Chapter Two: First

From the confessions of Bruce Wayne

I arrived at Harvey Dent’s luncheon later than the scheduled time. Between having to make my own breakfast and fitting in my morning workouts - which I had kept to, even after giving up my mantle a few months prior - I had unintentionally fallen behind on time. The event was held at Wayne Enterprises main office, as it was a sizable building with enough space to house more than a modest amount of donating supporters. In truth, upon my arrival, I was rather encouraged to see just how many members of Gotham’s upper echelon had shown up to voice their endorsement for the fellow. Given that so many of the city’s elites were alleged to be in leagues with the highest levels of Gotham’s criminal syndicates, I was genuinely and pleasantly surprised by this turn of events. Perhaps, I thought, our future wasn’t so hopeless after all.

There were two major elections occurring around this time, both to be taking place in mid-June, as it happened. The first race was for the position of District Attorney, to which I had aligned myself on the side of the man the papers were calling Gotham’s Knight-in-Shining-Armor, or Harvey “the Unbent” Dent. The second election was for city mayor, which unfortunately, seemed to be leaning highly in favor of the current and allegedly corrupt politician, Mayor Wilson Klass. Despicable as the man may be, the competition this year had dwindled and faded from the spotlights faster than one could care to notice. No doubt, Klass had had something to do with that, in one way or another. I had made it a point not to endorse him, and indeed, tried my best to keep my distance from him as much as possible. However, given the Joker situation of late, I knew it might be prudent to make an exception as soon as I was able to.

For the moment, however, Harvey Dent was the man I’d seen fit to place all my faith into. He was a rather shrewd chap, but I must admit that his show of arrogance often unnerved me. Too brash at times, and quick to anger. And - there was also the matter of the lovely Miss Victoria Vale, who we both had been vying for the affections of in recent times. Unfortunately for myself, I did not seem to be winning that race by any measurable unit I could see, and in fact, appeared to be losing by a significant margin, as he would often beat me to the punch in claiming her as his date to such public functions as this one.

“Fashionably late, I see,” Vicky’s familiar biting tone welcomed me before I’d chanced to see her face.

“Is there any other kind?” I smiled sardonically, noticing Harvey being dragged along by her arm.

“There’s the lad,” Harvey turned at once to greet me, “our most gracious of hosts.”

“Not at all,” I bowed.

“Late or not, you owe me that Asylum interview, Bruce,” Vicky chided.

“Oh, that can wait. Harvey’s the breaking news of the day, is he not?”

“I already got that story while we were waiting for you to get here, buster,” she poked me playfully in the chest.

Harvey took his chance then to escape her clutches, wriggling his arm free of her and tightening his neck muscles sheepishly as he bid me adieu, “She’s all yours, Wayne.” He sauntered off towards the mini bar and the girl confronted me expectantly, hands on her hips and luscious eyebrows curved to the ceiling.

She was quite the sight, as per usual. Flowing red wavy hair, a lustrous feminine figure, and an almost imperceptible dusting of freckles scattered upon her nose. She’d had me at a loss for words then, and it took all my might of will to keep from ogling at her.

“Uh… how are you?” I blathered nervously.

“Parched. Let’s grab a cocktail and you can give me the scoop on tomorrow’s proceedings!” She hooked our arms and led me back in the direction that our mutual friend had just gone.

Blast it, was that tomorrow? I wondered. I could have sworn it was scheduled for the next day, or the day after that! This Joker business had jumbled my memory, and I’d almost completely forgotten that Arkham Asylum’s grand opening was to be held tomorrow. I, being the main private financial contributor to its establishment, was scheduled to make an appearance and to cut the ribbon, signaling its official opening.

“So give it to me straight. Exactly how bad is it?” Vicky lowered her voice so that only I may hear.

“How bad is what?”

“The situation, of course!” She gawked at me steadily, her countenance growing angrier by the second as I failed to respond. “I’m talking about the accusations?”

“You’ll have to forgive my ignorance, Miss Vale. I’m not quite sure what you’re referring to.”

“The allegations! That the facility is already failing? Hellooo?” the girl almost exploded with irritability.

“I… I’m still a bit lost. I don’t know of any accusations.”

“My god, Bruce! Do you live in a cave, man?! It’s been swimming in the rumor mill for weeks! Don’t you not interact with anybody who’s anybody?”

