Batman: Free Fall - Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

A ROOM LOCKED FROM THE INSIDE

He landed on the ledge with surprising lightness, given his powerful physique and the partially armoured costume he was wearing. The wind moved his cape slightly and his white eyes pierced the darkness like small, angry flames.

Batman stood up, observing an illuminated window in the building located across the street. From that distance you could not see the interior very well but, judging by the architecture and size, it was clearly the penthouse of someone very rich. And, according to what he had been told, that someone was dead.

A slimmer figure landed behind him, so softly it seemed almost weightless.

"You were quick." Catwoman said, taking off her goggles and walking towards him. "I only called you ten minutes ago."

"I was in the area." Batman replied. "Did you see anything else, while you waited?"

"Not a thing."

"How did you find him?"

Selina sat on the ledge, dangling her legs over the noisy, light-filled chasm that rose before them. They were at least on the fortieth floor, and a huge expanse of buildings and neon lights stretched in front of them. Some buildings had a gothic, almost ancient look to them, others had a modern feel and illuminated the city like huge computer screens. The lights of the city bounced off the smog, colouring the sky with a red tint that was as breathtaking as it was unnatural.

"I was taking a stroll across the wealthy neighbourhoods." Catwoman said. "You know, to make sure everything was in order ..."

Batman let out a single, brief grunt of impatience, but did not correct this dubious reconstruction of events.

“And when I looked into that window, I realized that something was wrong. That the man was dead."

"He might be sleeping." Batman replied.

"I've never seen anyone sleep on the ground with their eyes open and drool coming out of their mouth, Bats."

"Alright. Did you enter the apartment? "

Selina smiled at him.

"Batman, that would be illegal!"

Without further reply, Batman threw himself off the ledge, gliding towards the penthouse.

"As chatty as usual." Catwoman said, hurrying to join him.

Catwoman landed next to Batman, who was now standing on the ledge of the penthouse and studying the alarm system. His eyes and the palm of his right hand were illuminated in red, while the scanner analysed the system's circuits.

"So, do you know the name of our dead guy?" She asked, looking at the man lying on the carpet.

"Yes. “Batman replied. “The penthouse belongs to Gary Fines, facial recognition has confirmed it. He was a defence attorney. One of the most expensive ones, his fee was a thousand dollars per hour."

Catwoman whistled.

“That explains the fancy penthouse. And how good is the alarm system? "

“It's an extremely sophisticated system. Last generation. ”Batman said. "Very difficult to bypass."

“Leave it to me, then. Meanwhile, you can call Gordon. "

Batman turned off the scanner and looked at her.

"I know you can do it too, but we both know it will take me less time." Catwoman said, with a smirk.

After a moment's hesitation, and without saying anything, Batman moved aside and made room for her. Then he touched his ear and started a call.

"Jim? It's me. There's a suspicious death. Gary Fines. East Row, 37. "

Still smiling, Catwoman started working on the alarm.

"I analysed the air." Batman said, as they entered ten minutes later. “It's breathable, but something was vaporized in the room a few hours ago. Probably whatever killed Fines. "

Catwoman looked at the corpse. His eyes were wide open, his pupils dilated. He had foam in his mouth and his lips were smeared with blood.

"He bit his lips so hard they bled, before he died."

"Yes." Batman replied, leaning over to inspect the corpse. "It's likely that the gas caused him tremendous internal bleeding and violent spasms, and that he bit his lips in pain."

Batman's scanner turned back on as he checked the corpse and the surrounding carpet.

Meanwhile, Catwoman looked at the walls. They were adorned with refined paintings, diplomas and African masks.

“This Fines was really full of money. Those masks are original. Nigerian, nineteenth century. "

"Do you think he bought them on the black market?" Batman asked her as he continued to analyse the body.

"No." Catwoman replied. "But all combined they must have cost him more than the penthouse itself, I'd say."

Batman nodded.

“The forensic scanner is done. The death took place six hours ago. Fines experienced copious internal bleeding, but that's not what killed him. "

"What did, then?"

Batman stood up, looking around.

"After at least an hour of horrible pain, the gas paralysed his lung muscles, preventing him from breathing."

"Lousy way to go."

Batman nodded again.

"But that's not what worries me."

Batman took a digital device out of his belt. Catwoman knew what it was: it was a little beauty he used to decode passwords, hack terminals and a thousand other things. One by one, Batman checked all the windows, then the door, and finally the alarm system terminal hidden in a corner of the house.

"There's no sign of a break-in, is there?" Said Catwoman, who had suspected this ever since they had entered the penthouse.

Batman turned to look at her.

"Yes. Doors and windows have not been opened since yesterday morning. We are the first to set foot in here in the last thirty-six hours. "

"They may have hacked the alarm." Catwoman said, but without conviction.

“In that case, I would have found a trace. Your break-in twenty minutes ago was detected by the cryptographic sequencer, but there is nothing else. "

"So how did they get the gas in here?"

Batman put away his sequencer.

"I don't know."

The two looked at the corpse, while the police sirens began to get louder and louder.

Selina went to the window through which they had entered.

“I'd better go. I think one intruder on the crime scene is enough for Gordon . ”

Batman turned to look at her.

"Thanks for your help, Selina."

"My pleasure." Catwoman crouched on the windowsill. She was about to throw herself into the void, but before doing so she turned and smiled at Batman.

“A murder that took place in a room locked from the inside. Isn't that every detective's dream? "

"Finding the culprit is every detective's dream." Batman replied, without a hint of a smile.

She sighed.

“You never did know how to find joy in what you do, Bats. You should work on it. "

That said, Catwoman threw herself out the window, using her whip to twirl through the buildings and disappearing among the city lights.

“Yes, forensics confirms your reconstruction, Batman. Nobody seems to have entered that apartment, yet the gas was introduced anyway, somehow. "

Gordon smoked his pipe, looking at Batman's indecipherable face. The two were on the roof of the police station and the first, faint morning lights were beginning to illuminate the city roofs.

"Ventilation ducts?" Batman asked, having been unable to analyse the whole scene before the arrival of the police.

“One, but we don't believe the gas was introduced from there. There were no traces inside the duct. It was released when the killer was already inside the room, the remaining traces were located in the penthouse. And whoever it was, they took away the container with them. Also, that duct is too narrow for anyone to have passed through there. Not even your feline friend would have managed that. "

Batman looked at Gordon curiously. Did Gordon know that Selina had been there, before the GCPD had arrived? But Gordon said nothing, calmly returning his gaze.

“The gas does not correspond to anything present in our databases. Nothing that can be connected to Crane, Ivy or the Joker. Have you had more luck? "

"No." Batman admitted. "It's something new, it seems."

"Fantastic." Gordon said bitterly.

“We will find them, Jim. Whoever they are. "

"We better."

"What did your superiors say?"

"They wanted to minimize it, classify it as a gas leak and forget about it."

"A gas leak?" Batman said it, showing some annoyance for the superficial and pusillanimous nature of Gotham's higher ups, who always preferred a reassuring lie to a disturbing truth.

Gordon chuckled contemptuously. His laughter soon turned into coughing.

"Yep.. Very plausible, isn't it? But since the penthouse was closed from the inside and since there are no traces of an intruder, proving that it was a murder will not be easy. Who knows, perhaps they'd be less eager to downplay it, if they had seen the eyes of that poor guy. Or maybe not. After all, we're in Gotham. ”
The sun was really starting to rise, now. Gordon looked at his watch.

"It's six in the morning, old friend. I'd say it's time to clock out. The night shift is over. "

Batman smiled fleetingly.

"I'll call you if I have any news, Jim."

"Same here."

Batman put a hand on the commissioner's shoulder, in a brief gesture of respect and farewell, then threw himself into the void and disappeared among the skyscrapers, heading towards the batmobile.

Gordon put out his pipe and headed for the door that led to the lower floors.

"This doesn't look good." He mumbled, as he went down the stairs.

Gotham, what a city.

What a city.

The batmobile came to a stop on the large illuminated platform at the centre of the cave. With the engine off, the only sounds that could be heard were those of the waterfall that covered the entrance and the shrill cries of the bats that lived among the stalactites.

Batman got out of the car, lost in his thoughts, and headed for the computer.

"Computer. Start."

A dozen huge screens lit up, illuminating the detective's face.

Batman took off his mask and sat in front of the computer, immediately starting to type on the keyboard.

"Productive night, sir?" Asked a voice behind him.

Alfred came over, bringing breakfast on a tray.

