of people heading down the street. I had parked in a private lot ten blocks away in the opposite bearing of Tim’s direction. Walking briskly, I kept my eyes up and my ears opened. I had never enjoyed walking the streets during the day, seeing how they were so crowded and jumbled. Hard to believe, but it always felt much safer in the middle of the night on the rooftops of twenty story buildings.

 

I retrieved my car and made my way to Wayne Enterprises. I had planned on spending two hours there before heading out for “nine holes with the Senator’s brother” when in all actuality I would be holed up in the Cave for the rest of the afternoon. Backlogs of surveillance on the agents in addition to researching their supposed suspects would be a daunting task and one that would have to be completed before dusk.

Eight blocks from the underground parking entrance of my building, my cell phone chirped from my pants pocket. I found it and answered, “Yes.”

 

“Hmm, it’s best not to greet a caller with the answer to a yes-or-no question, Bruce.”

 

Usually at the sound of her voice, my mind eased itself of its worries. In work-mode, it did nothing but irritate it, “Hi.”

 

“Much better. Do you have plans for lunch.”

 

“Yes,” I said too quickly, too sternly, “Sorry, I’ve got some things to take care of.”

 

“You and your things,” she replied quietly, “Well, I’ll let you go so you and your things can get taken care of.”

 

“Selina, wait--.”

 

“Don’t worry about it, Bruce, it’s not the end of the world. Besides I don’t want to use up my fifty hours a month with you. I’m sure I’ll find some other, younger, richer billionaire to feed me,” and after a short laugh she hung up.

 

An inside joke. Whenever times had been rough between us in our current relationship, I would catch her scanning the society pages and circling pictures and stories on young, wealthy bachelors in the area and labeled them as “prospects”. I never saw the humor in it but Alfred thought that it was genius, a way to “keep you on your toes, as it were, Master Bruce.”

 

The two hours set aside for “work” was reduced to forty-eight minutes, for the second I stepped foot in my office, I realized it would be an all day affair and not a brief visit. Conferences, presentations and status meetings were being scheduled for the week and I was asked to review dumbed-down documents in order to prepare for them. I said I would take them with me and have my caddy skim them and read them for me.

As I left, Melinda, my executive assistant approached me, “Not yet you don’t.”

 

“Not yet what?” I asked smiling.

 

“Abandon ship. Wednesday morning there’s an orientation brunch for new employees, and it’s been highly recommended by the HR department that you donate a few spare minutes to make an appearance, eat a bagel, shake some hands. Are you getting my subtle hint, Bruce?”

 

I nodded, patted her shoulder, “I’ve got you. Warm welcome to the new crewmembers. I’ve got it. What time is it at?”

 

“Eight.”

 

I stepped back, “In the morning?”

 

She smiled and shook her head, “Well, actually it’s at nine, but if I told you eight, you would show up an hour late and would then in turn be on time.”

 

“You are very clever,” I said while heading towards the elevator, “Nine it is.”

 

Forty-five minutes later, I made the turnoff for Wayne Manor. Traffic had been slightly hectic but nothing that the express lane on Washington Memorial highway couldn’t cure. When I stepped into the side entrance through the pantry, Alfred greeted me with a cup of ice water and a smile, “Ah, back so soon, sir?”

 

I drank, set the glass down and walked passed him, “I’ll be downstairs, Alfred.”

 

“As if there was a doubt in my mind,” he muttered as I passed through the door.

 

^V^

 

Rockledge State Park, June 28th, 4:21 p.m.

 

Rockledge, a rural town forty-five miles beyond the Gotham City limits boasted two things: the cherished state park that covered over two thousand acres of trees, trails, rivers and mountains and a quiet, friendly atmosphere, the kind desired by many to raise children in. He had spent his early childhood there, until his mother died.

 

Parked in one of the smaller camper parking lots, he stared out at the massive lake than sprawled before him. He remembered his fifth birthday party had been held there. At that age, everyone in the class went to each other’s parties and he had feared that they wouldn’t come to his. But nevertheless, all twenty kids showed up bearing gifts and birthday cards and big smiles.

 

On his sixth birthday, he had sat next to his mother on the bed as she stared at the wall.

 

The lakeshore was nearly bare of visitors, despite the nice weather. Although he would occasionally use the pool at the YMCA or one of the five health centers he was enlisted in for lap swimming, he rarely swam in open water. As a child, his mother had warned him of lake monsters and giant crabs, and even though he knew better as an adult, he still heeded her warnings.

 

During his long drives, generally one out of five ended in the very same spot he was. Same parking lot, same view. He liked it when he made sun set, so as to see the sun’s orange reflections dance across the water. All he could see this time was four bathing suit-clad teens lounging on the shore.

