by Jason Starr
Then she said, “If you knew this the entire time, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t know, not until yesterday,” Thomas said. “And I still don’t know—not for certain. I’m just speculating.”
“Yesterday?” Karen asked. “What happened yesterday?”
Thomas told her about the robbery at Wayne Manor, and his suspicion that the man in charge of Pinewood had orchestrated it. He told her about the Picasso, the damage to his study, and the documents that connected him and Karen to Pinewood.
“Why are you assuming that Pinewood people robbed your house?” Karen asked. “That painting is worth a fortune. It could’ve been anyone.”
“Professional art thieves wouldn’t have done the damage they did, wouldn’t have risked being caught in the act,” Thomas said. “There had to be something else they expected to find. I think they expected to locate the files.”
“In your walls?”
“They might’ve suspected that I had them hidden there.”
“Where do you have them hidden?”
While Thomas felt close with Karen, and trusted her enough to share secrets with her, he couldn’t tell her about his secret office. He had too many secrets down there. Absolutely no one could know of its existence, or about its contents.
“Let’s just say they’re in a safe place,” Thomas said, “but the fact that I was followed here today, just a day after the robbery, makes it clear that no place is entirely safe. The man in charge—he’s fishing, trying to find out what I might possess that I could hold against him. Survivors would be the greatest threat to him, the ultimate proof of his past sins, if he was planning to restart the program.”
“So he hired a hit man to kill me,” Karen said.
“Maybe not specifically you,” Thomas said. “That depends on whether or not he knows what happened to all of the rest. He may not even know that you’re still alive—he may have thought this was where I kept the evidence. Wallace’s instructions may have been to eliminate me, and anyone he found with me. Until he saw you, he may not have been aware…” He almost said, “Of your deformity,” but stopped himself in time.
“Do the police know about any of this?”
“No, the police think it’s all about a robbery, that’s it… They have no idea about anything related to me, you, or Pinewood, and I intend to keep it that way… No one, not a soul, other than me knows anything about your connection to any of this.” Thomas realized this last part wasn’t true.
“Well, except one person.”
Her eyes went wide and accusing.
“There’s a private investigator, by the name of Frank Collins,” Thomas said. “He’s a man I trust, who’s worked for me for years.”
“And he knows about Pinewood?”
“Only what he needs to know.” Thomas hesitated. “But he knows about you.”
“What did you tell him?” Karen sounded panicky.
“Don’t worry, he doesn’t know any specifics,” Thomas said. “He just knows there’s someone from my past whom I’ve been protecting. But he doesn’t know where the cabin is, or any details about your past.”
“Does he know my name?”
“Yes.”
“For God’s sake, Thomas.” With her non-clawed hand, Karen picked up the music box, the Christmas present Thomas had given her, and cocked her arm as if preparing to throw it.
“Don’t!” Thomas yelled.
She stopped herself and placed the music box back on the end table.
“How dare you,” Karen said. “My safety is at stake. You shouldn’t have told anyone—not without asking me first. I don’t know anything about this man, but he knows enough that I could be killed.”
“Frank is one hundred percent trustworthy,” Thomas said. “Seriously, the man used to be a Gotham City Police Detective, and is the best there is. I had to hire him, to find the painting, and find out if the robbery was related to Pinewood. It’s doubtful the police are trying very hard, but they still might stumble upon something that could lead them where we don’t want them to go. It’s imperative that we get there first, and cover our tracks.”
“It’s true,” she said. “If the police find out about Pinewood, it could ruin you, and Wayne Enterprises would go down with you.”
“You’re right,” Thomas said. “It would.”
“See, then, this isn’t really about me.” Karen stood, glaring down at Thomas. “It’s never been about me, has it? Who am I? Some ex-con, some mistake you made that you need to hide. You treat me like you got me an abortion or something. You hide me away, pay my expenses, and it’s all fine as long as I stay a secret. As long as I remain silent.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“Do I?” she said. “And how do I know that? Because you come visit me once in a while, throw me a bone, act like you enjoy these visits. When I can see it in your eyes—the regret, the shame, the guilt. None of this is about me. It’s about you, and your company, and your reputation.”
