Chapter Thirteen: Strange

From the confessions of Bruce Wayne

“I see you’re awake. We have to stop meeting like this, Mister Wayne,” Doctor Thompkins hovered over my bedside. “Really. I had to revive you twice this time. It seems these late night kicks of yours are getting more and more worrisome. Might I be able to convince you to ease off on the weaponized hallucinogens a tad bit?”

“Oh,” my head exploded in pain as I attempted to lift myself to a sitting up position. “How long was I out this time?”

“Two days, same as last time. The estimated dosage you took was a bit higher this time around though. You’ll be feeling a bit worse for wear for quite a while, I’m afraid.” She smiled, but it did not appear that she was in a good humor.

“Where’s Alfred?” I could barely muster the strength to ask.

“I’ll go and get him,” my good doctor said, and exited my bedroom.

“You Jackass,” Alfred accused me before I had a chance to sense his entry. “Do you know just how close ye was to dyin’ this time? I ought to have ye bound up and locked away in Arkham, ye bloody idiot!”

I strained my eyes, as the encroaching pain manifested most severely right behind them. “Good to see you too, old chap,” I croaked.

“Like hell it is!”

“Mmph,” I rubbed at my temples, and then my brows. Nothing seemed to relieve the ache, however. “What have I missed? What happened the other night?”

“What happened was you went and almost got yerself killed! There ain’t nuffin’ about it in the news this time. GCPD are keeping things tight lipped now. Seems they’ve had enough of your exploits.”

“You mean they didn’t nab the imposter?”

“Not to my knowledge. D’ye even care ye almost lost yer life goin’ after this bloke?”

I squirmed, haggardly, “I had no choice, old man.”

“Bullocks. And how did you end up getting mixed up with that toxin again? Ain’t that Crane fellow in the asylum?”

It hit me then, I’d had the same thought when first sprayed by the chemical. How did Crane’s concoction end up in the hands of this fake Batman?

“Helloooo?” Alfred waved a hand in front of me, irritated at my silence.

“Strenj…” I whispered.

“Huh? Oh yeah, speaking of that odd bugger, he stopped by asking for ye. I told him you was out of town this week. But back to the toxin…”

“Strenj is the one, Alfred. I don’t know how or why, but I have a… strange feeling he’s behind it all.”

“Poppycock,” my butler frowned. “You just don’t like him because you don’t like his diagnosis. Which, might I add, is looking more and more truthful every day, evidently.”

“I’m telling you, it’s him! Who else would have… no, who else could have convinced Crane to give up his solution? His modus operandi is clear, given all the things he’s said of the Batman in public. He must be the imposter!”

Alfred crossed his arms and huffed in contemplation. After a few moments he said, “Well… I suppose he is smarter than you, isn’t he?”

I would have glared at him then, if I'd had the willpower to control my eyelids against the glare of the sunlight seeping in through my window. I tried to steady my thoughts, wondering if there was any way I could be wrong in my assertion. And while I could not know for absolute certain, his showing up at my door and asking for me shortly after our encounter was proof enough for me that he might have somehow figured out who I was. But how?

“Did he say what he wanted of me?”

“No, he just said he wanted to see you as soon as possible, and that you’re to consider it an open invitation any time you’re ready to pay him a visit at Arkham.”

“Of course. A trap. An attempt to confront me about my identity as the Batman.” I hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

“Are ye sure that drug has fully worn off, then?” Alfred asked me uncertainly.

“Trust me, Alfred. The man has gone rogue, and is intent on destroying me.”

“Well then why, pray tell, doesn’t he just run off and squabble on ye to the police? Eh?”

“That’s exactly what I intend to find out,” I lay back my head upon my pillow, sighing in discomfort.

“And how ya gonna do that, huh?”

“I’m going to break into Arkham."

“You… you’re off your bloody rocker! Leslie! LESLIE! Come ‘ere and knock this bastard out again. He ain’t a marble left in his head!”

“Do stop yelling, would you?” I strained to the awful noise.