“I don't know if I would call it that. A defence attorney was killed, in the wealthy part of town. "

"I see. Are you going to eat anything, before you go to sleep? "

"I'm not hungry. And I'm not going to sleep, Alfred. I have research to do. "

Alfred gently placed the tray on the keyboard, so that Batman could not use it.

"Eat. Sir. ”The tone was dry, one that wouldn't accept any retort.

Bruce raised an eyebrow, but Alfred's face remained impassive. The two stared at each other for a moment then, in silence, Bruce put the tray on his knees and started eating.

"Enjoy your meal, sir." The tone expressed only a hint of sarcasm.

"Thanks."

Alfred walked away, going to the elevator that led to the upper floors. Only the sounds of the waterfall and Bruce's slow chewing could be heard in the air.

"Mr. Fox would appreciate your presence at the four o'clock meeting, sir."

Alfred took the empty tray, as Bruce already got back to work, typing rapidly on the keyboard.

“I can't, Alfred. I have a lot of work to- "

“Mr. Fox wanted me to tell you that he would consider it a personal favour. He seemed worried. "

Bruce stopped typing for the second time and turned to look at Alfred.

"Worried?"

“If I may say so, I really had this impression. And you know as much as I do that Lucius wouldn't make such a request without good reason. "

Bruce nodded, thoughtfully.

"Alright, call him and tell him I'll be there."

"Very well, sir."

Bruce touched his chin, frowning. On the screen, data and names flowed wildly, but he wasn't really paying attention to them.

If Lucius was worried, something was wrong. Bruce trusted Lucius Fox's instincts completely.

He went back to researching the victim, trying to ignore the unpleasant feeling that something in Gotham was lurking, in the shadows.

And, as Dick Grayson would have said, Bruce was the only good thing that lurked in the shadows, when it came to Gotham.

"Bruce, thank you for being here." Lucius squeezed his hand warmly, while adjusting his glasses.

"Of course. What is going on?"

They were in Lucius' office, it was 3:40 pm. It was common practice for them to see each other, alone, before a meeting. It was important to form a common front, when dealing with the board. They had to agree on what to say and who should say it.

“There are two things I would like to discuss with you. One is serious, the other not so much. But you should be made aware of both."

They sat down, Lucius behind his desk and Bruce on the opposite side.

"Tell me everything, Lucius."

Lucius took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, a gesture that showed profound tiredness. But peaceful sleeps were not the norm in Gotham. Especially for those who always tried to do the right thing, like Lucius.

“Bruce, what I'm asking you today is to trust me. And to support me. Because the meeting won't be pleasant, at all. "

Lucius paused and Bruce waited.

“I think someone inside Wayne Enterprise is selling experimental technology on the black market. And I fear that the culprit has a strong connection with a member of the board. "

Bruce didn't answer right away, but studied Lucius' tired face.

"How long have you suspected this, Lucius?"

"A week. He didn't take much, he was smart. He stole the stuff we had put aside, the least urgent projects. But I soon realized that things were missing. And, looking at the surveillance tapes, I spotted the culprit.”

Bruce sighed, preparing for the worst. But he had figured it out as soon as Lucius had mentioned the board.

“It's Brent Stine, isn't it? Howard's son. "

Lucius sighed.

"Yes, it's him. I'm sorry."

Howard Stine was one of the oldest members of the board. Great friend of Bruce's parents and loyal collaborator. He had given Martha Wayne the gloves she was wearing the night she and Thomas had been murdered. He was a good man.

Bruce and Lucius had been delighted to welcome his son to the Research and Development department, and Brent had always proven himself bright and willing, in his three months of internship. It was truly disconcerting news.

After a few moments, Bruce broke the silence.

"Can you prove it beyond any reasonable doubt, Lucius?"

"Yes."

"The footage shows him taking the materials?"

"Yes."

Bruce nodded.

"It won't be a pleasant meeting."

"No, I don't think so either."

The two got up. The meeting was only two minutes away. As they entered the elevator, heading downstairs, Bruce remembered that Lucius had mentioned another piece of bad news.

"What else did you have to tell me, Lucius?"

"Ah, yes. Well, I'd say it can wait, but Wayne TV is having reception problems all over the city. We have not yet figured out what the problem is, but we have received many complaints. "

Wayne TV mainly broadcast political headlines and financial news. It was a pay channel. Bruce had never liked it much, but it had a loyal following and keeping it alive helped him maintain friendly relationships with the other wealthy citizens of Gotham. And Lucius knew this very well.

“You're right, I'd say it can wait. But thanks for telling me. "

"It's my job, Bruce."

The elevator doors closed.

The meeting was painful, but less than they thought. Mostly, it was just sad.

Howard wasn't furious or outraged, but instead accepted the news with a sort of sad resignation.

“Unfortunately, this news doesn't surprise me very much. Not that I was aware of Brent's illegal conduct, I want this to be clear. But he's strange, lately. Alienated. He no longer seems like himself. I've wondered whether he's been taking drugs, actually. He says that everything is fine, but a father notices, when something is wrong. And now, you've confirmed it with this piece of news. "

The rest of the board did not look Howard in the face, some out of respect and some out of embarrassment. Only Bruce and Lucius returned his contrite gaze.

"What are you going to do?" Howard asked after some hesitation.

Bruce and Lucius looked at each other.

"I think it's best to summon Brent immediately." Lucius said. “Hear what he has to say. If he can recover the technology he stole or prove that it didn't end up in the wrong hands, we could resolve everything with compensation and an apology, without calling the police. But..."

Lucius stopped, undecided on how to proceed.

"But you're going to have to fire him anyway, aren't you?" Howard said.

"Yes, I'm sorry Howard." Bruce said. “Brent has betrayed our trust and we cannot keep him close to our technology. But I promise you that whatever his problem is, I will help you fix it. If it's really a drug problem, I'll personally contact Leslie Thompkins and get Brent the best treatment there is in Gotham. ”

Howard nodded and smiled at the two men. It was a sad smile, heart-breaking, but also grateful.

"Thank you."

They nodded. Then Bruce activated the intercom.

"Miss Davidson, can you tell Brent Stine to join us?"

"Right away, Mr. Wayne."

"Thank you."

The council pretended not to see, as Howard wiped his tears and tried to compose himself.

This time, Bruce and Lucius joined the others in looking somewhere else.

"Brent, why did you do it?" Howard's voice was sad, but firm.

The other people present observed the two Stines, some with melancholic faces, others with stern expressions.

"Dad, it wasn't me. I don't know what's going on! ”Brent's voice was trembling, as great tears ran down his cheeks.

"Don't try to fool us, Brent!" Howard was shaking like a leaf, full of pain and anger. “There is footage from the security cameras. It was during your working hours. There is no doubt that it was you. "

"Brent." Lucius interjected, in a gentle tone. “There's no point in denying it. You're only making things worse. Admit what you've done and tell us where the stolen components are, okay? ”

Brent turned to Lucius, his face full of despair..

"But Mr. Fox, I swear, it wasn't me! I would never do such a thing! I love working here! "

"Brent." Now it was Bruce who spoke. “If you're in trouble, you can tell us. We will help you. I know you're a good kid. Do you owe someone money? Are you in trouble? We can-"

"I didn't do anything!" Brent burst into tears, collapsing to his knees.

After a few moments, when the silence was filled only by the boy's crying, Howard Stine rose to his feet and came close to him. He put a hand on his shoulder.

"My son, what's happening to you? Talk to us. Talk to me! Whatever is going on, together we can- "

What happened next was so fast that only a trained eye like Bruce's could have registered it. In one sudden move, Brent rose to his feet. He pulled out a scalpel from the lab coat he was wearing and, before anyone else on the board could understand what had happened, Howard Stine was on the ground. Blood gushed from his severed throat and his eyes, before going out of focus, stopped on the face of his son, which was now cold and emotionless.

"Brent! Nooo! ”Lucius was shocked.

Bruce got up and headed for Brent, but it was too late. Still with that same cold, expressionless look, Brent ran to the window and jumped through it, leaving behind only shattered and bloody glass. A few moments later, Bruce and the other board members heard the final and brutal sound of his body crashing on the asphalt.

Within a minute, the two Stines had gone forever.

Bruce sat in his office, covering his eyes with one hand. Lucius sat across from him, looking sad. Several hours had passed since the meeting, it was now dark. The police had come to question them all and the coroner had taken away Howard's body and what remained of Brent's (which wasn't much).

"I just can't understand..." Lucius was inconsolable. “Brent was a hard worker, he was full of talent. He was a meek person. Why on earth would he do such a thing? "

Bruce took the hand off his face and straightened up on the chair.

“I don't know, Lucius. But I intend to find out. "

In that very moment, the bat signal illuminated the sky. Both of them could see it clearly from Bruce's office, as it reflected on Gotham's reddish and polluted sky.

