Shane Freak
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Chapter 745: Layers of Shadows (Part 1)
🕑 Added 2023-11-19 14:29:01 +0000 UTCIn DC World With Marvel Chat Group : Table of Content/Chapter List
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Blood trickled down his forehead, impairing Batman's vision as it dripped into his eyes. Amidst a crimson haze, he saw a hand reach out before him, picking up a halo of light.
Shortly after, a pair of leather shoes came into view as the person in front of him crouched down, holding the halo of light in their hand and forcefully embedding it into the surface of the road, causing half of it to disappear.
Batman used every ounce of strength to roll to the side, rising from the ground with a half-kneeling posture, gasping for breath. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself face to face with Schiller. He noticed Professor pushing his glasses up and saying,
"Batman, if you've had some free time lately, have you considered turning in those overdue assignments? Drinking, drunk driving, staying out all night, reckless driving, causing explosions, disturbing the peace in the middle of the night… If you've had a moment to spare, that is."
Batman coughed twice, discovering traces of blood in his saliva, yet he felt no pain in his lungs. He suspected it might be a result of oral bleeding from the previous impact. Taking a deep breath, he stood up, somewhat unsteadily, and made his way toward the Batmobile.
Schiller didn't stop him but watched as he struggled to flip the overturned Batmobile back onto its wheels before settling back into the driver's seat.
Batman squinted, preparing to step on the gas when, in the next instant, a halo appeared on the windshield, less than ten centimeters from his nose.
Instantly, Batman sobered up considerably.
"Professor…" Batman's voice was extremely deep. When he spoke, his lips barely moved, and the word seemed to be squeezed directly from his lungs, resonating with a gravity that even the rain couldn't match.
"Where do you intend to drive to?" Schiller asked, standing in front of the Batmobile. The headlights had already gone out after the intense car crash, so Batman couldn't discern his expression.
"I'm heading back to Wayne Manor," Batman replied.
"Are you planning to go back like this? Do you know how old Alfred is this year? Do you know how he'll feel when he sees you covered in blood?" Schiller withdrew the halo and used it to illuminate the surroundings.
This was a road leading out of Gotham, but it hadn't left the city limits. The prosperous cityscape was now absent, making the rain more pronounced.
Ten minutes later, under the eaves of a nearby alleyway, Batman sat on the steps, holding the halo for illumination. Schiller stood behind him, wrapping a bandage around his head.
"Did you... did you see her? Did you see that..." Batman stopped there, seemingly reluctant to utter that word, but Schiller said it directly, "Yes, I saw the corpse."
"She was a pitiable child, subjected to much abuse, suffering from severe malnutrition, which greatly increased her chances of an early death. To be honest, her survival up to this point was a stroke of luck."
"No," Batman shook his head, "It was my failure to protect her. I assumed she had no resistance, so I didn't even check the window in her bedroom. I never thought she would jump from there. She was already so weak, and even though it was just the second floor, it was too high for her."
...
"I also failed Aisha. Aisha frightened her, causing her to have a respiratory obstruction. By the time her heart stopped beating, there was nothing I could do."
Schiller's movements paused for a moment, then he asked, "Do you attribute all of this to your lack of a better plan?"
"Isn't it?" Batman sighed, and before Schiller could speak, Batman continued, "Yes, I should have gained a better understanding of children's psychology before bringing them back. I shouldn't have changed their environment so frequently. I should have used medical methods to supplement their nutrition and improve their physical fitness."
"I shouldn't have brought her to the Manor alone. At the very least, I should have given her a companion on her first night here, instead of leaving her alone to pry open the window all night."
Batman's voice grew somber as he said, "I thought she might run away, but I never thought she would jump from the window. I didn't realize she had the courage to do that. I should have known that traumatized patients wouldn't be restricted by fear."
"I should have told Dick and Aisha not to frighten her before they returned. When she ran away and came back, I should have taken immediate measures to preserve her body temperature instead of standing there arguing with anyone."
It seemed as if Batman had been holding back for a long time. Under the resurgence of drunkenness, his words poured out rapidly, "Dick, too. He didn't want to come home because I didn't consider that he might not like the current environment. He might prefer staying with the choir children. There should have been better ways to deal with all of this."
Batman wiped the bloodstains from his eyes with his hand, saying, "If I had thought carefully, I could have prevented all of this from happening."
"Why don't you allow yourself to make mistakes?" Schiller asked.
"Because she died. She was a child, a child's life. No one's life should be the cost of another person's mistakes," Batman said, his mouth opening wide, "If Batman makes a mistake, and someone dies as a result, what's the difference between that and someone dying because of criminals?"
"Do you want everything in this world to be within your plan? Do you want to never make mistakes?" Schiller inquired.
"Of course, I do."
"What do you think drives you to make such decisions?" Schiller asked again.
