Dick went down to Bruce’s private study; Bruce wasn’t expected home for at least three or four hours so he wouldn’t—with any luck, be disturbed. He booted the laptop, put in Bruce’s passwords and went on a search to see what he could find.
It didn’t take long.
There is a separate folder under ‘photos’ were hundreds—hundreds—of pictures of Selina both as herself and as Catwoman. There were any number of articles scanned and placed there as well. Going to ‘documents’, Dick found more articles stored as well as what looked like cut and pasted e-mails between the two, love letters, jokes, flirting little IM’s. It was as close as Dick could imagine to a high school crush if you could up the literacy rate between the participants and
Christ, what was he—in love with the woman? And since when?
Picking the security lock on the bottom desk drawer, he pulled out an album and slowly leafed through the pages. There were a series of cut and pasted and photo-shopped images carefully pasted into the book and telling the fictional story of a life together.
Here were early pictures, high school from the looks of them, showing Bruce in a football uniform and Selina as a cheerleader. A snap of her curled up on a couch holding a cat followed by a doctored image of the two of them at some zoo, standing in front of a family of cheetahs. College, both of them with arms around one another and wearing school sweatshirts proclaiming that ‘Wildcats are number one’. Vacations on some beach, Bruce and Selina’s heads on some other bodies.
News reports about Batman and Catwoman. Lots of reports about Batman and Catwoman.
Fake headlines about their courtship and wedding with Bruce in his new Armani tux, the one he just got a few months ago and Selina in some obviously custom while gown, cats subtly woven into the lace.
The last page of pictures were a pretend tabloid story about their Tahitian honeymoon, smiling at the cameras. Jesus.
He put the book back where he found it and looked through the rest of the desk, finding Bruce’s mother’s engagement ring in a velvet box. It never came out of the safe—usually, anyway but here it was.
Shaking his head, Dick was replacing everything where he’d found it just as Alfred came into the room, showing no surprise at seeing the young master going through Bruce’s personal property and invading his privacy. “Did you know about this, Alf?”
“I had hints, yes, but it seemed to be fairly harmless, almost like an infatuation so I let it go.” Alfred checked to make sure the desk looked as though no one had been near it.
“How long has this been going on?”
Alfred almost shrugged, but stopped himself just in time. “A year or more, I believe. It’s been getting worse the last few months, though.”
Dick was stunned by what he’d seen and just been told; he’d had no idea. None. But this explained why he’d been so distraught by her death. “Do you think Catwoman knew?”
A nod. “I have reason to believe she did, yes. She seemed to be amused by it and enjoyed tormenting him, leading him on and the like.”
Dick just shook his head, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“And what would I have said? Add to that the simple fact that it, quite simply, was none of your business; if he wanted you to know, he’d have told you.”
“I had no idea.”
“Another reason not to say anything, wouldn’t you agree? He was clearly functioning as well as ever; I didn’t see it as a problem and something which would likely resolve itself in time.”
“But he’s not acting normally now.”
“I would suggest, Master Dick, that you allow him some time to get his footing back under him. Be as quietly supportive as you’re able and I suspect that he’ll be himself soon enough. Now, I think we should both leave his study and I recall you mentioning some homework.”
* * *
Bruce had told both Alfred and Lucius that he had some personal business to attend to, not mentioning what it was and neither of the men asking. In fact he had taken the old jeep, the one they used for plowing the driveway and hauling around the estate and simply driven, clocking in over three hundred miles of back highways and country roads before stopping by a field upstate. There was a herd of cows trying to get to the hay on top of the snow some farmer had thrown out for them and they milled around a smallish area to eat. Crowded together, Bruce wondered if they did that to stay warm or just to get as much of the food as they could.
He sat in the small car, dressed in a pair or jeans dating back to college and one of his father’s old dress shirts. He hadn’t bothered to shave today. His cell phone had rung at least a dozen times, he ignored it until finally annoyed, he’d tossed it out the window as he crossed a bridge.
Selina.