"What now?" Lucius said nervously.

"I'd better go and find out." Bruce said, getting to his feet.

It took him less than two minutes to put on the costume he kept hidden in his office.

“We'll get to the bottom of this, Lucius. I promise you." Bruce said, as he opened the window, letting in the cold October wind.

“I know, Mr. Wayne. Don't worry about me. Go to Gordon, and let me know if you need my help. "

Bruce nodded, smiling briefly at his friend. Then he threw himself out the window, silhouetted against Gotham's neon lights. He could not ignore the feeling that his city was in danger again, on the edge of the abyss. Or beyond the edge. That, just like him in that moment, it was in free fall.

"Another one." Gordon immediately told him, as soon as he saw him land on the roof of the police station. "Another rich guy is dead."

"Who was he?" Batman asked, standing up.

"Julius Douchette. Owner of Douchette's Diamonds. "

"Gotham's largest jewelry supplier."

"That's the one."

Gordon smoked briskly, the light of the pipe illuminated his face.

"Same manner as Fines?" Batman asked, already guessing the answer.

"Yes. Doors and windows locked. Alarm activated. Same marks on the body. Someone introduced gas, who knows how, into his luxurious apartment. His lungs became paralysed, after at least an hour of agony. "

The two looked at each other. Neither of them wanted to say it out loud, but it was now clear that these were serial crimes. And that, most likely, a third crime was on the way.

"How long has he been dead?"

“We found him two hours ago. And the coroner estimated that the death occurred during the afternoon."

Batman nodded, thoughtfully.

"If you want to check the place, these are the keys to Douchette's house." Gordon handed them to him. "He was a bachelor, just like Fines, so no one will disturb you."

Batman took the keys.

"Thanks, Jim."

"You'll be doing me a favour, if you find some clue."

"No connection between the victims, I'm guessing."

"None. Fines never represented Douchette in a trial. And he wasn't a jewelry guy. The two did not attend the same clubs. As far as we know, they have never been together in the same room. Maybe you will find out more. "

Gordon turned and headed for the bat signal.

"I'll see what I can do." Batman put the keys in his belt. "Goodnight, Jim."

"Good night." Gordon turned off the signal and headed for the stairs leading back to the police station. He didn't even turn around, knowing full well that Batman had already disappeared into the shadows.

Batman knew that something was wrong from the moment he entered the apartment. The door was closed, but not locked. Someone must have entered after Gordon and his men had left. He put the keys away and tensed his muscles, ready for a confrontation, but when he entered he saw nothing strange, at least at first sight. The apartment seemed absolutely normal.

He inspected it from top to bottom, but nobody was there. Puzzled, he headed for the living room and turned on his forensic scanner, inspecting the room. He found minimal traces of the same gas used for Fines, and particles of the blood spit by the late Douchette. But there were no signs of burglary and his sequencer did not find traces of hacking or external interference regarding the alarm. Furthermore, there were no ventilation ducts, only a very normal air conditioning system which still didn't present any traces of gas.

Turning to infrared vision, however, he noticed something strange. In one corner of the living room there was a ceramic statue of a bear. It was a little over a meter and a half tall, with a circumference of half a meter. Inside there were traces of heat, as if someone or something had been in there for a long time and had just gone away. He went over and turned the statue upside down. The bottom was made of felt, and Batman saw that it was removable. Inside, the statue was hollow. And empty. But the forensic scanner revealed the presence of nylon. Thin threads that had come off some garment while, as incredible as it seemed, someone had remained hidden inside the statue for hours.

He saw that there was still a price tag on the statue. Three thousand dollars. And a delivery receipt from the day before.

Batman pressed the communicator on his ear.

"Jim? It's me."

"Batman! Have you discovered anything?"

"I think so. Did you notice a bear-shaped statue, during your inspection? "

"Yes, I remember it. An expensive piece. ”

“It had arrived just yesterday. Inside I found traces of heat, and fragments of nylon. "

There was a moment of silence.

"Holy shit. Are you saying there was someone inside? "

"Yes.."

"He killed him, went into hiding again and waited for us to leave before seeing himself out."

"Exactly."

“But ... that statue was barely a meter and a half tall. And it was extremely narrow. Who could ever-” Gordon stopped. He had also figured it out. "Merkel? Peter Merkel? Ragdoll? "

“It must have been him. That's how the gas entered Fines' penthouse. Through the ventilation duct, just as we initially assumed. You were right, Catwoman wouldn't be able to pass through it. But he would. He crawled up the duct and left the gas, then got out of there in the same way. Simple, yet brilliant. "

"Damn it. But why? It is not his style. Merkel is a thief, not a serial killer. "

“I'll try to find out. You spread the news, have your agents look for him. He hasn't been to Gotham for a long time, but maybe we are lucky and he is hiding in one of his known lairs. "

"It doesn't feel like that kind of week."

"I know. I'll be in touch. "

Batman hung up and, absorbed in his thoughts, left the apartment.

Peter Merkel had been born with a particular genetic condition. His joints bent in any direction he wanted, making him a formidable contortionist. And his build was frighteningly thin, almost skeletal. After an initial period as circus attraction, Merkel had used his talents to become a thief, with exceptional results. At first no one could understand how the thefts were being carried out, it almost seemed like a ghost was doing it.

Batman now felt like a fool for not thinking about him. But, as Gordon had said, such crimes had never been his style. And after his last stay in Arkham, seven years earlier, he seemed repentant and had left Gotham forever. What had driven him to come back?

Batman got out of the batmobile and went to the computer, intent on finding a connection between Merkel and the victims, when he received a call.

"Yes?"

"Bruce, it's me."

"Selina?"

"We should meet. I think I know who the killer is. "

"Peter Merkel."

There was a moment of silence.

“Sometimes, you're really insufferable. Anyway, yes, it's Merkel. ”

"And how do you know?"

“Because I just saw him get out of a window, in his ridiculous puppet costume. And inside the apartment there's another dead rich guy, with drool in his mouth. "

"Damn it! Where?"

"44, Clancy Street."

"I'll be right there, try to follow him and keep me updated on his pos-"

"I don't think that'll be necessary."

"Why not?"

“I've already caught him. He's here in front of me, all tied up and nowhere to go. Be quick, it's cold tonight. "

"You've-"

But Selina had ended the call.

A few moments later, the batmobile started with a deafening roar, disturbing the sleep of dozens of irritated bats.

Ragdoll's mask lay at his feet, creased. Selina had tied him to a chimney, so tight that he could barely breathe. Merkel was looking straight ahead, avoiding the gaze of the two shadows standing in front of him. He looked decidedly aged, compared to the last time Batman had seen him. He had grey and sparse hair, very dark circles under his eyes and deep wrinkles on the sides of his mouth. But there was no doubt, it was him.

"Why did you do it, Merkel?" Batman asked. “You have never been that type of criminal. You were gone. What is the motive?"

Merkel said nothing.

"You better answer him, Peter." Selina told him. "Batman had a bad week."

Merkel continued to ignore them. After a few moments, he began to whistle.

Batman punched the chimney, a few inches above his head. Merkel stopped whistling, but otherwise continued to ignore them.

"Do you want to take him to the police station?" Selina asked.

"Yes."

Nodding, the feline thief began to untie Merkel. She was slightly worried by Batman's reaction. It had been a little too sudden. She didn't like the anger she read on his face. She looked with some apprehension at the fragments of cement and brick that fell on Merkel's head, as the dark knight took his hand out of the chimney.

Once Merkel was untied, Batman grabbed him firmly by the arm and picked up his mask from the ground.

“Thank you for your help, Catwoman. I'll tell Gordon, he'll be grateful too. "

Selina shook her head.

“I'd rather you didn't, big boy. I don't want the word to spread that Catwoman helps cops catch other thieves. It wouldn't be nice."

“Merkel is not a thief. He's a killer. "

Batman's gaze was cold, his voice sharp. Something in his tone unsettled Selina. She was not irritated or frightened by his gruff ways, those were certainly not new. She was worried about him. Batman seemed extremely tired, and nervous.

"You're right." She finally answered. “But then I would prefer it to stay between the three of us, okay? Please."

Batman nodded, then threw himself off the building, taking Merkel with him. Not even a minute later, looking at the streets below her, Selina saw the batmobile making its way to the GCPD.

"I don't like this." Selina murmured. "Something's wrong."

Then, with the vaguely unreal grace of a cat, she jumped on the opposite ledge and started heading home.