“I’m afraid not so much,” I admitted.

“You need a stronger sourceline, bucko. It’s said that the director is a drunk, and he’s barely been able to adhere to the safety standards outlined by the City Council. Not only that, but there are rumors swirling that the chief psychiatrist is a total wackjob who’s been utilizing experimental techniques with his recovering subjects for years. The place is still falling apart and reconstruction efforts are weeks behind. What have you been doing all this time, man?”

I was stunned. In the beginning of the project I took a fine interest in overseeing much of the plans, but soon discovered I was out of my league when it came to the nitty gritty details. Once we had hired contractors, doctors, and the other bare minimum number of professionals needed to get things started, I began distancing myself more and more from the day to day progressions. I was, after all, merely a donor, at the end of it all. Surely, I wasn’t expected to be running the entire operation, was I?

Unfortunately, I could see it in Miss Vale’s eyes that she was of an entirely different opinion. I had, after all, been the one to present the idea for the institution in the first place. And, perhaps rather brashly, I had chosen to divulge these plans to her before anyone else.

It was our turn at the bar to order cocktails. Vicky ordered something I was personally not familiar with, and I declined to partake. Harvey stood a mere few feet away with his back towards us as he worked a small gathering. Annoyed, the beautiful columnist turned to meet my eyes once more.

“I’m waiting,” she said impatiently, awakening me from my reverie.

“I, er.. You see, it’s complicated by… uh…” I stammered.

“Imagine that,” she brushed at the air between us and sighed. “I’m beginning to think everything with you is complicated.”

You haven’t the slightest idea, I almost said aloud. “Why, Miss Vale, I’m as simple as they come.”

“Yahuh,” she glanced over her shoulder once more to see Harvey still ignoring her, and her eyebrows knitted together in frustration. “Shall we get some air, then?”

“Of course,” I led her out to the hallways and we entered the elevator shaft. A friendly worker was on duty and at my request, he cranked us up towards the top floor where we could access the rooftop. It was a warm day, but a cool breeze accompanied it and offered a semblance of atmospheric whirring.

“You don’t have any idea what you’re gonna say tomorrow,” the girl surmised.

“No, but I thank you for the forewarning.”

“Ya know, usually people share tips like that with me, and not the other way around. You owe me big for this one, bub. And that’s whether you can manage to figure out what to do with it or not.”

She’d had me there. I nodded shyly, and we looked out across the city streets far below, side by side. And though only a couple feet separated us from one another, I suddenly felt miles apart from her. It became this way often for me, no matter the sort of relationship I was pursuing. In these moments, when all I yearned for was a mutual sense of bonding with another, I couldn’t help but to feel a sudden and overwhelming disconnection from them.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Vicky asked after a rather uncomfortable amount of silence.

“Are you and Harvey… I mean, that is to say… are you an item?” I couldn’t help but to ask it, though I knew not what I’d do with that information one way or another.

“I don’t know,” she said solemnly. I had determined then that I’d hit upon a sensitive matter for her. “In my line of business, it can be difficult to separate the personal from the professional. Especially when it comes to a hopeful District Attorney-in-waiting.”

It was all the answer I’d needed. She did have feelings for the fellow, and in speaking so forwardly about it with me, I could deduce that the same could not be said for me. And even though it was the reality I’d come to anticipate, I must admit that it still stung, for I had grown quite fond of the woman in the short time we had been acquainted.

“Why do you ask?” she inquired.

“No reason. Merely a wonder is all.”

She half frowned at me, and chastised me, “I’m still mad at you for disappearing during the botanical gardens fiasco, ya know.”

“I know.” I hadn’t known, much as I likely should have. For all she was aware, I had managed to duck out of the party to save my own skin, leaving her and the rest of the attendees in the hands of the ill-doers. Of course, I am sure she believed there would have been nothing I could have done if I’d stayed. It was, however, a very cowardly act, and it was no surprise she had not yet forgiven me for it.

We chatted some more on various topics for a time, none of which are worth remembering. It seemed the mood had grown suddenly a tad somber, and shortly, we returned to the party. It occurred to me years later that perhaps there was a reason she had wanted to speak alone with me then, but I could never confirm it. Indeed, it does not matter. It was on that day that I’d decided to give up on the dream of growing closer to Miss Vicky Vale. And on this matter, at least, I was able to stay true to that path.