“I’ll stop yellin’ when you start thinking more clearly. I won’t have ye getting yerself killed, and I won’t have ye getting yourself thrown in jail neither!”

“I assure you, I am keen on neither of those two options. I’ll be as cautious as can be. Only, I will need you to do something for me while I prepare.”

“Oh? And what would that be?” he stammered in outrage.

“Call Julie for me and apologize for my absence of late.”

“And that something has come up and ye can’t see her tonight either, yeah? That about the sum of it?”

“Right you are, my friend.”

He sighed, “It’s been three whole days ye been gone, yer gonna lose your chance with the lass.” In reply, I simply stared at him, pleading with my pained eyes. “Ye fockin’ ninny.”

From the very recently uncovered audio logs of Dr. Hugo Strenj

Strenj: This is Doctor Hugo Strenj of Arkham Asylum. July the twenty-first, nineteen forty. I have just been informed that Bruce Wayne is coming here to see me… today!

In my heart, I know I am right about him. He is the Batman, he HAS to be. I have pondered upon how this possibility may have escaped the GCPD for so long. And yet, for as many poor people inhabit this island, there are more than just a small few millionaires amongst us here. The old families of Gotham, and the crooks who have stolen their way to the top. It would, of course, make no sense for a criminal to begin upon such a crusade, as it goes against his very nature. And yet… is it truly any more believable that one of the rich sons of Gotham would rise to such a call? No, I think not.

However, after a little digging, I was able to gleam some interesting details about dear Bruce’s past. His parents, it seems, were murdered many years ago. Murdered in relation to the famed Streetnapper cases of old, no less! The Streetnapper kidnappings conducted by Jonathan Crane, who Batman helped to bring to justice only last year! It all fits so perfectly! Ohohoho! Perhaps the police really are as dimwitted as I’d supposed. Or maybe… maybe Cort’s impressions on Jim Gordon’s sympathies towards the Batman’s plight are closer to reality than I’d thought. It could be that he doesn’t want to know who our vigilante figure is. Doesn’t want the GCPD to know. Indeed, he may very well be in leagues with the fellow after all.

No matter. I am going to confront Wayne on the issue this afternoon. If I am able, I will use this recording device to sample his confession. Bulky thing that it is, there is unfortunately no hiding it from him, so I must be indiscreet. Failing that, I will be forced to use a sedative upon his person. No easy task, given his stature… and if he is the Batman, surely he can overpower and outmaneuver me quite easily. But I must try. If all else fails, I still have Cort on my side, and if I were to reveal the true identity to him, it shan’t be difficult to persuade him to launch a stealth assault upon Wayne Manor at my behest.

Signing off!

From the confessions of Bruce Wayne

I arrived at Arkham a few hours later. My head was still swimming, and I would have to do my utmost to avoid showing my ill state of being. The good Doctor Thompkins gave me a heavy dose of pain killing drugs, and though they masked a majority of the pain, there was still a bit of lingering discomfort to be felt.

“Mister Wayne,” Hugo greeted me at the gates with his arms spread wide in a welcoming gesture. “So glad you’ve come, we have much I wish to discuss.”

“Good news, I hope,” I smiled warmly.

“My friend, to me, there exists no other kind. Please,” he opened the gates and allowed me inside, beckoning me to follow in his footsteps up the pathway.

There was little in the way of smalltalk as we routed our way through the hallways of the institution, up towards the top floor where his office was located. We both knew where this was going. He had somehow assumed my identity, and I, in a way, had discovered his as well. I studied his figure as we made our way up a final flight of stairs. He was not a burly fellow, not even close. His arms were gangly, and he showed little in the way of muscle upon them. The beard, as well, made it quite evident that he was not the man underneath my imposter’s outfit. But he was, I was certain, the man behind the facade.

We entered his office room and he closed the door behind me. I heard a click, and a softer one following that one. He had locked the door, and though I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I knew it to be true. The trap was sprung. Or so he believed.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

“Do sit down, Mister Wayne.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to stretch my legs a bit longer.”