Merkel sat in his cell, more silent than ever. Batman and Gordon had questioned him for an hour, but he hadn't opened his mouth once. Now the two looked at him through the security cameras.

"It's very strange." Gordon said. “Merkel has never been so good at keeping quiet. Ten minutes of questions were all it took, before he started to boast of how he had fooled us all, remember? He'd babble about being the best thief in the world. That he was like a ghost. And blah, blah, blah. "

Batman nodded, without taking his eyes off the screen.

"Something must have happened to him in these seven years." Gordon said.

"It's possible." Batman replied.

"Maybe connected to Fines and Douchette."

Batman nodded again.

“I haven't had a chance to do any research, Jim. But whatever the connection between him and the victims is, I will find it. "

Gordon pulled out his pipe.

“We've identified the third body, by the way. Clint Jenkins. Less wealthy than the other two, but still pretty well off. Marketing guy at Dagget Industries, for a few years now. He was about to be promoted. "

"I'll look him up as well."

"There's one thing I don't get, though." Gordon said, lighting a match. “Why did Merkel come out of the window, this time? He had been extremely good at hiding his presence, the first two times. Why get out the window?"

Batman didn't reply immediately, but continued to stare at Merkel on the screen.

“Maybe Jenkins was his last victim. Maybe he had finished."

"Well, he's finished now." Gordon said, without hiding his satisfaction.

"Yes." Batman replied, without sharing his positivity. There was something wrong with this whole ordeal.

"Keep me company as I smoke." Gordon said, pulling on his coat. "Some fresh air will do us both good."

The two men left the room, heading for the roof. On the screen, Merkel yawned and lay down. The clock on the wall showed that it was 2 am.

It was October 21st, a date that all the citizens of Gotham would remember, in the following years.

"You're worried, I can tell." Gordon said, rekindling his pipe. The cold autumn wind had blown it out immediately. "I know you, by now."

Batman didn't answer, but just looked at him.

"You should be happy." Gordon continued. “We got him. Because of you. And of Catwoman. "

"We could have gotten him sooner."

“And on that, we agree. But in a city like Gotham, a victory like this must always be celebrated. Even when it's been hard to achieve. Especially when it's been hard to achieve "

“I'm starting to get really tired of what we see every day, Jim. I'm starting to wonder if it really adds up, what we do. "

Gordon looked at Gotham's red sky thoughtfully.

"You know, I get that. This city is hard to love. It's kind of like a lover who kisses you at first, then slaps you in the face. You never know what to expect from her. But, on evenings like these, I'm happy. Because I remember there are people like you and Catwoman, out there. People who, even if they're always in the midst of that darkness, remain good. And do the right thing. That's why I can still love Gotham after all these years. ”

Now Gordon turned to look at Batman.

“It's thanks to you, if I can see it this way. You're the one who allows me to see the best part of Gotham. Because you do as well. If you didn't have hope, if you didn't believe in Gotham, you wouldn't be here. You love this lousy city, just like me. So don't be a pain. "

Batman smiled at him, then he also looked at the red sky.

"Thanks, Jim."

"Don't mention it. Sometimes, we all need a little perspective. "

"But I have to tell you something."

"What's that?"

Batman looked back at Gordon.

"You smoke too much."

Gordon laughed, with a guilty expression.

“That's what Barbara always says. But what can you do, it's my only jo- "

The blast interrupted Gordon and illuminated the sky. A few moments later, they heard a roar and the alarms of cars. Then, the screams. Dozens and dozens of screams.

A few blocks from them, near Old Town, a skyscraper had just exploded. The explosion also affected some nearby buildings. Dumbfounded, the two friends watched the smoke rise into the sky.

"Jesus Christ!" Gordon finally shouted, pulling out his radio. “This is Gordon, this is Gordon! Send patrols, ambulances and firefighters to Old Town! There was-"

Another explosion interrupted Gordon.

"Oh my God!" Gordon said, shocked. "Batman, what-"

But Batman was gone.

He was gliding towards the fire, deafened by the wind, the sound of flames and the screams beneath him. Gordon was right, he loved this city. And in that moment, he felt like someone had stabbed him in the gut. His city was burning, his city was bleeding.

When he reached Old Town, Batman landed on the street. He could already see the firefighters and ambulances arriving. The heat was unbearable, the light of the flames hurt his eyes.

Batman ran towards the flames, looking for survivors. His city really seemed to be in free fall now. But he was determined to catch her, and save her from oblivion.

END OF CHAPTER 1

Batman: Caduta Libera - Capitolo 5

CAPITOLO 5

RISPOSTE

Inizialmente, sembrò solo un comune negozio abbandonato, per di più abbastanza piccolo. C'erano scatole polverose, scaffali vuoti e qualche sporadico giocattolo rotto. In effetti, Catwoman si era aspettata un posto decisamente più inquietante.

Ispezionarono il locale per qualche minuto, ma non sembrava esserci nessuno. 

“Dici che è fuggito?” Chiese a Batman.

“No.” Disse lui, continuando  a guardarsi in giro. “Credo che da qualche parte ci sia un passaggio. E' tutto troppo polveroso, non stavano in questa stanza.”

“Forse Pierce ci ha mentito. O gli hanno dato un indirizzo fasullo.”

“E' possibile.” Le rispose lui, andando verso il bancone fatiscente. “Ma non credo.”

Batman andò dietro il bancone  e osservò il pavimento.

“Trovata.”

Catwoman lo raggiunse e vide che Batman stava indicando una porzione del pavimento. Era quadrata, circa un metro per un metro, ed era priva di polvere. Cautamente, Batman sollevò il pezzo di legno e sotto di esso trovò una botola di metallo.

“Bingo.” Disse Catwoman.

Batman annuì, scansionando la botola con la luce rossa del suo guanto.

“OK. Non sembrano esserci esplosivi, sostanze pericolose o meccanismi sospetti. Andiamo.”

E così scesero.

Dopo un paio di metri di scala a pioli, arrivarono a un tunnel. Era umido e puzzolente, ma era illuminato: c'erano delle frecce luminose verdi, che indicavano la via da seguire.

“Sembra che qualcuno ci aspetti.” Commentò Catwoman.

Batman annuì, poi si avviò per primo. 

Camminarono per cinque minuti, finché non raggiunsero una porta metallica. Non c'erano suoni nell'aria, e questo rendeva Catwoman nervosa. Batman scansionò anche questa porta, ma non c'erano segni di pericolo.

Fece un cenno a Catwoman, poi aprì. Si ritrovarono in un'enorme stanza piena di macchinari industriali e completamente ricoperta di verde: scritte, numeri e punti interrogativi. 

In alto, negli angoli, c'erano dei potenti altoparlanti.

“Benvenuti, benvenuti, benvenuti!” Disse una voce untuosa e euforica, che entrambi conoscevano fin troppo bene, purtroppo.

“Nygma!” Esclamò Catwoman. “E' Nygma!”

Batman non disse niente, e lei notò che aveva un'espressione strana. Prima che potesse dirgli niente, però, Nygma riprese a parlare.

“Molto bene, sembra proprio che abbiate trovato ciò che cercavate. E ditemi, siete soddisfatti della soluzione?”

“Chiudi il becco, Eddie!” Gli rispose Catwoman. Aveva sempre odiato L'Enigmista e i suoi modi pomposi. “Siamo qui per portarti ad Arkham. E se ne esce anche qualche costola spezzata per te, ben venga.”

Nygma rise.

“Oh, Catwoman. Come sempre, il tuo intelletto è svariati passi indietro. Per prendermi, dovreste superare le mie trappole. E dubito che ci riuscirete.”

La ladra alzò gli occhi al cielo.

“Sempre queste str-”

“Il primo enigma.” La interruppe il criminale. “E' dritto davanti a voi. Come potete vedere, c'è un solo corridoio che conduce alla stanza adiacente. Imboccatelo. Buona fortuna.”

Gli altoparlanti si spensero.

“Beh.” Disse la ladra a Batman. “Sarà meglio avviarci, immagino.”

Batman annuì e la precedette. Lei notò che aveva ancora quella strana espressione.

“Che cos'hai, si può sapere? Sei più musone del solito. Posso capire che non ti vada di risolvere altri enigmi di quel pagliaccio, ma-”

“Non è questo.” Le disse lui, mentre arrivavano all'entrata del corridoio.

“E allora cos'è?”

Batman scosse la testa.

“Lo chiederò direttamente a lui.”

Catwoman alzò nuovamente gli occhi al cielo, ma decise di soprassedere. Insieme, guardarono il corridoio: era lungo sei o sette metri e non c'erano porte ai lati. Era essenzialmente un cunicolo che portava nella stanza accanto. Dall'altra parte c'era una porta chiusa ermeticamente, senza maniglie. Al centro, a circa metà del percorso, c'era una colonnina con un tastierino numerico.