She’d been in his thoughts for months. He’d imagined, dreamed about a life with her, tried to think of everything he could that might make her happy. In fact, that was why he’d just made that donation this morning, seventy-five million dollars in trust to the World Wildlife Fund for the preservation and protection of the world’s big cats. He had specified sanctuaries, breeding programs, upgrades of zoo facilities and lawyers to make sure that international trade of their skins would be outlawed. He’d also put enough layers between him and the money that it would be given privately and he remain anonymous; that had been one of the only conditions of the gift. Selina would have liked that.
He watched the field a little longer, long enough that the farmer came out to bring in the cows for their milking. The man walked over to the car and peered inside. “Mister? You all right? You been sitting out here a long time.”
Bruce opened the window, “Fine, thanks. ‘You mind if I sit here a while?”
“No skin off me, but wouldn’t you like to come in and warm up? ‘Cup of coffee, maybe?”
Well, “…If you’re sure it wouldn’t be an imposition.”
“’Wouldn’t ask if it was. ‘You pull around to the yard and knock on the door, Martha will let you in.”
“I’m Bruce, by the way.”
“Tom. I’ll be in as soon as bring in the girls here.”
Twenty minutes later Tom found this Bruce person sitting at the kitchen table, laughing at something Martha was saying and seeming to having a high old time. “So, you just passing through or you from around here, Bruce?”
“You know how you have one of those days when you just don’t want to go to work? I was in my car, headed to work and decided ‘the hell with it’—turned right instead of left and found myself here.” He picked up his coffee cup. “I think I made the right choice.” He’d left Gotham without stopping to eat and just then his stomach sent out a loud rumble. “’Sorry.”
Martha was up, checking on the chicken in the oven. “If you don’t have anyplace better to be, you’re welcome to help us eat this bird. ’Should be ready in another half hour or so unless you have your missus or somebody waiting for you.”
“It smells great and no, no one’s waiting. But you’re sure I’m not in the way? Honestly, I can just go to that diner a few miles back.”
“Oh don’t be stupid. You’re here now and you might as well stay, you don’t look too dangerous.”
He smiled, warmed by the welcome and the change from his regular life. “What can I do to help?”
“You ever peel a potato?”
By the end of dinner Tom and Martha believed that their unexpected guest was one of those wanderers who showed up now and again, either trying to forget something or to find something they’d lost. He seemed nice enough and had that veneer of manners you’d expect from some city folks. Well spoken, clearly intelligent and with the uncalloused, soft hands of someone who probably hadn’t done much manual work.
But he seemed harmless enough.
“Y’know, Bruce, if you don’t have anywhere else to be, I could use some help around here for a while. ‘Since Brian—that’s our boy—went off to that fancy college of his, I’m shorthanded. ‘Can’t pay much, but you can stay in his room and we could feed you, if that’s all right with you.”
The man seemed genuinely moved by the offer, taking a moment to regain composure before he replied. “I don’t have much farm experience, but I’ll do whatever I can to help for a while. Thank you.”
A couple of hours later Tom and Bruce were sitting on the porch, sharing a couple cans of beer before bed. “You’re taking a chance letting me stay here, Tom; you don’t know me from Adam. I could be a serial killer for all you know.”
“Are you?”
“Well, no.”
“’Didn’t think so. You need a job; I need another pair of hands. ‘Isn’t complicated. Go on and get some sleep, we get up at five to start the chores.”
* * *
Two days later Alfred didn’t admit to Dick that he was worried. While it wasn’t unusual for the master to become scarce while he worked on a case, it was odd for him to simply disappear with no word. Mr. Fox had called earlier that morning wondering if Mr. Wayne would be coming into the office today as there was a rather important vote of the Board scheduled. Several comments Dick made indicated that was as ignorant of his guardian’s whereabouts as the rest of them, though he seemed unconcerned and to be taking it in stride.
The old jeep was gone.
A search on the tracking computer showed that Bruce had either removed the normal GPS locator, it was turned off or that it had become disabled. Calls to his cell phone were all sent straight to voice mail and unreturned.
Alfred became increasingly convinced that something might be seriously wrong.