I had the chance to speak with Dent briefly after that. He appeared to be in good spirits, and for the first time since I’d known him, he seemed genuinely convinced that the position he was vying for was destined to become his.

From the audio logs of Dr. Hugo Strenj

Strenj: This is Doctor Hugo Strenj of Arkham Asylum, audiolog number fourteen. April the fifth, nineteen forty.

This afternoon we have with us Cyrus Gold. Mister Gold is one of the more unfortunate cases here at Arkham. It’s said that he was once a well known, fine mannered street merchant, who roamed the more rural areas selling farm equipment and the like. Being that he was so accommodating to his patrons, it began to have ill effects on the retailers of the surrounding cities, and one dreadful night, he was jumped by an angry mob and beaten within an inch of his life. No doubt, they tried to kill the poor chap, but you see, Mister Gold is of a gigantic size and stature unlike any I’ve ever seen. Thus, while bruised and bloodied beyond recognition, he managed to survive the encounter. Albeit barely so.

Sadly, he was rendered into a coma for many months, and whence he came to from it, the damage to his brain was quite severe. He never fully recuperated, and indeed, can barely speak even a word to this day, save for the odd line from a childrens’ nursery rhyme and such things as that. He is often somewhat docile in nature, but when sparked to a rage he can become really quite dangerous, indeed. Standing at 7 feet tall, he’s a remarkable sight to behold.

How are we today, Cyrus?

Cyrus: …

Strenj: Not very chatty today either, hm? No matter, no matter. It says here you were quite distraught over your latest bowl of porridge. Was it too hot? Too bland? Are you simply getting sick of it?

Cyrus: Hhhn.

Strenj: Merely tired of the same old, same old. Not to worry, we will try something new for you tomorrow. And how are you getting along with your new nurse? Not so usual to see a male in that occupation, is it? Not that I mind, of course. Some of the women have voiced concerns over your differences in size and strength. I believe you make them rather anxious is all.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Cyrus: Died… on a Tuesday…

Strenj: No… no, that simply isn’t right. It’s ‘Died on a Saturday’, remember?

Cyrus: Uhhhn.

Strenj: He can’t seem to get that one right… past ‘Born on a Monday’, that is. Alright, Cyrus, is there anything else I can do for you? No, I thought not. (Bump, bump) Guards! See the good Herr Gold to his room, if you would please.

As ever, there is no change in our dear friend. He is… well, he simply is. This is Doctor Hugo Strenj, logging off.

From the confessions of Bruce Wayne

I arrived back at the mansion a short time later, anxious to learn what Alfred had gathered in his musings.

“Alfred, I’m home!”

Alfred could be seen poring over the poem at the kitchen table, just where I’d left him a few hours previous. He waved a hand dismissively at me and made a sound of annoyance.

“I take it you still haven’t had any luck?” I asked.

“I ‘ave my doubts, Master Wayne.”

“That isn’t nothing. Doubts aside, show me your findings!” I sat down delightedly next to the fellow and saw that he’d been hard at work scratching down a multitude of formulas on a second scrap of paper.

“We’re looking fer 1940, yeah? The only way I can see it, ya count up them syllables line by line. Add ‘em up, see? Nuffin. But… ya take out the ones from the tens and elevens and twelves and such - and ignore the intro line, ‘my dearest batsy’, because it ain’t part of it… see where the apostrophe starts… ye end up with the number forty. I know, I know, too much of a stretch, in’t it? Blast this madman!”

I considered it for a moment, and was met with a feeling of elation. “No, no, you could be onto something!” I counted them up for myself, and he was correct. Forty, which could mean to represent the year 1940. “I think you’ve done it, my good man!”

“By jove, ye’ve got to be joking...”

“On the contrary, this little trick could be part of the entire scheme! Ignore the carried over ones…”

“And for month, we want four, aye? April. Ye got four lines and four parts.”

I had already deduced this on my own, as it was rather obvious that either of them could have been used to represent such a thing, but I let him have the win. “Brilliant!”

“As for the days and times, bollocks to ole that.”