Batman scansionò il pavimento e annuì, come a confermare un proprio sospetto.

“E' un conduttore elettrico. Potrebbe folgorarci.”

“Se non rispondiamo bene.”

“Ovviamente.”

“Allora andiamo, signor detective migliore del mondo.”

Imboccarono il corridoio e arrivarono alla colonnina. A quel punto, si udì di nuovo la voce di Nygma.

“Molto bene, ascoltate attentamente perché non intendo ripetermi.” 

Non dissero niente, così lui proseguì.

“Se mi scrivi otto volte, divento mille

Ma serve l'operazione attinente 

Se scegli bene, farai faville 

Ma se ti sbagli sarà scioccante!”

Gli altoparlanti si spensero di nuovo. I due eroi mascherati si guardarono, poi osservarono il tastierino. Sopra c'erano i numeri dallo 0 al 9, più i simboli delle basilari operazioni aritmetiche: addizione, sottrazione, divisione e moltiplicazione. Infine, c'era il simbolo dell'uguale.

“OK.” Disse Catwoman dopo qualche momento. “Che dobbiamo fare?”

Batman si mise a pensare, ripetendo lentamente l'indovinello. Lei fu stupefatta da come l'avesse memorizzato all'istante.

“D'accordo.” Disse infine il cavaliere oscuro. “Credo che dobbiamo ripetere otto volte lo stesso numero.”

“E fino a qui c'ero arrivata anche io.”

“Dobbiamo trovare un numero che, ripetuto otto volte e con le giuste operazioni aritmetiche, dia mille come risultato.”

Selina annuì.

“E immagino che abbiamo un solo tentativo, o il pavimento ci folgorerà e ucciderà sul colpo.”

“Probabile.”

“E se andiamo avanti senza digitare, ci ucciderà senz'altro.”

“Sicuramente.”

Entrambi si misero a pensare. Passarono alcuni minuti. La ladra non aveva idea della soluzione. Proprio quando stava per dirgli che forse potevano provare a saltare dall'altra parte del corridoio, e a sfondare la porta prima che si attivasse la corrente, Batman si mise a digitare.

“Cosa stai- Sei sicuro di aver ragione?”

Batman non le rispose e finì di digitare: 888 + 88 + 8 + 8 + 8 

Poi premette uguale e uscì il risultato: 1000

La porta si aprì all'istante.

“Non montarti la testa, cavaliere oscuro.” Disse l'Enigmista, con tono rabbioso. “Quello avrebbe saputo risolverlo anche un minorato mentale!”

Batman e Catwoman uscirono dal corridoio e si ritrovarono in un'enorme stanza circolare. Al centro, c'era una pedana di metallo con sopra un enorme punto interrogativo.

“Sobrio.” Commentò Catwoman.

“Sulla pedana, per favore.” Disse la voce irritabile di Nygma. “Iniziamo il secondo enigma.”

“Per curiosità, quanti ce ne sono?” Gli chiese lei, con tono sarcastico.

“Tre. Ora salite!”

I due eroi si guardarono, poi salirono sulla pedana. Quando la pedana ebbe rilevato la loro presenza, dal pavimento uscì un grosso congegno cilindrico, coperto da un telo.

“Uno di voi entrerà nella macchina. L'altro dovrò rispondere al mio indovinello. Inutile dirvi che finirà male per il poverino nel cilindro, se il suo compagno commette un errore.”

Cautamente, Batman tolse il telo. A Catwoman sfuggì un'esclamazione strozzata. Era un cilindro trasparente, come una strana bara verticale. Aveva una serratura di metallo dall'aria molto solida e dei tubi metallici che, dal sottosuolo, gli entravano dentro. Ma non era questo che aveva fatto esclamare Catwoman: dentro il cilindro, c'era il cadavere gonfio di Drury Walker. 

 “Beh, ora sappiamo che fine ha fatto Killer Moth...” Disse la ladra.

Il cilindro si aprì e il corpo cadde a terra, con un orribile suono fragile e vagamente molliccio.

“Il signor Walker non mi serviva più.” Disse Nygma, pigramente. “Comunque, è colpa sua se è morto. Io una chance gliel'ho data. Non è colpa mia se non sapeva la risposta.”

Batman mise il cadavere in una posa più dignitosa. Notò che i vestiti erano umidi.

“La pagherai anche per questo, Nygma.”

“Oh, andiamo, cavaliere oscuro. Che ti importa? Era solo un criminale, no? E neanche uno di qualità.”

“Uccidere è sbagliato. Sempre.”

L'Enigmista sbadigliò rumorosamente, facendo gracchiare gli altoparlanti.

“Discuteremo di filosofia dopo, forse. Ora, Batman, ti prego di entrare nel cilindro.”

“No, perché lui?” Chiese Catwoman. “Voglio entrare io.”

“Oh, Catwoman, so bene che non vuoi avere tu questa responsabilità. Ma è stato Batman a risolvere il primo enigma, quindi mi sembra giusto così.”

I due eroi non si mossero.

“Se non lo fate.” Disse Nygma, ora arrabbiato. “Vi ucciderò entrambi immediatamente.”

Batman studiò brevemente il pavimento e i tubi che entravano nel cilindro, poi osservò il cadavere umido di Killer Moth.

“Andrà bene.” Disse a Catwoman, entrando nel cilindro. “Mi fido di te.”

“Ma-”

Il cilindro si chiuse e la serratura scattò.

“Ovviamente.” Disse Nygma. “Lui non sente nulla da lì dentro. E temo che nessun tipo di comunicatore che potreste avere funzioni, qui sotto. Non potrà darti suggerimenti. E se vedo che stai cercando di farti leggere le labbra da lui, lo ucciderò subito. E' tutto nelle tue mani, Catwoman.”

“Meraviglioso....” Commentò lei, amareggiata. “Dai, dimmi l'indovinello.”

“Quando John aveva sei anni, martellò un chiodo nel suo albero preferito per segnare la sua altezza. Dieci anni dopo, all'età di sedici anni, John tornò per vedere quanto fosse più alto il chiodo. Se l'albero cresce di cinque centimetri ogni anno, quanto sarà più alto il chiodo?”

Catwoman rimase interdetta. Non sarà stata un prodigio della matematica, ma questo le sembrava molto facile. Se l'albero cresceva di cinque centimetri ogni anno, ed erano passati dieci anni, allora il chiodo ora si trovava mezzo metro più in alto.

Selina si schiarì la gola, si fece coraggio e rispose.

“Cinquanta centimetri. Il chiodo si trova cinquanta centimetri più in alto.”

“Beep! Sbagliato!” Urlò Nygma.

Terrorizzata, Catwoman si voltò verso il cilindro, per vedere il prezzo del suo errore.

Dai tubi sul fondo del cilindro uscì dell'acqua. Riempì il cilindro fino alle ginocchia di Batman, poi si interruppe.

“Male, male, male.” Ridacchiò Nygma. “Ma per tua fortuna, sono un uomo generoso. Hai altri due tentativi, prima che Batman si trasformi permanentemente nella paperella di gomma più brutta del mondo.”

Catwoman strinse i denti, arrabbiata. Eppure era così sicura...

Rifece mentalmente il calcolo. Veniva sempre cinquanta. Come poteva essere sbagliato? Se solo avesse potuto chiedere a Batman...

Dopo qualche minuto nervoso, si convinse che c'era sotto un qualche colpo basso tipico di Nygma.

Visto che tanto non aveva altre idee, provò con questo approccio.

“Il chiodo non c'è più. In quei dieci anni, l'albero era stato tagliato.”

Ci fu un momento di silenzio. Poi, l'acqua salì ancora, arrivando al petto di Batman. Il cavaliere oscuro rimase tranquillo, e fece a Catwoman un cenno fiducioso. Come faceva a essere così ottimista, si chiese nervosamente lei. Aveva già sbagliato due volte!

“Bel tentativo, Catwoman. Sarebbe stata una risposta degna di me, lo confesso. Ma sbagliato! Evidentemente, ho sempre avuto ragione sulle tue capacità intellettive. Non offenderti, pochi reggono il passo con Batman e nessuno lo regge con me. Meno che mai una piccola ladruncola impudente come te.”

Catwoman prese una decisione. Era stufa di Nygma ed era stufa di stare alle sue regole. Si voltò verso il cilindro ed estrasse i suoi grimaldelli dalla cintura.

“Cosa stai- Non osare! Vi folgorerò entrambi!”

