Batman: Revenge, Chapter 6

Batman: Revenge

Chapter  6

 



As he neared the Bat Cave, at over 100 mph, Batman flipped a switch on the dash that activated the opening of the entryway. Without slowing, he flew into the tunnel that led back to the Batmobile's special parking space. The sophisticated autopilot took over, using radar to guide and slow the vehicle until it came to rest at precisely the right point. A four foot error would send the Batmobile over a sheer cliff to the waters of the Lake, 200 feet below.

      Batman unbuckled his seat belt as the canopy slid back. The seat and steering wheels moved away to preset positions, allowing him to stand and step out. Reaching up, he pulled off his mask. The cool air of the cave felt good on his face. The mask was lined and had enough openings and tiny perforations to keep it from being overly hot, but it still felt good to take it off at the end of a long day. Batman wondered for a moment if the day really was over. His thoughts raced back over it's events. With the three surviving Joker gang members having been released from prison, anything could and probably would happen. Were they the ones that had dug up the Joker, or was it a college Fraternity prank? Would Edward Nygma be able to focus long enough on the tissue samples from the Joker to determine what kept them from decomposing? And didn’t Chase look great? Tim, his escort at Arkham Asylum had been right about that. Who had attempted to hijack the F-27... members of the Joker’s old gang, or could a foreign government be responsible?

    Why can’t I have normal things to worry about like the next guy? Batman wondered. Can Billy sleep over at Bobby’s tonight. Can Cindy have that CD player for her birthday? What to get the wife for the anniversary? Yeah, right. What wife? I don’t even have a girlfriend. At least I have dinner waiting, and I am hungry.

      He walked to the elevator, pressed the button, waited as the polished aluminum doors slid open,  stepped in and pressed two. The interior of the elevator was what you would expect at a posh hotel. A polished marble tiled floor, rich wood paneling, a full-length mirror, with an ornate gilded frame, and classical music piped in from above. When the doors slid open again, he was at the wardrobe and Bat-Weapons arsenal room. He unlatched his belt and hung it up next to 10 other belts. Each one was fitted with different sized compartments to house the different weapons and tools of the trade. Most were all black, but some were yellow, silver, or gold, and one was khaki, which was meant for the camouflage suit. He hung up his mask and cape and began to peel off his suit. He left it on the dressing bench, conveniently located next to the shower, whirlpool, and massage room entrance. His socks, underwear and knee and elbow braces were left in a pile. He opened the shower door and turned on the water. Seven different jets from all different angles sprayed vigorously as he reached for shampoo. He hated the feeling of being sticky after a long day in his suit. His mask left his hair, which had thinned a bit in the back, and was receding in the front, a comical sight, and although the staff was like family, he just didn’t feel right walking around Wayne Manor with his hair all matted and nasty. Besides, he never knew who might drop by.

      On the first night they spent together, Vicki mentioned that her colleague, Alexander Knox, now the editor of the Gotham Globe, once called him Bruce Vain, because of the large mirrors found in Wayne Manor. As Bruce toweled himself dry, with a big, thick, monogrammed towel, he closely examined his thinning hair and spoke out loud, “Bruce Vain, why would anyone think that I have one vain bone in my body?” He opened his medicine cabinet, got out his Minoxidil and rubbed it into his scalp. He washed his hands, dried them, and poured a glass of water. Next, he opened a small prescription drug bottle, labeled Propecia, and popped one in his mouth. Then he carefully blow-dried his hair. Trying to hide the balding areas, he added body by using brush techniques he learned from his hair stylist.

        When finished he walked back out to the wardrobe area and opened an armoire door, revealing shelves stacked with jeans and sweaters. He grabbed an old pair of jeans from one of the shelves and slipped into them. To his dismay he couldn't zip them up without employing the classic, “sucking in,” technique familiar to millions of Americans, but new to Bruce Wayne. He would certainly complain to the staff about the shrinking of his clothes, obviously due to being washed in hot water or the dryer temperature being set too high. An old favorite, gray sweatshirt caught his eye. He pulled it over his head, messing up his hair in the process and then cussed himself for not putting on the sweatshirt before fixing his hair. He hung his head dejectedly as he walked back to the hair dryer to try and repair the damage.