“No, it’s not… it’s about all of those things,” Thomas said. “Of course I care about Wayne Enterprises, and the jobs that would be lost, and lives that would be affected if something happened to the company. But I’m also doing all of this to protect you.”
“Well, judging from today, you’re doing a great job of it.” She crossed her arms, placing the normal one awkwardly over the claw, and looked away.
“Can you sit down, please?” Thomas said. “You’re making me nervous.”
“You’re nervous?” Karen remained standing. “How do you know your private investigator isn’t in on it?”
“There’s no way Frank would—”
“You said he knows about Pinewood.”
“Yes,” Thomas said, “but he doesn’t know the details.”
This wasn’t true—Frank knew just about everything.
“You told him about the robbery, about a possible connection to Pinewood, and then you were followed here. You don’t think that’s a coincidence, do you?”
Thomas considered this—for a moment. Could Frank have betrayed him? No, the only guy in Gotham whom Thomas trusted more than Frank was Alfred.
“I understand the way you feel,” he said. “Someone tried to kill you today, so of course you’re nervous, but you have to trust me on this.”
Karen began pacing.
“Okay, so whether your PI is on it or not,” Karen said, “this is just this beginning. Wallace followed you here. He could’ve called someone, told them I’m here, and—”
“I don’t think we have to worry about that,” Thomas said. “I checked Wallace’s phone, and he hadn’t contacted anyone for more than an hour before he died. Service is so bad up here he couldn’t have contacted anyone, even if he’d wanted to. What I’m trying to say is you’re safe, Karen. I’m confident that no one knows you’re here, except me, and it’ll stay that way.”
“So what do you expect me to do now?” she said. “Pretend this never happened? Go on with my wonderful life in the great outdoors?”
“Well, there is a bright side to all of this,” Thomas said.
“Oh, really?” Karen said. “Do tell.”
“If Frank can find evidence that links Pinewood to the robbery, and we keep the details about the experiments out of it, then whoever’s responsible could get a long prison sentence. That means you wouldn’t have to hide here any longer.”
“Oh, that sounds wonderful,” Karen said. “Maybe I could get a steady job… at a circus. Or, better yet, at a freak show.”
Karen went into the kitchen. Thomas followed her. He knew her well. She wasn’t crying—she’d never cried around him, but he often wondered if the tough girl act was just for show, if she cried all the time when she was alone.
“It doesn’t have to be that way,” he said.
She had her back to him.
“I’d help you get through it,” he said. “I’d get you counseling, I’d get you any help you need.”
&
nbsp; “You’ve paid your penance, Thomas.” Her voice was harsh. “I formally absolve you of any responsibility you’ve had, relating to everything that went on at Pinewood. You can go on with your life, you can stop coming here.”
“Come on, Karen, you know I’d never stop—”
“You almost get killed today,” she continued. “You need to protect your family, not me.”
“But you are… you know how I feel about—”
“Your real family. I don’t have a family. I killed my family, remember?” Her voice rose until she was shouting. “Now just go—leave me the hell alone!”
Thomas didn’t want to leave her like this, when she was so upset.
“Come on, Karen. Let’s just go back into the other room and—”
She turned around and raised her clawed hand, as if about to slash him with it.
“Get the hell out! Now!”
Thomas didn’t think Karen would attack him, but something in him refused to make him sure. She looked so… vicious. She had killed before, after all. Maybe her parents hadn’t thought she was capable of murder, either.
Thomas backed away.
“Fine, I’m going, I’m going.”
She remained with her claw raised, looking just as dangerous, perhaps exhibiting the traits of whatever reptile DNA Strange had introduced into her system.
“I’ll check in with you tomorrow,” Thomas said. “Get some rest if you can, you’ve had a difficult day. And I just want you to know—I care about you very much, and my feelings are genuine.”
