Dynasty: A Batman Tale - Part 4

NOW

The corridors of Wayne Manor had once been filled with sounds of laughter Alfred mused as he headed towards the library, but that was a different time. That was before The Batman. Alfred walked with a heavy heart. He longed to dissuade Bruce from his natural course of action, but knew his words would fall on deaf ears.

Oracle had just phoned for Bruce with news regarding the exploding clowns. Alfred had assured her that he would relay the message, even though he was sure that Bruce somehow already knew.

The previous night Alfred had overheard what sounded like a maelstrom of rage coming from the master bedroom. At first he believed Bruce was having a violent nightmare; it would not have been the first. But soon he could make out Bruce’s footfalls vibrating through the halls while fading into the distance towards the library.

Alfred now entered the library and proceeded past the grand piano to the grandfather clock adjacent to the bookshelves that made up the entire east wall. He opened the glass panel and swung the pendulum to the left, then to the right and finally returning it to the center position. Upon doing so the middle panel of the bookshelf wall protruded a foot then silently slid to the left revealing an elevator. Alfred stepped into the elevator and began to descend.

THEN

Thomas Wayne was more than a friend. He was a brother. Alfred adored Martha as well. She was the perfect match for Thomas. The life they had brought to Wayne Manor once they moved in was intoxicating. As lost as I feel, oh poor Master Bruce. I must be his mainstay and perhaps he will be mine. He continued to replay the events of the last few hours in his mind. He hadn’t expected the Wayne’s for another hour, but had found a convenient space for their limousine, so he had decided to park, grab an edition of The Daily Planet and enjoy a cup of coffee while reading up on news from around the world. The sound of the gunshot followed by the panic-stricken scream unnerved Alfred. Though it happened so fast, it kept replaying in slow motion. At the sound of Martha’s scream, Alfred dropped his coffee focused in on the man running from the alley then traced back where he had originated from and to his horror saw his friend Thomas on his knees, Martha lying still on the ground next to him and Bruce standing there above them. Alfred couldn’t remember running towards them. He just remembered grabbing Bruce and holding him, turning him away from his now dead parents.

The media circus surrounding Wayne Manor lasted a fortnight, an armada of photographers and journalists camped out hopeful of capturing the image of the young orphan, or even better, a quote for their editors. The News vans were lined up and down the private road that led to the Wayne Estate, as soon as word broke that The Wayne’s had been murdered they had homed in like flies to a carcass. Alfred did everything he could to shelter Bruce from the onslaught of questions being shouted from the road. So much so that he began avoiding the mansion’s majestic front entrance all together.

Years before, while hiking around the mansion's three hundred fifty acre grounds, Alfred discovered the north-west corner of Wayne-owned land nestled up against the rocky foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. The quiet of the landscape gave way to the sounds of flowing water. The source Alfred found was a one hundred foot tall waterfall spilling out into a stream that ran along the edge of the mountains and flowing into the Gotham River. The river eventually met the Atlantic Ocean as it wandered through Gotham Harbor.

Upon further investigation, Alfred found a cave entrance hidden behind the curtain of water. Always curious, Alfred ventured into the cave. Daylight reached only ten feet inside where the tunnel dog-legged south. Alfred ventured on. As he did he mentally calculated the ground as it pitched downward fifteen meters like a natural ramp over the course of the next fifty meters. Once the ground leveled out, the cave walls grew further apart and the tunnel became a cavern about the size of football field. At the far end of the cave opposite the ramp, Alfred saw light reflecting from a body of water. As he approached he realized what the source of the reflection was.

Arriving at the water’s edge, he looked up and saw the vertical, circular tunnel that extended from the roof of the cave to the surface. Of course, he chuckled; It’s the old water well. This well was located deep in the mansion’s back yard.

Later he would convey the events of his adventure to Thomas’s father who at the time was inquiring about the placement of a bomb shelter and decided below the well would be perfect. An access staircase was built to accommodate an easier entrance from the manor and a very well concealed dirt road was constructed along the stream.

The days and weeks after the Waynes were killed, Alfred did everything in his power to protect Bruce from the onslaught of reporters all clawing for an exclusive. “Where are we going?” Asked Bruce when Alfred decided to drive by the Wayne Manor front gates. Alfred had one eye on the road and the other on the rearview mirror continuously checking on the boy. He had been very quiet since they left the Gotham Police Department, Alfred thought he might have passed out from exhaustion, but was pleased to hear Bruce speak up.

“We’re going the other way,” answered the butler.

Bruce wiped his eyes and stared out the window. “There is no other way!”

“Yes, quite right Master Bruce…” Alfred replied with a smile. “…There’s no other way for anybody other than us.” The car pulled off the main road and swung around under the Nicholson Bridge where after a few more turns wound up on the dirt road Alfred had help build years earlier.