    Not much later, as the elevator reached the level of Wayne Manor that included the kitchen and dining areas, the doors slid open and Bruce stepped out. The old hardwood floors and white kitchen cabinetry radiated a warm and comfortable feeling to those who sat at the antique table in the middle of the room.

      An unopened bottle of wine sat on the table along with two place settings complete with red, cloth napkins.  As Bruce stood there, trying to figure out the reason for the extra place setting, the answer walked around the corner - Vicki Vale.

    She smiled, and said “Well, look who’s home? I was on a corner with a sign that said, 'Homeless...will work for food and shelter,' and Richards took pity on me. Remember the first time we had a meal at this table? Alfred told me the story of his sprained ankle and the pony ride.”

    How could she be here? Bruce wondered. When did she get here? And why didn’t Richards tell me? “Yeah, I remember,” he said. “As I recall, you didn’t like the long table in the formal dining room very much.”

    “Not when there are just two for dinner. You need a loudspeaker system or a telephone to hear the person at the other end. It‘s not very cozy.”

    “When did you get in?” Bruce asked. “Have you been waiting a long time for me?”

    Her answer threw him for a loop. “About fourteen years,” she said, and smiled again.

    How could he respond to that? Fortunately, he didn’t have to. he winced as the doorbell rang. Bruce hated Wayne Manor's incredibly loud doorbell, but less obvious bells would be virtually impossible to hear in the far reaches of Wayne Manor.

    “Where is Richards?” Bruce asked. “Why isn’t he answering the door?”

    “I told him to take the rest of the night off. I thought we might want to spend some time alone. I’ll get the door.” Vicki trotted off in the direction of the front entrance, while Bruce fretted about Richards failing to advise him of Vicki’s presence.

    At the door, Chase Meridian waited impatiently. She worried about the potential regression of Edward Nygma if he felt pressured to perform in a situation similar to his old duties at the Wayne Foundation. She also wanted to talk to Bruce about his own emotional problems. 

      The door opened, and instead of one a Wayne Manor employee, Chase found herself looking at Vicki Vale, the world famous photographer and former flame of Bruce Wayne. Suddenly, she felt a wicked streak of jealousy rise within her and declared, “I’m Doctor Chase Meridian, I’m here to see Bruce tonight, are you one of the new servants?”

    Vicki was shocked and hurt. Why hadn’t Bruce told her he still saw this woman. “No, I’m Vicki Vale, I… I was just leaving. Please come in. He‘s in the kitchen.” She found her purse on a couch in the living room and her jacket in the huge guest closet. She put it on and walked out of Wayne Manor without saying goodbye to Bruce, feeling confused, embarrassed, and betrayed.

    Meanwhile, Dr. Meridian, unfamiliar with the interior of Wayne Manor, called out, “Hello, Bruce?”

      Still in the kitchen, Bruce didn't realize at first that the voice belonged to someone other than Vicki. “What?” he called back.

      Locating the direction the answer came from, Chase found her way back to the kitchen.

      Reaching into one of the cabinets on the far wall for a couple of glasses, Bruce was turned away from her as she entered. Still believing it was Vicki, he asked, “Who rang?”

          “Me,” she answered. “Surprised?”

          Bruce turned, his face clearly showing surprise. “Where’s Vicki?”

          Chase cocked her head to one side showing mock puzzlement, “Who? Oh, she said she was just leaving. My, my, is that a bottle of wine I see? I’d wager you could use a little help drinking it, couldn’t you?”

          “Uh, yeah, sure,” Bruce answered. His mind searched for an answer. What the heck happened to make Vicki leave? “Did Vicki say anything as to why she left?”

          “Nope. What’d you do, make her mad or something? She seemed kind of down.”

          Bruce shook his head, “I don’t know. She showed up here before I did

tonight. She sent Richards home early and now she disappears. That’s just weird.”