No response.
Thomas left the cabin. Dusk had set in, but he had no trouble finding his way to his car. Somehow the country air didn’t feel as refreshing as it had earlier. He was looking forward to returning to the bustle of Gotham and, most importantly, seeing Martha and Bruce.
Usually when Thomas left, Karen came out to the screened-in porch and waved goodbye until he disappeared from view. This time she didn’t come out.
“See you soon, Karen,” he said to himself, and he waved goodbye to her anyway.
TEN
Later in the evening, Alfred Pennyworth met Thomas at the front door. From the road, Thomas had called home and said he would be “leaving the office soon,” and that his “day ran late.”
“Good evening, sir,” Alfred said.
He glanced at Thomas’s T-shirt. As a former Royal Marine, he recognized when something seemed amiss. As a butler, he recognized when to keep his mouth shut.
“How did your business go today?” he continued. “I hope it was a fruitful day for you?” He feared that his tone leaked subtle sarcasm, but he maintained his professional demeanor.
“It went well, thank you,” Thomas said. “It’ll be nice to have a more relaxing Sunday.”
“It’s supposed to be a sunny day tomorrow, so that should get the week off to a good start at least.” He gestured toward the study. “The repair work’s done, do you want to have a look?”
“Yes, let’s see how it turned out,” Thomas said. He followed Alfred through the door.
“Impressive,” he said, giving a low whistle. “If I didn’t know what had happened here, it would be almost impossible to tell.”
“Yes, except for one major exception,” Alfred said, glancing at the spot where the Picasso had been.
“Hopefully we’ll have Le Picador back, as well, very soon,” Thomas said.
“The police haven’t had any luck, I presume?”
“Haven’t heard anything as of yet.”
“I visited Nigel at Gotham General today. He thanked you for the get well package you sorted for him.” He made sure to keep his expression neutral, but doubted his employer was buying it.
“I’m sure I made great selections,” Thomas said. “How’s Nigel doing?”
“He’s had better days, I reckon. Lost several teeth, can’t open his eyes. He said he doesn’t have the foggiest idea who attacked him, doesn’t even remember most of it. It’s a nigh miracle he remembers his bloody name. I know you have your doubts, Mr. Wayne, but I don’t. I’m certain he’s telling the truth.”
“I know you have great instincts, Alfred,” Thomas said. “One of the main reasons I hired you—aside from the way Bruce feels about you—is that you’re great at reading situations. So if you vouch for Nigel, I’m with you. The question remains, though, how did the thieves breach the security system?”
“The most obvious answer is that they got the information from the horse’s mouth itself, so to speak,” Alfred said. “Someone at Wayne Enterprises.”
“I guess I didn’t want to go there,” Thomas said, “hoping it wasn’t true. But it looks like I may have a rat to sniff out.”
“Did you hurt yourself, sir?” Alfred was looking at Thomas’s neck.
“What?” Thomas asked. “Why?” Then he glanced in the antique oak-framed mirror to his right, and saw the blood that was there. There was no way around it. Alfred knew blood when he saw it.
“I must’ve cut myself shaving,” Thomas said.
“What a shame,” Alfred said, but he didn’t believe it for a minute. Thomas Wayne paid him well not to ask too many questions, though. Nevertheless, it was bothersome.
“Well, if there isn’t anything else you’ll be needing, I’m going to turn in,” he said, giving a quick nod and heading toward the door.
“One thing,” Thomas said.
“Yes?” Alfred stopped. “What’s that?”
Thomas seemed to struggle to find the right words, then said, “If anything ever happens to me or, God forbid, me and Martha, I want your word that you’ll be Bruce’s guardian until he’s an adult.” He paused, and then added, “You’ll receive generous compensation of course.”
Alfred didn’t know quite what to say. This was quite out of the blue. After a moment he decided it was better to say little, and listen carefully.