“If there’s one thing we can be sure of, Alfred, it’s that if you’re right on the money about the counting technique, he’ll be sure to go by it again. Perhaps if we focus on the words and syllables of each individual 4-line part, counting in the same way and ignoring the carried over ones…”

The next while, although I cannot recall just how long it took, we made our calculations and thought through the puzzle as best we could. In adding the words and syllables for each paragraph, we came up with the following possibilities: April 11th or 32 (nix), 5th or 25th, 10th or 17th, 14th or 11th (again). Two sets of dates for each of the four planned killings, and no way of knowing which - either by the words or by the syllables - the Joker would go by. And after all of it, we still hadn’t yet deduced a formula for discovering the hour at which these murders would be taking place.

“So that’s his game, is it?” I mused, rather angrily.

“Ye got somethin’, eh?”

“Sadly, I do, Alfred. First one’s free. There’s no way of knowing for sure whether he’s going by syllables or words. Nor have we been able to figure out the hours. In other words, we’re left to guess, based upon an incomplete picture. Only when he’s made his first murder are we able to decipher the rest. Mayor Klass is to die so that the others may have a chance to live.” I thought about it another moment, and almost smiled at the realization. The introductory line… first one’s free. As Alfred had pointed out, it ain’t part of it. That was the joke. Each piece had been meticulously planned, even the ones that yielded no serviceable clues.

“Ain’t there nuthin’ we can do about it?” Alfred pleaded.

“Mayhaps… if we rearrange these dates in order of the earliest possible…” The realization hit me hard. “Oh, no! The fifth, it’s the fifth! Alfred, it could be as early as today!”

“Blimey! But we still don’t have that hour!”

“Can’t you see, man? There isn’t time to prattle away at it, I need to get to Klass now! Put in a call to his office and find out where he’ll be this evening.” I looked at the clock on the kitchen wall, it was 5:49pm. It wouldn’t yet be dark enough outside for the Batman to make an appearance, but Bruce Wayne might be able to do something.

Alfred made the call and was quick to find out that the mayor was hosting his own fundraising event for the election at his office. It had already begun, and it set me into a panic. If there was one thing true of this Joker fiend, it was that he loved theatrics, and what better way to put them on display than during a public event? This was the likeliest scenario. And while I had refrained from associating with Wilson Klass during the election run-up thus far, I would have to go back on that decision now in an attempt to save him. I hadn’t a plan, nor any protection of any kind, but I knew I could not live with myself if I didn’t at least try to stop this horrible assassination from occurring!

We drove to the mayor’s office as fast as we were able. And alas, we were too late. By 6:14pm, police cars and an ambulance were already parked in front of the place. A crowd stood outside, many in attendance appearing wrought with grief and utter shock. I asked a passerby what had happened, and they told me that they believed the Mayor had been poisoned.

“I’m sorry, Master Wayne. We were so close,” Alfred sighed.

“It’s like I told you. This was his freebie. The Batman was never expected to be able to save the mayor. The Joker is testing me. From this instance, we will be able to decipher the rest of the dates and times. That was his plan.” I said the words, but they were of no consolation to me. And in order to find the exact time of death, I would need to don my nighttime attire and gain access to the crime scene. It was my hope that Jim Gordon would be on premises, for I wouldn’t expect any other to be forthcoming with details to me.

From the audio logs of Dr. Hugo Strenj

Strenj: This is Doctor Hugo Strenj of Arkham Asylum, audiolog number fourteen. April the fifth, nineteen forty.

We have with us, once again, the infamous Jonathan Crane. This time, however, we unfortunately had to give him a dose of something to calm him. How are you today, doctor?

Crane: … go to hell.

Strenj: Now, now, Jonathan. We both know this is for the best. And one way or another, you will confide in me all of your deepest and darkest secrets. You are, after all, quite proud of your accomplishments, are you not? And, in the name of science, I am sure you would love nothing more than to gush about your findings.

Crane: This world no longer deserves my genius. There’s no point anymore.

Strenj: Ah, but you see, there are those with a keen interest in the name of science. I am but one of the select esoteric few who are worthy of knowing your contributions. Please, doctor, enlighten me. Tell me everything.

Crane: How am I supposed to know you’re worthy?

Strenj: Quite right, quite right. I cannot assume you to know as much when we have yet to even begin to become acquainted with one another. All in good time, of course. So let’s begin on our journey towards camaraderie!