          “Oh, well,” Chase shrugged, “Bruce, I came her tonight to talk to you about Edward Nygma. I don’t believe he can handle the research task you planned for him. Placed back in a work environment I think it’s possible he’ll suffer a severe psychological setback. He may even revert to the identity of the Riddler. By the way, are you going to open that bottle?”

    “Oh, yeah, okay,” He turned and fumbled in a drawer for an opener, speaking as he searched. “Chase, I know I can trust you, since you have known about my other, uh, 'job' for some time now. I need Edward’s expertise. I need him to do some research on tissue samples of the Joker. For some reason they’ve shown no decomposition over all this time and we need to know how that can be possible. There's a chance we may stumble onto something that can be used in the field of medicine. The coffin that the Joker was buried in held no traces of his DNA.

      "How could that be?" Chase asked.

      "The police forensics department said there should have been at least some hair follicles or skin residue, but there wasn’t. If you or I lay down in that coffin for just a few minutes we would leave traces of hair and cells from our skin. Finding the Joker’s body may end up being much more important than anyone can imagine.”

      The cork popped out of the bottle and Bruce walked back over to the table. He poured a glass for himself and sniffed the bouquet. It was delightfully robust. He said to Chase, “Say when,” but she didn’t. He stopped when the glass was full and handed it to her.

      She took a sip, nodded her head approvingly and then took another, much larger one. “So, if I can get Edward to focus on this task,” she said, leaning back against the counter, “what’s in it for me? We are talking about a lot of intensive sessions with Edward, and a lot of extra monitoring hours.  I need something that would make me feel as if my efforts were appreciated. Chase raised an eyebrow and adopted a suggestive expression that meant she was looking for something other than monetary compensation.

    “Well,” Bruce observed, “that’s a really good bottle of wine you’re working on, right now. Would you consider that fair compensation?” Chase shook her head from side to side, indicating she didn't intend to settle for just a little wine.     

      Bruce felt uneasy although he wasn’t sure exactly why. He wasn’t dating anyone currently, and hadn’t for quite a while. He liked Chase, he liked her a lot, and as she stood their smoldering, he was mesmerized by her beaut. But something held him back.

    “Bruce,” she crossed her arms and looked at him intently, “You need to stop punishing yourself for what happened to your parents. It wasn’t your fault and you can’t bring them back by catching every criminal in Gotham City. It’s time you started to let go of that guilt.”

    He pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. “Don’t you think I know that? I’ve told myself that a thousand times. Alfred told me that a thousand times. Robin told me that a thousand times. But every time I decide I am going to have a life, something happens to stop me as if it’s meant to be that way. As if for some reason fate has decreed that I'm not to be allowed a permanent relationship.”

    “Bruce, don’t you see it isn’t fate that stops you. You stop yourself. You stop when you think you might run into resistance and you take it out on crime. You make sure criminals pay. You never give up when in pursuit of justice, yet you don’t demand justice for yourself. You've judged yourself unfairly. It’s time for a retrial, buster - the evidence demands it.” She crossed her arms again and peered determinedly into his soul with her beautiful blue eyes.

    She was right and he knew it. She came to Wayne Manor because she cared about him, not just because of her professional involvement with Edward Nygma. Why shouldn’t he just relax and have a wonderful evening with her? But what happened to Vicki?

    Chase picked up the bottle and walked towards the back door. “Does this lead to a patio or something outside?” she asked. Bruce said that it did. “Then let’s take the party outside,” she suggested.

    Bruce followed her outside, onto a porch with lawn furniture and a gorgeous statue of a Venus rising from the sea. “See,” she said after taking a big swallow of wine directly from the bottle, she doesn’t look cold.” The wind had died down, but it was still rather cool. The moon shone down on the beautiful redhead, illuminating her face. She smiled and held her arms out, “Come here Bruce. Let the doctor make it stop hurting. I have just the right medicine.” She reached out and grabbed him on either side of his face and pulled him to her. She closed her eyes and sighed, as her lips parted slightly. Her kisses were hot and passionate. She held him tightly and pressed her body hard against his.