“This is in your wills already, isn’t it?” He knew it was.
“Yes, but to hell with wills,” Thomas said, and he seemed quite intent. “I want your word, Alfred.”
“Did something happen at… work today? Something that I should know about, sir?” He watched Thomas intently, waiting for an answer.
“No, it was just, well, business as usual,” Thomas said, but he still seemed to be grasping. “This is just something that’s been in the back of my mind, gnawing at me for a while, and I suppose the break-in last night got me thinking about it again. We’re living in a dangerous world, here in Gotham, and things don’t always work out as planned. I mean, the carnival always ends, right?”
“Yes, indeed,” Alfred said. “Unfortunately that is always the case.”
“Well, I just want to be prepared for the unforeseen,” Thomas said. “As you know, after Bruce was born, I didn’t hire you to clean house and handle our lunch appointments. I could’ve hired any butler in Gotham for that. I hired you because you connected with Bruce the moment you met each other, and because of your, well, unique set of skills.
“I’m not a fool, Alfred,” he added. “I was aware of the direction this city was heading and I knew that, unlike the Waynes of previous generations, Bruce would have to rely on far more than his name and fortune. He’ll be a target someday—people are going to come gunning for him—and he has to learn how to fight. Both literally and figuratively. You’re my secret weapon, Alfred. Martha and I are depending on you. So is Bruce.”
“Well, I’m flattered, Mr. Wayne, and honored,” Alfred said. “Let’s hope the carnival lasts for a very long time indeed, but I promise you that I’ll look after the boy, and respect all of your wishes. You have my word.”
“That’s all I needed to hear,” Thomas said.
* * *
After Thomas rinsed the remaining blood off his neck in the kitchen, he went up the winding stairwell. He was about to pass Bruce’s room when he caught a glimpse of his son standing in front of the mirror, shadowboxing.
Thomas stopped and watched him for several moments, admiring the b
oy’s determination and focus. Then Bruce saw Thomas watching him, and stopped punching the air.
“Don’t stop, Bruce,” Thomas said, “you’re on a roll.”
“I don’t really know what I’m doing,” Bruce said. “Just imitating what I saw on TV tonight. Alfred and I watched the fight.”
Abruptly Thomas remembered that he’d promised to watch the Williams-Sanchez fight with him.
“I’m so sorry, Bruce,” he said quickly. “My meetings ran late at the office and I couldn’t get home in time.” He hated lying, especially to his son, but in this case he had no choice. Bruce could never know about Karen.
“It’s okay, Alfred told me you’d be late,” Bruce said. “It was a great fight. Williams knocked out Sanchez.”
Thomas recalled that Frank had bet on a fifth-round knockout.
“What round?” Thomas asked.
“Third,” Bruce said.
Ouch. Thomas chuckled, thinking, Well, maybe going against your instincts wasn’t such a great idea after all.
“What’s so funny?” Bruce asked.
“I have a friend who was hoping for a fifth-round ending.”
“Why does it matter?” Bruce said. “I mean Williams is still the champion, isn’t he?”
“It only matters to the gamblers,” Thomas said. “Did you have your tennis lesson today?”
“Yes.” Bruce couldn’t have sounded less enthused.
“I’ll have another talk with your mom,” Thomas said, “see what we can do about boxing lessons, if you’re still interested.”
“Oh, I’m still interested,” Bruce said. “That would be awesome.” He gave his father a hug, and they said goodnight to each other. As Thomas left the room, the sounds he heard coming from behind said that Bruce had returned to shadowboxing.
He continued along the wide hallway, with its lavish red and maroon Oriental carpeting, coming to the master bedroom. Martha was in bed, reading from a book on the fall of ancient Rome. When Thomas entered, her quick glance told him she was angry with him. She didn’t need words.
“I’m sorry I ran so late today, honey,” Thomas said. He leaned between her and the book and kissed her, wincing from a muscle he’d pulled when digging the hole for Scotty Wallace’s body.