Crane: And how would we do that?

Strenj: Well, it’s been said, although not yet proven, that you went on a rampage across the United States, seeking out your former colleagues at the University and poisoning them. I am oh, so curious… is there any truth to this?

Crane: How stupid do you think I am? No way they’d ever let me out of here if I confessed to something like that.

Strenj: Oh… Jonathan… I’m sorry… so sorry to have to tell you this, but… you’re already never getting out of here. You’d be best to try to accept it as fact, for it won’t do you any bit of good to think otherwise.

Crane: I’ll get out. Mark my words, Doc. I’ll be back on the streets in no time at all.

Strenj: Hm… it appears the patient may yet be suffering from delusions. Could be the drugs we administered, but I don’t know.

Crane: You’ll see, Strange. Just you wait and see.

Strenj: Uh, it’s Strenj.

Crane: Whatever.

Strenj: Now, about those killings of the professors.

Crane: I’m not saying shit.

Strenj: Fine, fine. I can see we still have a long way to go, but no matter! All good things take time. Guards! A tad more of the sedative next time, if you’d please.

Crane: Ya know, if ya really wanted me to talk… I know just the serum for you! Hahahahahaha!

Strenj: Yes, well, perhaps another time then. This is Hugo Strenj, signing off for the day.

From the confessions of Bruce Wayne

We had to go back to Wayne Manor to grab the Batman’s tattered gear. When we returned to the scene of the crime, we were forced to wait for a couple hours until dark. We had discovered in our numerous drive-bys that a third story window had been left open a crack at on the far side of the building, opposite the main street. I took note of this, as it could very well have been how the Joker had entered the property to carry out his scheme. Mayhaps, it was an inside job of some kind. In any case, it was there that I’d sought to gain entry, using the same pitifully primitive contraption I had previously used to climb my way up to the rooftops of the GCPD office. It was a simple retractable grappling hook, and one I’d hoped to make improvements to in the near future (that is, if the good Mr. Fox was able to evolve the technology according to my initial demands).

When the time came, I donned the costume and we drove to the far end of the building. I mischievously ducked out from the vehicle, dodging through the shadowy areas of the street towards the cover of the gardens’ bushes, and crept ever closer to the spot with the open window. I lodged my tool’s hook through the ajarment, and when it appeared there was no one within visible range, I began scaling my way up the wall.

The office space itself was open ended, with not even so much as cubicles to separate each work desk. It was dark and rather quiet, although I could hear a muffled kind of rumbling coming from the floorboards above. The door at the far end of the office had been left ajar, likely the police had checked all the rooms previously in search of the murdering culprit and they had yet to re-secure the areas. I moved onward, winding through a hallway and finding my way to a short staircase. Voices could be heard from above, though not discernable enough to make out the words being spoken.

It was here that I had to take a chance, and to show myself willingly. I hadn’t wanted to, as there had been a very good chance that the officers in the vicinity would take aim and start shooting upon noticing me. But… I needed to see this crime scene. It was made for me, after all. And very likely, there would be another message addressed to me. I ascended the stairs, and walked as calmly as I could manage through a long hallway leading to what appeared to be the mayor’s main office room. Along the way, one or two policemen took notice of me, but they only stood and stared in petrification, not knowing what they should do.

I came to the doorway and peered inside. Jim Gordon had been speaking to a small group of five men, and was giving orders. The mayor’s corpse lay spread across the floor beside his desk. The captain looked up, and had to do a double take when he finally saw me.

“You!” he gasped.

The men surrounding him reached for their guns.

“Hold it, HOLD FIRE!” Gordon cried, evidently rattled by the sudden turn of events. The men kept their guns trained upon me, but no one dared to pull the trigger. We stood for a time, frozen in silence. Jim lit a cigarette. “Now we’re using the front door?”

“Tell me what happened here.” I ignored his absurd assumption.

“What are you doing, Gordo?” a muscular man with salt and peppered hair and a long mustache grunted. “Cuff him and take him in!”

“Not now, Maxwell.” Gordon stiffened uncomfortably.

“Whaddya mean not now? It’s the fuckin’ Bat guy! Loeb said -”

“You can take it up with him later. If he knows something then we need to hear it,” the captain took a couple steps forward to address me. “Rat poison. Or something to that effect. It was in his drink.”