      With the help of the wine, raw burning desire ignited and raced through him like an illicit drug, leaving him light headed and unable to think about anything other than how good she smelled and felt and tasted. His hands wanted to roam, but hesitated for reasons he couldn’t explain. The need for explanation disappeared as Chase took his hand and placed it exactly where he wanted it to be. She felt exquisitely soft. The warmth of her body flowed right through the fabric of her dress.

    “You were right, it is nice out here tonight,” he said. He kissed her neck and ran his not so busy other hand through her long, strawberry-blonde hair, which was luxuriantly soft and silky.

    “Bruce, the temperature may be cool tonight, but I’m burning up, would you mind if I got a little more comfortable?” she asked, with a sly look. She didn’t wait for the answer. She quickly slipped out of her black dress, revealing a thin, low cut, black slip. She carefully laid the dress over the back of a lawn chair and took another big drink from the bottle.

    “Hey, that stuff isn’t Strawberry Ripple, it should be savored,” Bruce complained.

    “I’ve got something you should savor,” she replied, “Let’s go back inside. I want to continue my tour of Wayne Manor. Why don’t you show me your bedroom?"

      Bruce followed like a well trained dog on a leash. If he'd had a tail it would have been wagging for sure. Still, something in the back of his mind kept bothering him like a gnat or a fly at an outdoor meal that you keep shooing away, but it keeps coming back, no matter what you do. Why did Vicki leave without saying goodbye? He would have to find out tomorrow.

      As soon as they stepped back into the kitchen they smelled it. Something was burning. Bruce ran to the oven and opened it. A thick cloud of charcoal-gray smoke curled out and rolled upwards, spreading out as it reached the ceiling. In a matter of seconds the smoke alarms were activated. The beeping was enough to drive anyone crazy.

      Chase stood at the far side of the kitchen in her black slip, bent over, with her hands clasped against her ears in an attempt to block out the incessant sound of the alarms.

      The wait staff that stayed on premises overnight should Bruce require an impromptu meal, or should an emergency arise, began showing up now in their robes and pajamas. Andre, the Chef, was on the phone, desperately trying to tell the fire department in his thick French accent that they had the situation under control, but the noise was making it extremely difficult. One of the staff walked aimlessly about, carrying a fire extinguisher and mumbling something about trying to get the smell out of the kitchen. He went to the back door and opened it to hasten the dispersal of the smoke. As he did so he saw the black dress Chase had been wearing, lying over the back of a lawn chair. He picked it up and brought it back inside.

    “I believe this might be yours miss,” he shouted. She took it and yelled her thanks over the alarms. She wondered briefly if the staff was used to seeing half dressed women standing around the house. Bruce asked one of the staff to go and get a robe for Chase, who still held her hands over her ears as the alarm droned on.

    “Will somebody stop that noise, please?” Bruce pleaded. The alarm was near the top of the nine foot tall ceiling. Within a minute, Andre climbed up a ladder, which someone brought and pushed the red reset button. The alarm squawked and then stopped. When Andre came down, he took a pair of large tongs and reached into the still-smoldering oven. He brought out a charred cinder, completely unrecognizable. “What the heck was that?” Bruce asked.

    “I theenk eet was a loaf of French bread,” said Andre.

    Bruce felt a tap on his back and he turned to see Chase who had slipped back into her dress. “See what I mean, Chase?" he shrugged. "It’s like a curse. Something always happens.”

    “Now Bruce, your imagining things. It’s just a coincidence. We can get together over the weekend if you like. Just call me.” She leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek, turned, and walked briskly out of the room and back through Wayne Manor to her black Saab, which waited outside.

    “That’s just great,” Bruce sighed as he collapsed into a chair. As he did, he heard a terrific rrrriiippp come from the seat of his old jeans. He hung his head and mumbled, “Why me?”

Batman: Revenge, Chapter 7  (18+) Viki Vale returns to Wayne Manor #1469274 by George R. Lasher