La ladra si mise al lavoro sulla serratura. Batman le fece un cenno di approvazione.

“Non penso proprio, Eddie. Anche senza scanner lo capisco da sola che questo pavimento non è come quell'altro. E' una normalissima pedana di metallo.”

L'Enigmista ringhiò oscenità nel microfono, poi l'acqua salì ancora. Il detective fece un profondo respiro, rimanendo tranquillo, e fu completamente sommerso.

“Come preferisci, Catwoman! Vorrà dire che vedrai il tuo amichetto affogare davanti ai tuoi occhi. E sarà solo colpa tua!”

Lei rise, beffarda.

“L'ultima volta che gliel'ho chiesto, Batman sapeva trattenere il fiato sott'acqua per ben sei minuti. Scommetti che ne impiegherò solo quattro, ad aprire il tuo stupido giocattolo?”

Nygma urlò ancora, ma non accadde nulla. Catwoman aveva temuto delle conseguenze (scagnozzi armati, magari, oppure armi da fuoco automatiche nascoste nelle pareti), ma evidentemente Eddie non era attrezzato quanto pensava, lì sotto. E probabilmente era davvero così arrogante da non aver considerato la possibilità che alcuni non rispettassero le regole dei suoi stupidi giochi.

Quattro minuti dopo, la serratura cadde a terra. Catwoman si tolse di mezzo e lasciò che Batman sfondasse la porta trasparente con un calcio. Senza serratura, la porta si staccò dai cardini, riversando acqua sulla pedana.

“Ben fatto.” Le disse, uscendo dal cilindro. “Grazie.”

“Ma come, non mi biasimi per aver infranto le regole?” Chiese lei, per metà ironica e per metà davvero stupita.

“Ci sono regole che non meritano di essere rispettate. Sapevo che mi avresti tirato fuori, in un modo o nell'altro.”

Lei gli sorrise.

“Oh, ma che eroi!” Disse Nygma, furioso. “ A bearsi di aver barato!”

“Facci accedere alla prossima stanza.” Gli rispose Batman, gelido. “Sappiamo tutti e tre che vuoi vederci affrontare la tua ultima prova. E' la più infida, vero? E scommetto che, anche se abbiamo barato, muori dalla voglia di vederci fallire.”

“E fallirete!” Gli rispose l'Enigmista.

“Allora facci passare.” Replicò Batman, sprezzante. “Non perdiamo altro tempo.”

Dopo qualche istante, si aprì una porta alle loro spalle.

“Andiamo.” Disse Batman.

“Un secondo solo.” Disse lei. “Posso dirti l'indovinello? Pensavo di averci preso, eppure non andava bene. Vorrei capire.”

“Qual era?” Chiese Batman impaziente, avviandosi verso la porta.

Catwoman lo seguì.

“Quando John aveva sei anni, martellò un chiodo nel suo albero preferito per segnare la sua altezza. Dieci anni dopo, all'età di sedici anni, John tornò per vedere quanto fosse più alto il chiodo. Se l'albero cresce di cinque centimetri ogni anno, quanto sarà più alto il chiodo?”

Batman annuì.

“Hai detto cinquanta, al primo tentativo?”

“Sì.”

“E poi?”

“Ho detto che l'albero era stato abbattuto. Non mi veniva altro.”

“Bella idea. Ma la risposta è che il chiodo è rimasto nella stessa posizione. I tronchi degli alberi non crescono in altezza, sono i rami che crescono.”

“Figlio di-”

L'ultima stanza era a forma ettagonale. Ogni parete aveva una porta, con sopra un numero romano.

Disegnata sul pavimento, c'era una magnifica illustrazione del cervello umano. Videro che il cervello era ricoperto di scritte. Anzi, di numeri.

Quando entrarono dentro alla stanza, la porta si chiuse alle loro spalle.

“Benvenuti all'ultima stanza, all'ultimo enigma! Quello che vi sconfiggerà! Finalmente, tutti sapranno che sono io il vero, unico genio di Gotham! Siete pronti, allora, a essere completamente umiliati? “

Batman e Catwoman guardarono in alto, verso gli altoparlanti.

“Dicci l'indovinello, Nygma.” Disse Batman. “Sono stanco delle tue buffonate. Stanotte finirà tutto.”

“Oh, come hai ragione, cavaliere oscuro. Come hai ragione. Bene, allora andiamo.”

L'Enigmista si schiarì la voce.

“L'uomo in verde ha la mente suprema 

È giusto che Gotham lo ami e lo tema

Una delle porte conduce al suo regno 

Ma può attraversarla solo chi è degno 

Chi sarà in grado di trovare la via?

In fondo al cervello dicono che sia

Chi sarà furbo verrà accolto qui dentro 

Mala tempora per chi non è attento!”

Gli altoparlanti si spensero.

“Secondo te qual è il suo record, per tempo passato senza farsi i complimenti da solo?” Chiese Catwoman. “Dieci minuti?”

Batman non le rispose, assorto nelle sue riflessioni.

“Dobbiamo scegliere una delle sette porte.” Disse infine. “E questo è ovvio.”

Catwoman annuì.

“E solo chi è degno può scegliere quella giusta.” Disse la ladra.

“Ha detto di guardare in fondo al cervello...” Continuò Batman.

Guardò i numeri scritti sul pavimento. 

“Questi però sono tutti numeri di tre cifre. 364, 917, 147...”

Batman rimase assorto per una decina di secondi. Intanto, Catwoman osservava le porte. Erano perfettamente lisce, di metallo verdognolo. I numeri romani erano stati scritti con inchiostro rosso, che colava come sangue.

La ladra si chiese cosa ci sarebbe stato, dietro le porte sbagliate. Mitragliatrici? Spunzoni che cadevano dall'alto? Gas velenosi? Una tigre? Sorrise, pensando a quest'ultima. Se ci fosse stata una tigre, sarebbe probabilmente riuscita a domarla e ad aizzarla contro Nygma.

I suoi pensieri furono interrotti da Batman.

“Sette.” Disse lui.

“Che cosa?”

“I numeri sul pavimento.” Disse Batman, indicandoli. “Sembrano essere tutti perfettamente divisibili per sette.”

Catwoman si toccò il mento, colpita.

“Ah... Sì, è da lui.”

“Verifichiamo.” Disse Batman, mettendosi subito a controllare i numeri uno per uno. Catwoman gli diede una mano.  Dopo qualche minuto, concordarono che ogni numero a tre cifre presente sul pavimento era divisibile per sette.

“Allora sembra proprio che dobbiamo scegliere l'ultima porta.” Disse Catwoman. “E non c'è uno specchio sul soffitto o qualche altra simpatica trovata alla Eddie, mi pare. I numeri sono quelli, sia sulle porte che per terra.”

Batman annuì.

“Sì, credo che sia così.”

“Lo credi?”

Batman la guardò.

“Con Nygma, c'è sempre la possibilità che abbia seguito un suo assurdo ragionamento che nessun altro potrebbe sapere. Che lo ammetta o meno, anche questo è un suo modo di barare.”

Gli altoparlanti si accesero.

“IO NON BARO MAI!”

Poi, si spensero di nuovo.

Catwoman rise piano.

“Beh, che facciamo, allora? Proviamo?”

“Sì.”

“Dubito che ci siano dati altri tentativi, se abbiamo sbagliato. Vero?”

Batman scosse la testa.

“Per l'ultima stanza? Impossibile.”

Catwoman annuì.

“Speriamo bene, allora.”

Insieme, si diressero verso la porta contrassegnata con VII.

Catwoman mise la mano sulla maniglia.

“Al tre, allora.” Disse la ladra. “Uno...”

Batman ebbe un'intuizione e guardò di nuovo il cervello disegnato sul pavimento.

“Due...” Continuò Catwoman.

“Fondo... Tempora...” Disse il cavaliere oscuro. “Aspetta! Ferma!”

“Tr-” Catwoman si interruppe, spaventata. “Cosa? Cosa? Mi hai fatto venire un colpo!”

“E' una trappola.” Disse Batman. “Vieni via da lì.”

Catwoman lo seguì, per metà divertita dalla sua reazione e per metà irritata dalla paura che le aveva messo.

“Cosa? Che epifania hai avuto, signor detective?”

Batman indicò di nuovo il cervello.

“Fondo. Fondo del cervello.”

“Sì. I numeri, ho cap-”

“No.” Disse Batman. “Credo che intendesse proprio il fondo della stanza. Il pavimento stesso.”

Batman si accovacciò in un punto del disegno.

“Nell'indovinello parlava di mala tempora.” Spiegò il cavaliere oscuro.