 

He studied them, seeing how the sun’s reflections were too bright and hurt his eyes. One was tall, all legs and had wavy brown hair that ran the length of her back. Her smile reminded him of Her and he looked down at his hands in disgust. There was usually a period of time where he could try to be happy, try to be normal. It was only then that he could hide the burden that he bore in his mother’s name, so that no one would know what he really was.

 

And this time, he did everything right, even waited until the right time, but the satisfaction, the knowing that he had pleased his mother, seemed to already be fading. His control, even for day-to-day functions was slipping. Biting his lip, he thought back to earlier that morning, where he had reached out and touched that waitress. Impulsive and uncalled for, but couldn’t help it. When he had left, he walked to his car, got in and stared at himself in the mirror. She had called him a creep.

 

From the silence of the car, he heard her voice, “Name calling is a dishonest thing to do, Peter. I would go back there and teach her a lesson.”

 

“No,” he said quietly, but for a change without the frailty that his voice took when speaking with her. As he closed his eyes, he continued, “It was my fault, not hers.”

 

“It was always her fault, Peter, always. You were never to blame.”

 

“But I was the one who--.”

 

She interrupted him with shushing noises, “Don’t raise your tone, Peter. It was always her fault and it will always be her fault. That’s why you must do what do, so that they can learn, all of them.”

 

Leaning forward, he rested his brow on the steering wheel. It was the first time all day that he felt tired. First time he had felt tired in a long time. He apologized for raising his tone, still with his brow on the wheel. He was about to ask her what he could do when he heard a tapping on his driver side window. Jumping up, he looked to his left to see a uniformed man looking down at him. His first impression had been a policeman, but upon closer inspection, he recognized the garb of the State Park Ranger.

 

“Sir, are you all right?”

 

After rolling down the window manually, he nodded and spoke quietly, “Must have dozed off.”

 

The ranger offered a polite smile, “Just wondering, you’ve been hunched over there for some time. As long as you’re all right then...”

 

He nodded, “I’m fine.”

 

After the ranger had returned to his own vehicle, a large red truck with massive tires and floodlights fixed to the roof, he turned the car on and made his way to the exit. Even in one of the quietest places, he still couldn’t find peace. All the way home, he did his best to think about his future and not his past. A difficult task, but one he attempted often. While training for Wayne Enterprises, he would undo his connections at the Bank and would be able to leave that part of his life behind. He would be able to start anew, something he had tried several times in his life.

 

Maybe he could even...

 

No. He couldn’t abandon all of his past. How could he possibly forget what the W***e did to his life? How she drove his mother to an early grave and forced his father into marrying her. A vixen, a sorceress, a witch. She alone had driven him to this point in his life, where he took control over others that were like her in a way he never even dreamed as a child.

 

Like his mother had said, it had been her fault, not his.

 

A sudden honking of horns snapped him back. He was on a small county highway that lead to a turnoff for the larger state highway for Gotham. There were large pines on the side of the road, the very outskirts of the state park, he reasoned, but yet not back into the beginnings of the town limits. Neither fact concerned him at the moment for the honking was coming from the car in front of him, as well as a pair of flashing brake lights.

 

Despite the good condition of his car, he was unable to stop completely from his fifty-five mile per an hour traveling rate and with a remarkably calm look on his face, he rear ended the stalled car that rested in the middle of his lane. The abrupt stop threw him against his seat belt and then back against the seat’s back. He cut the ignition on his car and after doing so, unbuckled himself and stepped out of the car. Aside from a slight burning on his neck where the belt had abraded his skin, he felt no other sites of pain on his body.

 

Then he looked at the front of his car.

 

The hood had crumpled considerably and there were soft wanes of smoke sifting out and into the sky. The left hand tire had jutted out from under the car nearly four inches and the hubcap had been forced off. Both headlights were shattered, revealing the small bulb and the guts of wiring.

 

As he surveyed the damage, he finally recognized that there was another live being there with him. A young woman was swearing and screaming at him from the shoulder of the road. Not really wanting to deal with her in such a state he asked her what was wrong with her car.

 

“It was just over heated, now thanks to you a*s hole, it’s a helluva lot more!”

 

She strode over to him, her high ponytail bobbing and her pixie face scrunched with anger. When she was a mere yard away she asked sarcastically, “What are you? Blind and deaf? I was honking and flashing my lights at you! Damn lucky I jumped out of the car when I did. I’m going to call the cops, hope they drag your a*s to lock up for the night.”

 

The very moment she turned away from him, he heard his mother, “It was all her fault, Peter, not yours.”

 

“Right,” he muttered and strode after the girl.