The continuous intake of alcohol was steadily eroding Batman's mind. Those who rarely drank were always more susceptible to intoxication.
Even without Schiller's hypnosis, Batman had naturally entered a hypnotic state. Various hallucinations began to appear before his eyes, bizarre and surreal images that sent shivers down his spine.
"Bats... they're bats," Batman replied. "One evening, a group of bats flew in from the window. I heard them say, 'You can be one of us, to save this city...'"
"Fear is controlling you to do this," Schiller said. Psychologists were adept at deciphering strange imagery in patients' words, whether it was unrelated things, a story that sounded like a fairy tale, or even unsettling and discomforting fantasies. They all represented the patient's emotions.
...
Schiller asked, "Are you afraid of things beyond your plan because of the potential bad outcomes, or are you afraid of these bad outcomes damaging your perfect identity?"
Batman seemed not to have understood this long and complex question. He remained silent, struggling to shake off the resurging drunkenness, but the alcohol had taken its toll.
"Batman? Batman?" Schiller called, but Batman was unresponsive. He had entered a state of hazy consciousness, commonly known as being blackout drunk.
Schiller's long string of questions became the final lullaby. In a dark alley, amid a night of pouring rain, Batman fell asleep like this. It indicated that he was truly drunk.
The next morning, the rain had stopped, and every spring morning in Gotham was equally chilly. Bruce sat up from his bed, and in that instant, he felt a severe headache.
Swinging his legs off the bed, he approached the window. Opening it, the cold wind brushed his temples, helping him feel more awake.
Before pushing the bedroom door open, Bruce hesitated for a moment. He felt an unfounded fear. He was afraid that when he opened the door, he wouldn't see Alfred.
However, a few seconds later, he pushed open the door and heard the crackling sound of wood burning in the fireplace.
This eased his anxiety. When he reached the staircase, he saw Alfred, wearing deerskin gloves that Bruce hadn't seen in a long time. This made his movements seem less agile, but Bruce held the armrest tighter, and amidst the cold air, emotions began to brew.
"Oh, sir, you're awake? Good morning. Breakfast is ready, you can go and dine," Alfred smiled at Bruce, as if nothing had happened the night before.
But Bruce's memory told him that a lot had happened yesterday, and now he needed to know the outcome. So he asked, "What about Aisha? Has she returned?"
"Yes, Miss Aisha has come back, sir. She didn't run too far, and I brought her back. However, when she returned, I didn't see you, so I took her to bed," Alfred replied with a smile.
His words had just fallen when a series of tiny footsteps approached from behind. Aisha, in her pajamas, rushed downstairs, heading straight to the dining table. She pulled out a chair, sat down, picked up her utensils, licked her lips, and turned to look at Alfred.
Alfred smiled and gestured for Bruce to come to the dining table. Bruce had intended to say something to Aisha, but at that moment, she had already started eating with gusto. Alfred stood behind him, still smiling, and said, "Miss Aisha had some intense activity last night, so she started to feel hungry when she returned. However, it was quite late, and eating would not have been good for her health at that time, so she might be a bit hungry now."
Seeing this, Bruce didn't say anything more and began to eat his breakfast as well. However, during the meal, he felt that something was missing. He put down his fork and asked, "Alfred, where is today's newspaper?"
...
Alfred, holding a duster, moved his finger slightly and said, "I apologize, sir. I woke up a bit late today, and the newspaper hasn't been pressed yet. However, today's newspaper still features the Angelica Troupe and their new play 'Macbeth,' which is the first regular theater performance in Gotham in ten years. All the city's elite will be attending. Would you like me to help you and Master Dick and Miss Aisha book tickets?"
Bruce lowered his gaze to his plate and said, "No, I won't be going. Please book tickets for Selena, Dick, and Aisha so they can go together."
Alfred nodded and didn't say anything more. After breakfast, when Alfred took Aisha to the backyard for some exercise, Bruce frowned.
The newspaper wasn't pressed? Bruce couldn't believe that explanation. In the decades that Alfred had worked for the Wayne Family, there had never been a situation where the newspaper wasn't pressed before breakfast.
On this matter, Alfred himself was even more steadfast than the Wayne Family members in ensuring that no one wavered in their commitment to keeping the family updated with the latest news.
Bruce went to the back of the hall, looked through the window, and saw Alfred playing with Aisha. Bruce left through the dining room corridor, circled around the hall, and arrived at the side of the ironing room.
Alfred usually ironed things here, including clothes, gloves, and newspapers. The newspapers delivered by the newsboy, after being taken from the mailbox, were always the first to be placed here.
However, after searching for a while, Bruce couldn't find any trace of the newspaper. So, he returned to the hall, walked out the door, pushed open Wayne Manor's door, and opened the mailbox to check inside.