“E' latino, no?” Chiese lei. “Significa tempi bui.”

Batman annuì.

“Ma credo che fosse un indizio. Tempora come temporale. Lobo temporale.”

Il detective bussò sulla zona del cervello corrispondente al lobo temporale. Suonava vuoto.

“Che mi venisse...” Disse Catwoman, colpita. “C'era una falsa soluzione...”

Batman spinse la parte del disegno corrispondente al lobo temporale e questa si abbassò di alcuni centimetri, scorrendo poi lateralmente e rendendo visibile una scala a chiocciola di metallo.

La ladra alzò le sopracciglia, decisamente impressionata.

“Bel colpo, Bats.”

Lui si alzò in piedi.

“Stai guardando, Nygma? Veniamo per te.”

Gli altoparlanti si accesero di nuovo, per l'ultima volta.

“Io vedo tutto, detective.” La voce era bassa e tremante, sfiatata. Sembrava più squilibrato che mai. “Venite pure, vi aspetto.”

Batman e Catwoman scesero le scale. Lui aveva tirato fuori un batarang, lei la sua frusta. 

Erano pronti a tutto.

La scala li condusse a un breve tunnel. Lo seguirono e arrivarono a un ascensore.

“Non mi fa impazzire entrare lì dentro.” Disse Catwoman. “Avrei preferito delle scale.”

“Lo capisco.” Disse Batman. “Ma fidati di me. Nygma è così arrogante da credere che solo lui l'avrebbe usato. Ed è l'unica strada per passare. Andrà bene.”

“Speriamo.”

Salirono e premettero l'unico pulsante. Come aveva predetto Batman, non accadde nulla. L'ascensore salì e li portò su per alcuni metri.

Quando le porte dell'ascensore si aprirono, entrambi erano pronti a essere attaccati, ma non accadde. Invece, si trovarono a osservare l'incredibile centro di comandi dell'Enigmista. C'erano miriadi di schermi, tastiere, tavoli con componenti elettronici e meccanici, fogli, progetti e appunti. In un angolo, c'era un server, inequivocabilmente assemblato da Nygma stesso. E, naturalmente, c'erano ovunque punti interrogativi verdi.

Catwoman non lo disse, ma pensò che il posto era in effetti molto simile alla batcaverna. Una rappresentazione della mente del suo proprietario. Ma questo proprietario era chiaramente più instabile di Batman. 

Gli schermi e gli appunti mostravano trappole mortali e scritte rabbiose come IO SONO IL MIGLIORE o GOTHAM SI DEVE INCHINARE AL MIO GENIO. Tutto trasudava ossessione, compulsione, disagio.

E nulla era più inquietante del proprietario stesso, che se ne stava in piedi davanti agli schermi, dandogli le spalle. Era vestito con un completo verde, molto sgualcito. I capelli erano incolti e arruffati. In una mano, teneva il suo bastone a forma di punto interrogativo.

“Maledetti...” Sussurrò piano. “Non... Non dovevate uscire da lì. Era impossibile.”

L'Enigmista si girò, e videro che aveva occhi iniettati di sangue e profonde occhiaie.

“Nessuno fa questo a me!”

Il criminale gli corse incontro, brandendo il suo bastone, ma Batman aveva raggiunto il limite di sopportazione. Gli corse incontro a sua volta e parò il bastone, poi gli diede un potente calcio allo stomaco e lo fece volare attraverso la stanza. Nygma finì sui suoi schermi, distruggendone la metà. Il bastone rimase in mano a Batman, che lo gettò dietro di sé.

“E' finita, Nygma. Finita!”

Batman venne verso di lui e lo sollevò sopra la testa.

“Ora tu verrai con me al GCPD. Finirai in una cella a vita e se mai proverai a fuggire un'altra volta, io ti troverò di nuovo. E ti spezzerò ogni osso del corpo.”

L'Enigmista sanguinava copiosamente dal naso. Catwoman non prese parte al confronto. Era felice di aver aiutato fino a quel punto, ora si accontentava di vedere Batman che perdeva un po' le staffe. Era sempre uno spettacolo. E sapeva benissimo che non avrebbe esagerato. Tutti davano del boyscout a Superman, ma sotto sotto Batman non era da meno.

“Beh, ci hai provato, Eddie.” Disse la ladra. “Ma ora vieni con noi. Saluta le tue trappole mortali.”

Nygma neanche la guardò. Aveva occhi solo per il cavaliere oscuro.

“Quanta rabbia, detective... Perché ti prendi così a cuore quelle morti? Eccolo un enigma. Chi ti obbliga a fare tutto questo? Qual è la ragione dietro la maschera?”

Batman avvicinò il volto di Nygma al suo.

“Che tu lo accetti o meno, ci sono cose che non sei in grado di capire. Questa è una di quelle.”

L'Enigmista sogghignò, sprezzante.

“E non mi interessa capirle.”

Ora Batman esitò. Era arrivato il momento di chiederglielo. La domanda che lo assillava da quando erano arrivati lì e avevano scoperto che era lui il responsabile.

“Perché niente enigmi?”

“Che stai dicendo?” Disse Catwoman. “Ti sei dimenticato l'ultima ora?”

Batman scosse la testa.

“Le scene dei delitti. Le persone uccise da Merkel. Da Walker. Da Buchinski. Se era tutto parte del tuo piano, perché non hai lasciato indizi? Perché non c'erano indovinelli?”

L'Enigmista lo guardò, con un'espressione stranamente vacua.

“Perché, Nygma? Tu non sei in grado di trattenerti, lo sappiamo entrambi. Vuoi che la gente sappia che sei tu. Vivi per questo. Quindi, spiegami, perché questa volta è stato diverso?”

La faccia dell'Enigmista sembrò come spegnersi, la sua espressione divenne ebete per alcuni momenti. Entrambi gli eroi lo osservarono, perplessi. 

Poi, tornò vitalità nel suo viso, ma l'espressione era completamente diversa. Era un sorriso crudele, ma con un che di timido e insicuro. Un'espressione che Batman non pensava di avergli mai visto.

Nygma parlò, e anche il suo tono e la sua cadenza erano diversi dal solito. La sua voce era più flebile, quasi infantile.

“Ooooh... Vuoi un indovinello, Batman? Ma certo! Che ne dici di questo? Perché un corvo assomiglia a una scrivania?”

Ci fu un momento di silenzio.

“Che cosa?” Sussurrò Batman. “Che cosa hai detto?”

L'Enigmista si limitò a fissarlo, sempre con quell'insolito sorriso.

“Aspetta...” Disse Catwoman. “Questo l'ho già sentito... Non è da-”

“Alice nel Paese delle Meraviglie.” Disse Batman, allibito.

Il cavaliere oscurò avvicinò il volto di Nygma al suo, e ne studiò gli occhi.

“Jervis? Jervis Tetch? Sei tu?”

Catwoman spalancò la bocca.

“Tetch? Il Cappellaio Matto?”

Nygma rise piano. Rise, rise e rise con quel tono di voce che non gli apparteneva.

“Sei tu?” Gli chiese il detective. “Sei sempre stato tu?”

“Oh, sì, Batman. Proprio io. Non avevi pensato a me, vero? Nessuno di voi pensa mai a me...”

Catwoman si avvicinò ai due uomini.

“Dove... Dove sei?” Gli chiese la ladra.

“Oooh... Lontano. Molto, molto lontano da qui. Sono migliorato tanto, sapete? Ora posso controllare le persone da chilometri e chilometri di distanza.”

“Da quanto?” Chiese Batman. “Da quanto li controlli?”

“Settimane. Settimane e settimane. E' facile. Ed è stato facile avvicinarmi a loro. Pensano tutti che il povero Jervis sia una barzelletta, un povero piccolo fallito. Ma non lo dirà più nessuno, vero?”

“Loro sanno che li controlli?” Chiese Catwoman, che ancora non riusciva a credere alle sue orecchie.

“Oh, no. E' come se fossero da un'altra parte. Io li uso e basta. Alcuni li controllo in ogni aspetto, come Nygma in questo momento. Stessa cosa con Ragdoll. Eh! Eh! L'ho usato come un pupazzo. Non è buffo da dire? Altre volte, attivo una sorta di pilota automatico. Gli dico cosa fare e li lascio andare. Mi sono anche divertito a tirare fuori i loro istinti più profondi. E' stato divertente. Per Nygma, vuol dire le sue solite, noiosissime macchine mortali. Per Electrocutioner vuol dire tirare fuori tutto l'odio che covava per te. Hai visto come l'ha reso forte, Batman? E il piccolo Walker voleva essere uno dei grandi, un cattivo alla stregua di Joker! Beh, forse ora qualcuno se lo ricorderà. Povera piccola falena, morta non nel fuoco ma nell'acqua!”