“Oh, uh, yes. You do look a tad bit sleepy. Rough night, was it?”

“No more than usual,” I revealed nothing of my true thoughts.

“Do you mind if I record our meeting on my device? I find it beneficial to do so, as I don’t wish to forget any important details for future reference.”

“I actually do mind,” I stared hard at the man.

He met my gaze then, taken only somewhat aback by my forthright attitude. “I see…”

“Say what you need to say, Hugo. We both know what this is about.”

He studied me a few long seconds more, contemplating his options. In the end, his walls came crumbling down just as mine had.

“We do.” He moved to sit down at his deskchair.

“No sudden movements, Strenj,” I warned, and he stopped his movements altogether.

“Why, Mister Wayne! You shock me with your candidness. I suppose you leave me no choice but to get down to business,” he confided. “I believe you are the one I have been searching for. The Batman.”

“You do.”

“Yes. I’ve been reading up on you and your history, you see. It all makes so much sense. And you have money, and resources that the little people of Gotham would not have access to. Of course, it was just a hunch at first. But knowing that you’d been dosed with the fear toxin the other night, and incidentally were unavailable when I’d come to call on you the other day, something clicked. And now I look at you, and you appear to me as sickly as I’ve ever seen you.”

“I don’t suppose a simple hangover would suffice to explain it,” I suggested.

“Afraid not.”

He made a sharp movement toward the desk again, but I was twice as fast and lunged to the other side of it, stopping him in his tracks.

“I’m faster and stronger than you are, Strenj. I know you likely have more of Crane’s toxin back there. Say what you want to say to me.” I took another step to my right around the desk, forcing him to move leftwards towards the door, as he was quite intimidated by me.

“I think you have me all wrong, Bruce. I merely want to help you. I am a doctor, after all. It pains me to see you struggle so.”

“Sadly, I don’t believe a word you say, Hugo. I think there’s much more to this than you’re letting on.” I took another step, edging him even closer to the door as he refused to change the amount of distance between us.

“Of course you don’t! You don’t trust anyone, and how could you? After all you've been through…”

I took another step, lodging myself between the deskchair and the window behind me. Hugo likewise completed the circling dance, now standing with his back to the door.

“I can help you. And what’s more, your secret is safe with me. I won’t tell a soul, on my honor.”

“You have no honor.”

“Pah,” he sighed irritably, turning away from me to expose his backside to me. “Your trauma runs deep.” He wanted it to appear that he was letting down his defenses. It was perfect timing for what I had planned, for in that brief moment where his back was turned to me, I moved my hand in behind myself and unlatched the lock to the window. As long as he did not take notice, I would have an easy way in tonight when I revisited this place under the guise of the Batman.

“If you really believe I am who you say I am… why not simply turn me in?”

“I have my reasons.”

“Do you now?” I took another step rightways around the desk, to which he did not appear to notice. “Somehow I doubt that. After all, the likelihood that I’d end up back here if found guilty of the Batman’s crimes is quite high, wouldn’t you say?”

“Indeed, it is high, but not assured. And you need help now, not 6 months from now after a lengthy trial. It would only do you more damage.”

I took another slow step around, inching closer, “A lame excuse. You’re hiding something.”

I sensed movement, rather than saw it. While I could not properly see his left hand from behind his baggy white coat, I somehow knew that it stirred.

“Hiding something? Oh, well, maybe… THIS!” he lunged at me, a clumsy, uncoordinated attempt at catching me off guard. I moved aside easily and he stumbled over his own feet, tripping and falling against the wall beside me. When he turned from his sitting position, I could see what he had tried to stab me with: a syringe. It was, as dumb luck would have it, sticking out of his right arm now, the contents it once held now flowing through his body as he looked upon me in complete surprise.