“Was there a message?” I asked.

Jim walked over to the desk and grabbed a joker card from atop it. He carried it over to me, holding it up so I could read it from afar. In big inked letters, it read, NOW the game begins! Though I’m growing bored, so here’s a helping hand for you. Gordon, you’ll be the third!

I reflected on the poem once more. And you won’t get a pass… it was a lie after all. The Joker was demonstrating more and more his willingness to break his own rules. Exemplifying his wild card behavior, as personified by the Joker card itself. He was, truly, unpredictable. Furthermore, precisely as I’d anticipated, he had taken his free kill. Now we were being given a freebie of our own, but it was not at all heartening news. Jim Gordon was third on the list. At least we were no longer expected to guess. I looked at the man in question, and to his credit, the sickly expression he wore was quite well hidden upon first glance.

“You’re a bit late,” Jim frowned pensively.

“How late?”

“Around 6pm. Give or take a couple minutes.”

That was the final clue I would need to move forward with the puzzle. Six. Or perhaps eighteen, if going by a 24 hour clock. I would need to check the poem for both.

“Take him in, Gordo,” Maxwell warned, ignoring our conversation.

“Shut up, Cort,” Jim focused upon me once more. “Your turn. Fair exchange of information.”

I went through the numbers in my head. April 5th. Second paragraph, adding syllables. It was syllables again, and not words. The other paragraphs, adding the syllables but ignoring the ones, divulged the next chronological dates for us, “Commissioner Loeb will be targeted on April 10th. The next hits after that will be April 11th, and then April 14th.”

The only worry I had was with the 11th being listed twice. Would he carry out murders 2 and 3 on the same evening? There was a chance, of course… but something about the situation made me believe elsewise. If the Joker was truly testing me, he would grant me the time, surely.

“Times? Places?”

“Not as of yet. I can narrow the times down soon.”

“For fucks sake, Gordo! The guy is working with the Joker! Why the hell aren’t we bringing him in?” Maxwell Cort, whose full name I now knew, reached for his sidearm.

“He’s not working with him!” Jim exploded.

“Bullshit!” A fat, rather squat looking cop chimed in from the corner of the room.

“Don’t you start too, Bullock!”

“Have you found the bottle that contained the poisonous substance?” I did my best to ignore them.

Jim didn’t say anything, but nodded over towards a shelf on the wall. A tall green glass bottle lay uncorked upon it. I steadily walked over to it, noting that many officers trained their guns higher to aim at my head as I did so. I reached inside my utility belt and pulled out my newest addition that I’d stored within it the night prior: a UV flashlight, which was an ultraviolet light, used to find fingerprints. The first black light, as it was called, was created by William H. Byler, only around five years prior. This had become one of my many interests, as ultraviolet rays are invisible to the human eye and require fluorescent colored items to emit a glow. This, of course, could yield great changes in the world of forensics, and as we now know, it did just that.

The practice of fingerprinting in those days was still all too uncommon amongst most police precincts, as the databases used for tracking down and identifying criminals were small, disorganized, or in some places non-existent. However, I had gotten it in my head that it wouldn’t hurt to create my own small database, in case it came in handy with this Joker case.

I traced the light around the bottle, and lo and behold, the human prints lit up upon the glass. I then took out a roll of clear tape from Lucius’s lab and began transferring the prints one by one. No one said anything as I did so, but I could feel the looks of astonishment they were giving me. Once I’d finished…

“That’s evidence! He’s tampering with the evide -” Cort complained.

“Batman,” Jim cut in, “we can’t just let you -”

“All done,” I replaced the bottle on the mantle and slowly began taking my leave of them.

“Gordon!” Cort yelled again.

“Take it up with Loeb. I have a feeling he has other things on his mind right now, being that he’s next on the Joker’s list.”

I stopped walking, realizing the horrible position I was putting him in. “It was good to meet you, Captain. I’ll be in touch when I find out more.”

“Great, just great,” the fat man called Bullock grumbled.

I left the way I’d entered the premises. There were no officers waiting for me when I climbed out the window - only Alfred, waiting further down the street in his favored Rolls Royce. Jim had saved me. I was right to place my trust in him again, it appeared.