 

As one of his hands grabbed her ponytail, the other came to her mouth and clamped her jaw shut, right after she exclaimed, “What the hell--?!” She had been at the driver’s side of her car, looking through her purse. With a strong shove form his knee he guided her now stumbling form to the shoulder and into the ditch. He then promptly tripped her and pinned her into the muddy bank, his hand still sealing her mouth shut.

 

“It was all your fault,” he leered while tilting her head back by pulling on the mass of light hair.

 

She did her best to fight, but the leg he kneeled on kept hers from coming up to kick him. When she clawed at him, he let go of her hair hand hit her, hard, at the right temple. She let out a muffled cry from under his hand and he hit her again, and again. Her eyes fluttered, the blue irises flicking up and revealing lots of white. He felt her breath on his palm slowing, becoming irregular. After waiting a moment, her removed his hand and knelt, his legs straddling hers. The hand he had struck her with was bloodied.

 

He flashed to images of his mother’s blood on his hands, how slick and warm it had been.

 

The rest was easy.

 

^V^

 

Southern Border of Rockledge State Park, June 29th, 3:21 a.m.

 

While watching the local six o’ clock news over a cold meat sandwich and a cup of strong coffee, two feature stories of interest had been broadcasted. First had been a recap of SAIC Caffery’s appearance in addition to a special interview where he listed the crucial profile that he and his team had developed based on the facts that he had personally taken and observed in the investigation. The second had been that a county sheriff had come across two abandoned cars, both appeared to have sustained damage from an accident.

 

The first car had been a small four-door sedan while the second had been a large SUV, both had the license plates and registrations cards removed. There were no indications of where either the drivers were, but both vehicles had been towed to the Gotham County impound yard and anyone with information relating to the accident could call the Sheriff’s department.

 

After completing a majority of patrols that evening, I ventured out to the crash site, curiosity plaguing me every minute. While maneuvering the car, I listened to police scanners, hoping for nothing but knowing something would come up. Less than a mile from the scene, a large doe leapt into the road, paused, ears erect and eyes glowing. Surprisingly, I managed to stop and waited for the deer to make her move. She looked back in the direction she had just come and then bounded across the rest of the road to safety, a fawn, its spots already fading, went right after her.

 

The remainder of the drive was uneventful. I drove passed and found a small dirt turnaround several yards up and parked in the seclusion of tall, dark pines. Traffic was nonexistent and used my privacy to cross the road and make my way towards a pair of skid marks on the asphalt.

 

The responding unit had cleaned up shattered glass and debris after removing the vehicles, but even the tiniest of particles shimmered under my flashlight’s beam. The tire marks left on the road were fairly straight, only hints of deviation, suggesting no attempt to swerve to miss the first car. According to the sheriff’s report the first car had been in it’s braked position and had significant radiator damage suggesting it had broken down and the second car had hit it.

 

Intentionally?

 

I photographed the tire tracks and then stepped down into the ditch and flashed my light across the short grass. Some disturbances, footprints, but it was hard to discern what had been form earlier that afternoon or from workers standing around, smoking and chatting while the cars were loaded for towing.

 

A rustling within the trees drew my attention as my head snapped up. Then, silence. I passed my light on the trees, caught two pairs of glowing eyes and then more rustling as they took off into the darkness. I followed the rustling with careful steps into the foliage, passing the light in front of me to set out a path. The eyes had been fairly low to the ground, so they hadn’t been the deer I had encountered moments earlier.

 

Thirty yards later, there was more than just twigs snapping and dead leaves crackling. Sharp yaps and low growls and lots of eyes. Even as I bared their cover with my flashlight, there was little effect to dim the aggression as the small cluster of coyotes frantically feasted. As if a practiced move, each looked up at me simultaneously and dashed off. I wondered how man of their own they had seen gunned down by humans.

 

While they scattered away, I stepped forward to morbidly glance at their remains. It took less than a second to differentiate what lay before me with any forest animal that the coyotes preyed upon. Blue jeans pulled down to a pair of ankles, a ragged white sleeveless shirt ripped opened, exposing a light purple bathing suit and large gaping wounds. Soft, caramel hair matted with leaves and a pair of shocked dead blue eyes.

 

A victim. An innocent.

 

“Oracle?”

 

She replied a moment later, “Ah, the midnight torch still burns, what do you need?”

 

“A crime scene unit and a morgue van.”

 

I heard her typing on the other end, “Why are you out in the middle of no where? Is your GPS malfunctioning?”

 

“No, I’m just outside of the State Park.” I crouched down next to the still form and stared at the distinguished marks that scarred the torso. Deep visceral stab wounds and gouges in the side that no animal could make. A massive edema at the temple and bruises on the lower abdomen.

 

A pattern I had seen five times before.

 

^V^