“I think you’re going to have to come up with a new plan,” I told him, stepping around him and moving to to door. As I unlocked it, I said, “Goodnight doctor. I’ll let them know at the front desk that you’re feeling unwell.” I hoped, but also judged from the expression on his face, that it was a simple sedative, and not anything lethal.

From the very recently uncovered audio logs of Dr. Hugo Strenj

Strenj: This is Doctor Hugo Strenj of Arkham Asylum. July the twenty-first, nineteen forty. It was a deeply unsatisfying meeting with Bruce Wayne today. I blundered, oh how I blundered!

But it is not over yet. I have told Maxwell Cort all that I know, and he is undertaking a rather dangerous operation for me on the morrow. For now, I must get home and sleep this off.

Such a pathetic mistake on my part. Oh, how foolish am I!

From the official police records of James Gordon, Police Commissioner of Gotham City

Batman Task Force

Cptn. James Gordon Date: Jul. 21, 1940

We did some follow-up work on the armored vehicle. I went and investigated the old army barracks, the one they shuttered down after the Great War ended. They put me in touch with a few people, but it took a while before I got anywhere. Nobody seemed to know what the hell I was talking about when I described the thing, and there was no record of any kind of tank being stolen from them.

However, there was a report from a few months back. Materials and prototypes from the R and D department over at Wayne Enterprises apparently went missing during transit. The army reported that they never received them, and a Mr. Lucius Fox reported the items as missing. Not a lot of information available on it, but from the sound of it, whoever picked the materials up wasn’t who he said he was. Could he have been the Batman? I called Mr. Fox and got a description of the guy, but it was vague at best. He was white and had hair, that’s about all I got out of him.

So has the Batman been stealing this kind of stuff from the get-go? Seems like there’s a good possibility there. I’m just a little surprised is all. Thought he had more principles than that. I dunno, something’s weird about this whole thing and it just keeps getting weirder by the day.

From the confessions of Bruce Wayne

I told Alfred to be extra vigilant on this night as I took leave of my abode and headed towards Arkham. It was my second time taking out the Batmobile, and though the roads were mostly clear at this late hour of the night, there were a few awestruck passersby who stopped and stared as I crossed their path.

Arkham is somewhat separated from the rest of Gotham, so as I traveled down the long winding road leading to it, the world fell back into total isolation. I parked outside the gates, climbed inside and hobbled past the two security points along the way with relative ease. Indeed, I was becoming quite accustomed to this line of work. Climbing up the side of the asylum, up to the office of Doctor Hugo Strenj, I was able to jar the unlocked window open with minimal noise.

Once inside, I made a point of accessing any and all compartments available to me. Desk drawers, a closet, strewn about file folders, and there was the audio recording contraption in the corner as well. It stood upon a small casing which held a number of recorded materials within its cabinets. I would have to leave hearing them til after I’d scoured the rest of the contents I’d discovered, lest someone were to hear and stumble upon me during my investigation. I considered simply taking the tapes, but I was afraid I might inadvertently take materials that were vital to the operations of the asylum and its other psychiatrists.

Indeed, there were many documents to skim through. Most of them seemed typical of what one would expect from a Director of Operations’ dealings in such a facility. And, much time had passed before I was able to find anything of noteworthiness, so much so that I had grown tired and frustrated. When at last I came across a small scrapbook inside one of the desk drawers, my mind began tingling with anticipation. As I opened it, I was immediately rewarded with a series of diagrams, newspaper clippings, charted timelines, and descriptions - all in relation to the Batman. The scribblings were crude, but legible, for the most part, and I thanked the heavens I knew enough German to understand it all.