Jervis ridacchiò, poi lo sguardo diventò serio.

“Ma ero io, Batman. Non avere dubbi, su questo. Sono io ad aver voluto quei morti. Questa è la mia storia, e se fossi in voi avrei molta, molta paura.”

Batman posò il corpo di Nygma su una sedia. Aveva ancora difficoltà ad accettarlo.

“Perché, Jervis? Perché fai tutto questo?”

“Prima l'esecuzione e poi il verdetto!” Disse crudelmente Jervis, citando il suo libro preferito.

“Perché?” Chiese di nuovo Batman, furioso. Avrebbe voluto scuoterlo, ma era inutile. Non era lì, avrebbe solo scosso un guscio vuoto.

“Curiosissimo e sempre più curiosissimo, non è vero Batman?” Rise Jervis. “Ma non avrai risposte, oggi. La tana del bianconiglio è ancora molto profonda.”

“Cosa st-”

Ma il contatto era stato interrotto. Nygma chiuse gli occhi e cadde, senza sensi, per terra.

In lontananza, debolmente, si udiva il suono delle sirene. Jim era finalmente riuscito a inviare degli agenti, a quanto pare.

Batman e Catwoman si guardarono, sconvolti. Nessuno dei due sapeva cosa dire.

La vecchia casa in legno era piena di scricchiolii e spifferi, ma quella stanza era calda e confortevole. Nel camino, bruciava un bel fuoco piacevole ed intenso.

La stanza era arredata con mobili del primo novecento e anche i quadri, i libri rilegati in pelle e i centrini ricamati evocavano quell'epoca. Questo era in netto contrasto con i dispositivi tecnologici sparsi sul tavolo e sulla scrivania. C'erano cavi, microchip ed elettrodi.

Nell'aria si udivano le note di una melodia tetra e angosciante, resa ancora più inquietante dal suono gracchiante del vecchio grammofono polveroso.

Jervis Tetch sedeva su una poltrona, dondolando le corte gambe, e sorseggiava il suo tè, assorto nei propri pensieri.

Il suo sorriso era crudele, eppure i suoi occhi sembravano estremamente tristi.

“Curiosissimo e sempre più curiosissimo...” Mormorò.

FINE CAPITOLO 5

The Magic Hour

Mary danced, surrounded by fairies. The sun was bright, joyful but not annoying or suffocating as it sometimes became during the summer. The flowers whispered around them, moved by the wind. There were so many colours that Mary couldn't name them all, and she knew at least twenty different colours!

Mary was seven, and this was her favourite time of the day. The magic hour.

During that hour, there was nothing but her world. A world of colours, light, joy and affection. Of fairies who dance with you and tell you that you are pretty. That you are good. That you can do everything.

Green valleys full of flowers. Of sweet and delicate winds that mess up your hair.

Everyone was kind in Mary's world.

Laughing, she saw a group of unicorns fly over her. "If horses fly, are they a herd or a flock?" she wondered absently. It didn't matter, they were beautiful and majestic.

Some things are so beautiful, in their simplicity, that no one could ever find anything to complain about. You can only admire them and rejoice in the fact that you exist with them.

Mary could never have said it in words, but she felt it in her heart. And this was definitely more important, wasn't it?

The girl ran, leaving the fairies behind. She wanted to go to the top of the hill. At the top of the hill, there was the diamond tower. And Retaf, her best friend, lived in the diamond tower.

Mary caught her breath, holding her sides. Nobody had ever taught her to breathe regularly when she ran, so she always got tired. But she didn't care, running through those meadows was too beautiful. How she loved the magic hour.

She knocked three times, as she always did. A few moments passed, then a low, booming voice answered.

"Who is it?" Said the voice.

"It's me, Mary!"

"Mary! Come in, come in! "

Happily, the little girl opened the door and entered. Rethaf hugged her, almost crushing her, then went back to making tea. Despite being a red dragon who was more than ten meters tall, Retaf loved tea. And pastries too, even hough they made him put on weight and made it more difficult for him to fly.

But Retaf didn't have to fly anywhere. Retaf was always there for her.

Mary sat down at the table. The dragon's tower had no rooms, it was a large stone parallelepiped, hollow and at least a hundred meters tall. It was at least twenty meters wide, so there was a lot of space. Retaf slept at the bottom of it, where he had everything he needed: storybooks that he read with Mary, gold, jewels, tea and pastries.

"How are you today?" Mary asked.

"Very well, my dear, very well!" The dragon replied. "You?"

Mary shrugged.

"The usual. Glad to be here. "

"How did school go?"

"Fine."

"What have you learned today?"

Mary thought about it for a moment.

"We learned that the capital of France is Berlin."

"I don't think that's true." The dragon replied.

"And how do you know?" She asked, amused. "You have never been to school."

"Dragons always know everything." Retaf replied, closing his eyes solemnly.

Mary thought hard, closing her eyes to concentrate.

"Cripes, you're right! Berlin is the capital of Germany! "

The dragon nodded, satisfied.

"Bravo. And what is the capital of France? "

Mary closed her eyes again.

"Is it ... Is it ... Paris?"

The dragon applauded, then brought over tea and pastries. Mary ate them voraciously. As always, they tasted like the best thing in the world.

"Retaf, can you tell me one of your stories?"

The dragon sat down beside her (the earth trembled), sipping his tea. Mary waited, knowing that Retaf would answer her once the sip was over. Retaf was a true purist in this. He always said that humans don't know how to make tea properly. When dragons brew tea, they brew tea. When humans did it, they made hot, dirty water. This was what Retaf said, and Mary believed him blindly.

The dragon had a thousand different types of tea, including those that his dragon friends from China had given him, but strangely when Mary was there they always drank Earl Gray. The most common and easy to find brand.

The dragon finished drinking, then looked at the large sundial that hung on the wall.

“Okay, I'd say we still have twenty minutes, before- Of course, I'll tell you a story. Would you like an epic story, a sad story or a romantic story? ”

"Can't we have all three?" Mary asked.

"Only a great storyteller could give you all three." Retaf said solemnly. "You're lucky to know me."

So Mary spent the following twenty minutes listening to the epic deeds of a wandering knight, an ancient war and an unstoppable love. Retaf could tell stories like nobody else.
He told her how the knight's beloved had been kidnapped by a chimera, and taken to the underworld. He told her how the knight had one eye, having lost the other during the snake war. He told her how the knight's world was shrouded in darkness, and how this darkness could only be vanquished by killing the chimera.

Then, just as Retaf was starting to tell her the story of how the knight had forged his magic sword, they heard a sound. It was low and unpleasant. Both recognized it immediately, with sadness. Mary would always imagine big black clouds covering the sun, when she heard it. It was like a horrible storm, which came at the end of every magic hour.

"It's him.." Retaf said. "The ogre. He's back."

Mary looked at her watch. It was two in the afternoon, almost on the dot. She always hoped he'd be late, but it rarely happened.

The sound went down and stopped. The ogre had finished parking. Mary started to cry.

“Retaf, can't I stay here with you? Just this once?"

Retaf hugged her, crying himself. Dragon tears were golden, bright and absolutely beautiful.

"Oh, my dear. How I'd like that. I'm sorry. I wish I could always protect you, not just during the magic hour. "

The sound of the door opening came from downstairs.

"Mary!" An unpleasant and slurring voice screamed. "I'm back!"

Mary sobbed. He was drunk again. She didn't know how he managed to drink so much, between when he left work and when he got home, but he managed to do it almost every day.

However, Mary did not respond to her father. Slowly, she stopped clutching the dragon-shaped doll and stepped out of her box. It was a simple cardboard box, which she had coloured green using crayons.

Quietly, she put the box and the dragon back in the closet.

"Mary! Are you there? You better not be playing in that fucking box! You're too old for that! And there'll be hell to pay if you brought the pastries to your room! "

The heavy footsteps of her father began to be heard as he climbed the stairs. As always, Mary would have liked to hide, but as always there was nowhere to hide.

The girl sat on the bed, trembling, hoping that he wouldn't hurt her too much, that day. She wanted to see Retaf again. She wanted to hear how the knight's story ended.

The door to her room opened, and her father entered. He smelled of alcohol and sweat, and had an unkempt beard.

"Here you are, little bitch." He told her. "Why didn't you answer me?"

Mary said nothing. She no longer answered him. It made no difference, and she also did not want to give him the satisfaction.

Mary closed her eyes. The magic hour was over.

THE END