NOW

Bruce was sitting at his monitoring station, watching multiple screens when Alfred stepped off the lift that had descended twenty meters into the cave. Dressed in grey pajamas and his royal blue robe, Bruce appeared a shell of his former self. His posture had failed him as he slumped in his chair, his grey streaked black hair was disheveled and the dark rings around his eyes were obvious even from where Alfred stood. He was viewing security footage of a man dressed as a clown exploding in front of the police. How horrible! Alfred thought.

“Five men! Each of them stationed at different public areas around Gotham. All dressed in similar clown attire; they all had the same message. They’re all dead.” Bruce told Alfred without turning away from the screens.

“Quite horrible Master Bruce, if I may ask…” Alfred started as he approached Bruce placing a hand on his shoulder. “…How are you? You’ve been down here all night. Perhaps you’d like to come upstairs for a bite.”

Bruce, turning away from the monitors directed his attention toward Alfred. “Always the nurturer Alfred?”

“Always Master Bruce!” It appeared to Alfred that perhaps Bruce had been crying, but wasn’t going to broach the subject. Instead, Alfred informed Bruce of Oracle’s phone call.

“He’s back Alfred, I don’t know where he’s been. After a few years I wanted to believe him dead, I hoped him dead. I thought it was over. It needed to be over… I needed it to be over.”

“Sir, you can’t possibly blame yourself surely...”

“How is it not my fault?” Bruce interrupted. “I could have ended it a long…” he paused watching in five different monitors five men exploding and continued. “…long time ago. I vowed never to…” he choked on his words and immediately composed himself, “…not even him!” Alfred recognized Bruce’s expression and knew what he was thinking.

“Master Bruce, you can’t.”

“I have no choice he…” forcing away any emotion that wanted to emerge. “He has TIM!”

The words were like a punch to Alfred’s heart. He loved Tim. He loved him just as much as he loved Dick and had loved Jason, but Bruce was not who he once was. No longer was Bruce the young iron-willed knight that defended Gotham from foreign and domestic threats. The symbol he created washed over Gotham cleansing the city of crime and corruption; striking fear into the hearts of men with wrongful intentions. A war was still being waged with many battles won and now it seems, perhaps, the severest fight was still to come.

THEN

Thomas and Martha Wayne had entrusted their most prized possession to Alfred. Fortunately, parenting came naturally to the butler who was now the legal guardian of Bruce Wayne. Alfred watched as Bruce grew into a strong young man, who excelled at everything he attempted. His IQ was borderline genius and his physical attributes were imposing and reminded Alfred of a statue of the Greek god Apollo. Bruce was chiseled to perfection. At Bruce’s request, Alfred arranged for Masters of all the Martial arts to train Bruce in the ways of their disciplines.

A few months after the death of his parents, he came to Alfred and spoke of his desire to learn how to defend himself and protect others. For any other child to ask such a thing in such a manner might be cause for worry. But Alfred knew this boy, so within days great Masters and Senseis from around the world began arriving in Gotham.

If ever Alfred worried about Bruce, it concerned the social aspects of his life. Bruce was outgoing. The young Wayne was blessed with confidence and comfortable alone. He neither needed nor desired close friends. His dedication to his studies, both academic and physical kept him company. The only person Bruce needed was Alfred.

Bruce’s schooling was arranged so that the best minds would educate him. Financial objections aside, his home instruction continued into college level lessons that focused on criminology, chemistry, forensics and psychology. At one point Alfred considered that perhaps Bruce would enroll in the police academy, although he had always assumed Bruce would take his rightful place at the head of Wayne Enterprises. The day Bruce received his multiple degrees, Alfred asked? “Well Master Bruce, what shall it be for you?”

“How do you mean Alfred?”

“What would you like to do next with your life? You’re no longer a child, nor have you been one for some time. I’ve watched you grow into the man that stands before me. I’m very proud of you...and I know,” - Alfred fought back his emotions, “…your parents would be very proud of you, in fact I know they are.”

“Thank you Alfred, I couldn’t have done any of it without you.” Bruce said shaking Alfred’s hand.

“Quite right Master Bruce. Quite right. Over the last twelve years I’ve also watched you prepare. Prepare your mind and your body...” The butler paused for a moment. He had been contemplating this moment for some time. He had a vague notion, but wanted to hear it from Bruce. “…and I think it’s about time I knew what it is exactly you’ve been preparing for?”

Bruce explained his plan to Alfred as they walked toward the library which housed the stairwell leading to Bruce’s grandfather’s bomb shelter.

NOW

Alfred was ascending back up into Wayne Manor, he had arrangements to make and responsibilities to attend, one of which was to contact Oracle and have her track down Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot. Though Alfred did not agree with Bruce’s plan, he knew it may be the only way. So tonight after so many years, The Batman would again try and save the city and Alfred felt sorry for anyone who stood in his way.