For the most part, Hugo had done an impressive amount of research and analysis of my activities. His illustrations, poor as they might be at first, eventually got more and more accurate to my true appearance. The newspaper clippings went as far back as the very first article about my arrival in Gotham, and all were arranged in chronological order of when they were published. His charts as well were quite accurate, and as far as I could tell, the timelines were valid. What seemed to infatuate him the most were in two areas: the first, as one might expect of a psychoanalyst, was a series of possible diagnoses of my condition, complete with notes pertaining to why his assumptions were valid. They were not. And his second main point of interest was in regards to my arsenal. Great care had been taken to track not only what the Batman looked like, but all of the possible known materials and weaponry I might have at my disposal. It was mentioned that some people in the news media, on radio programs and the like, had held that the Batman was not even of this world, and was in fact an alien. Others theorized he was merely an apparition, or a magic yielder who had taken part in spellcrafting. Hugo made it quite clear he took no heed of these ridiculous postulations, thus he turned his attention towards my arsenal.

Once I had finished rummaging through the book, I moved to replace it back within the drawer when I noticed a small photo at the bottom of the cabinet. I recognized it as a portrait of one Adolph Hitler, the current leader of Germany, and the international culprit of some very evil plots that had been occuring. The war that had been going on across the Ocean, which we now know as World War II, had been escalating over the months, and this particular man had been gaining in notoriety as a result. As such, I had come to know his face quite well. But why would Strenj have his picture here? Perhaps his loyalties for his home country were impervious to the anti-Nazi propaganda that had seeped its way into our culture in the West. No real surprise, after all.

I then began listening to the recordings on the device. It did not take long for me to learn how to utilize the contraption properly. The first few recordings had been noted by the names of some of Arkham’s patients currently residing there, and numbered according to the dates they were recorded. I listened to the first two, and realized there was little to be gained from them.

Moving on to the next assortment of recordings, these were personal notes from Strenj himself. There were far too many to go through, so I chose to listen to the most recent submissions. The two most recent ones revealed that he had, indeed, suspected Bruce Wayne was Batman, and told of his meeting with me earlier that day. The one before that, however, was the one that chilled me to my very core.

The beginning of this tape revealed to me the identity of my imposter: addressed by Hugo as both Sergeant and Maxwell. I knew the name from a previous encounter I’d had with the police, during the murder scene of the mayor. His full name was Maxwell Cort. Over the course of their conversation, Cort divulged the news about our previous encounter, and how he’d used the serum on me. He expressed his frustration over my escape, and Hugo assured him that he would come up with a new plan soon. After Cort left the room, I was treated to the following, which demonstrates how it was that he was able to figure out my identity.

(Slam)

Hmm… is it pure know-how when it comes to this man’s resources, or is there a significant amount of financial backing behind him? This is quite distressing, indeed. What if the American military is behind it all? What if this is simply a test of their new gadgets in case the Americans were to enter into war? Am I too late?

Mein Führer… perhaps I have already failed you. When you exiled me, I swore I would do everything possible to prove myself useful to your cause. And here… this Batman sounded almost too good to be true. If I could just somehow capture the fellow and bring his technological marvels to you, I know you would see my worth.

But now… if it was all for naught… no. NO! It is of no matter, after all. For, even if the Americans possess this technology, surely it would still be of great use to the German empire. We cannot allow ourselves to fall behind our foes. I will persist with my attempts to capture this fiend, and bring his gadgetry to the homeland, no matter the cost.

Cost… cost… and if he is not being backed by the military… then who? Who in Gotham could possibly…? No. No, it couldn't possibly… hmm. A man of deep principles. A man striving for the betterment of the city. A man with no end to his wealth. Ohohoho, it couldn’t be, it just couldn’t, could it? Arrived back in Gotham all those months ago, right before the first sighting of the Batman himself! Why didn’t I think of it before? Bruce Wayne! My own benefactor! Of course! How could I not have seen it? I must speak with the man again, as soon as possible. I have, oh, so many questions for him!

I’ve done it… I have figured it out! I know who he is!

This was the end of the recording. I knew I could not allow this to fall into anyone else’s hands. Together with the other two recordings where he speaks to his knowledge about Bruce Wayne, I stashed them into my belt. As this most pivotal recording had contained proof of Cort’s guilt, I would have to damage a portion of it before returning it to its place at a later point in time.

With that, I restored everything else to its proper place and retired from the premises.

Maxwell Cort was the false Batman.