There was nothing in the mailbox either. Bruce frowned, closed the mailbox door again, and began to survey the street to the left and right.
Just then, Wayne Manor's neighbors happened to step out.
Not far from Wayne Manor lived a mother and daughter, the mother being the widow of a wealthy East Coast businessman. However, due to her strong business acumen, the family prospered even more after her husband's passing. She was often referred to as Lady Gotham, and her daughter was known as Miss Goth.
Both of them were dressed identically, wearing the trendy wool coats that were popular among wealthy ladies. They paired them with brightly colored boots, scarves, and hats in matching shades, each carrying a handbag.
Bruce retreated to the yard of Wayne Manor, standing behind the bushes, eavesdropping on their conversation.
Lady Gotham spoke first, "If it weren't for your insistence, I wouldn't have had to sit with those stinking Pier workers for a meal. Wasn't last night's experience bad enough?"
"Don't say that, Mother. Look at those people; some of the girls around my age can only stare at my boots with envy. And did you not notice the eye contact from those women who call themselves society ladies in the East District?"
"Hmph, don't play these tricks with me. You just want to see young Mr. White. I've known that for a while. That young man may not have the best character, but his family still holds a respectable position. Today, if you meet Mr. White, you'd better behave modestly..."
...
"I understand, Mother. What kind of topic do you think would be suitable to start with? Should I talk to them about the recent drama?" Miss Goth's voice carried some apprehension.
"Silly girl," Lady Gotham scolded, "The drama hasn't even premiered yet. What would you talk about? Haven't you read the newspaper this morning? Of course, you should discuss our local specialty with Mr. White, who hails from elsewhere—the famous Batman."
"Oh, what's the point? He's just a hypocritical old rich man. Didn't the newspaper say it all? Under the guise of rescuing beggar children, he brought them to his base for his own enjoyment. It's disgusting. I heard a child even died. He's..."
Lady Gotham quickly covered her mouth and said, "Stop saying such things. That's not a topic for young ladies like you to discuss. Let those dirty men talk. Isn't it enough?"
The mother and daughter whispered to each other and quickly walked past Wayne Manor's yard. From behind the bushes, Bruce saw Mrs. Goth using her handkerchief to cover her mouth while scanning Wayne Manor up and down. She then said to her daughter, "In my opinion, young Wayne would be the best choice. A playboy? That's the least important criterion for a spouse. If you could marry young Wayne, I'd go to church every week to thank God!"
The sound of high heels faded as they walked away, and Bruce's expression turned cold. He followed the perimeter wall of the yard, avoiding Alfred's gaze, and swiftly climbed over the wall at the rear of Wayne Manor.
In the back of Wayne Manor, there were two other mansions, but because the South District was a newly developed affluent area, the buildings weren't as densely packed as in the West District. Bruce walked down a street, turned a corner, and found another family's mailbox.
Bruce knew that the people in this house were allergic to ink, so even though they subscribed to the newspaper, they never read it. Bruce had heard the newsboy complain before that when he delivered the new newspaper, the previous day's newspaper was still left in the mailbox.
Bruce looked around to ensure no one was nearby. He reached out and pried open the mailbox of this family, taking out a copy of the newspaper.
Closing the mailbox, Bruce walked two more corners, found a secluded spot, and opened the newspaper to read.
In fact, he didn't need to read very carefully because the headline on the front page said it all:
"Batman? To Hell with Your Gotham Hero!"
Bruce furrowed his brow and then looked at the subheading, which read, "Batman Abducts Children, the Cruel Child Killer Disguised as a Hero!"
The main text contained many details but primarily followed a chronological timeline, describing how Batman had purportedly rescued beggar children and then taken them away, subjecting them to persecution that led to their deaths.
Among the articles were four photos, one of which was a fleeting silhouette of him in a dim alley. Bruce remembered that there was a sheet of metal placed over the gap between that alley and another alley, where three children, including the little girl, used to live.
The second photo showed Batman standing on a high-rise building. Due to the angle and background, he didn't look much like a hero but rather like an assassin waiting for the right moment to strike.
The third and fourth photos were close-ups, providing a clear view of Batman's mask.
Although Batman had been active in Gotham for a long time, he had been elusive to reporters, and few news agencies published stories about him. After all, not many people were willing to deal with a strange man in a tight suit who roamed the streets at night. Gangs, at least, could be reasoned with, but dealing with someone who might be mentally unstable was a different matter.
However, this time, the news dominated the entire front page of the Gotham Morning News.
The article was sharply written, with a skilled narrative style and a great deal of sensationalism. What was more important was that it accurately captured the psyche of the people of Gotham—
Rather than creating a hero, these lunatics preferred to see a hero fall.
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Next Chapter>>Chapter 746: Shadows Looming (Part Two)
