A prickle of suspicion halted him in his tracks. Where was she, so late at night?
Moving past the open door, he walked down the hall. The first door he came to was a utility closet. The second, a study, empty save for a walnut antique desk and red easy chair. The third was a pastel-hued guest bedroom. Apparently, a guest had been using it for some time.
The pink chaise lounge was covered with scattered newspapers. Dirty clothing lay in wadded heaps on the yellow rug. The bed was unmade. Empty beer bottles huddled on the nightstand. The room smelled like an old ashtray that someone had forgotten to clean.
A pile of photo albums lay on a yellow bed pillow. Wayne flipped through them. Instead of photographs, each page held a newspaper or magazine clipping. The subject of each clip was the same. Batman. At the back of the last album were several sketches of a Batman costume.
Who would be living with Alice and keeping a record like this? Someone who also came to masquerades, uninvited, impersonating a masked vigilante?
Frustrated, Wayne threw the books down on the bed. The house was empty. His quarry had gotten away, possibly stopping to pick up his accomplice, the gracious Mrs. Chilton.
He was at the landing between floors when a harsh beam of light snapped on. He froze.
“Isn’t it a bit late for trick or treat?” said a rusty tenor voice.
The light pinning Wayne down came from a flashlight. Behind its glare, he could just make out the pointed ears of a Batman mask.
“Who are you?” he demanded. “If you’ve hurt Alice in any way . . .”
“Hurt Alice?” The impostor sounded astonished. Then he laughed. The sound had a high, thin tone that climbed swiftly toward hysteria. “Are you nuts? Why would I hurt Alice? You’re the one who’s breaking and entering.”
“I’m not the only one. You have no right to be here.”
Again, the laugh.
“I have every right to be here,” ‘Batman’ said. “But that doesn’t matter. You’ve made it so easy for me, Wayne. Very thoughtful. I should thank you.”
“What do you mean?”
The flashlight beam was pulled back. Now Wayne could see a snub-nosed pistol pointing directly at him.
“Eccentric millionaire robs his own guests at fancy masked ball. Breaks into home of noted philanthropist to rob her as well. Discovered and shot in the act. It’s perfect.”
The madman’s tone was gloating, triumphant.
Wayne played for time.
“Who are you?”
“Just call me Batman. Soon, everybody will.”
“How did you get in here?”
“What difference does that make? I remind you, I’m holding a gun on you.”
“But you really don’t want to use it.”
“Oh, but I do.”
‘Batman’ tensed, took aim.
“No! Don’t!” cried a woman’s voice.
As he fired, a blurred figure cut in front of Wayne and fell back against him, propelled by the force of the bullet, knocking him to the ground. Aunt Alice.
“Damn you!” the false Batman cried. “See what you made me do!” He fired again, wildly, and bullets tore through the silk wallpaper above Wayne’s head. Then he turned and fled upstairs. The light retreated with him.
For a moment, Wayne lay there, stunned, with Alice slumped against him. She’d taken the bullet meant for him.
Come on, man, move.
He set her gently against the wall, groped his way to the hall light switch, and flicked it on. She half lay, half sat, eyes closed. A dark red stain was widening across the front of her rose-colored nightgown.
Tenderly, Wayne knelt and touched her face. She stirred, opened her eyes.
“Bruce? Dear boy, is it you?”
“Yes. Don’t try to talk.”
There was a trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth. Wayne’s insides turned to ice.
“Let me call an ambulance . . .”
“No time. Did you catch that phony Batman?”
“Dammit, Alice . . .”
He tried to set her down, but she clung to his lapels with surprising determination.
“Hush. I’m done for. That’s all right. As long as you catch him. He came rampaging in here . . .”
She paused, coughed raggedly, bringing up blood.
Wayne cleaned her lips with the edge of his sleeve.
“Alice, let me get a doctor.”
“Hush, dearie. Almost through. Catch him, Bruce. I know you can do it.”
Wayne stared at her, astonished.
“What do you mean?”
Alice gave a feeble chuckle. “Don’t play innocent with me, boy. You never could. It takes the real thing to catch an impostor.” She leaned back and closed her eyes. Her voice was barely a whisper. “This crime fighting—good job. Parents would be proud.”
She opened one eye, feebly touched his face.
“But what about love, Bruce? Don’t forget love.”
With a sigh, she was gone.
Wayne put his head against her shoulder, tears slipping from beneath clenched lids.
What about love? The little he had known of it lay lifeless in his arms, gone forever.
He pressed his lips to his aunt’s forehead and set her down gently, taking care not to touch the seeping wound in her chest.
Tears turned to rage.
The Batman impostor would regret this evening in spades before Wayne was through with him.
He raced up the stairs.
‘Batman’ was in Alice’s bedroom, opening the French windows that led out to the deck. Night wind caught the sheer curtains, swirling them about the gunman, ensnaring him long enough for Wayne to cross the room.
His first blow knocked the impostor against the doorframe. His next doubled him over. ‘Batman’ wobbled, taken by surprise. Then he straightened up.
“You can’t hurt Batman,” he cried, and smashed his fist into Wayne’s collarbone.
Wayne staggered backward, the wind knocked out of him. The impostor tore loose from the curtains and dashed past, through the bedroom door and out into the hall.
Come on. Get up. You’re not going to let a phony Batman get the best of you, are you?
Gasping, Wayne half ran toward the stairs.
‘Batman’ was on the landing. In a moment, he’d be out of the house. Free.
Wayne bent at the knees, jumped, and catapulted himself over the railing. He came down two steps in front of the masquerader, cutting him off.
Savagely, Wayne launched a flying kick and caught the gunman in the shoulder, knocking him into the wall.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“I told you,” the impostor said, gasping for breath. “Batman.”
The words were maddening. How could he be so crazy? With renewed fury, Wayne pulled him to his feet and flung him against the banister.
“There is only one Batman,” he said coldly. “You’re either a lunatic or an impostor. And a murderer!”
“Liar!”
For a moment, the gunman struggled in Wayne’s grip. Then, seemingly exhausted, he relaxed, hanging his head.
That’s better, Wayne thought. He pulled one hand back to wipe sweat from his chin.
With a violent heave, the impostor butted Wayne under the chin, shoved him aside, and ran down the stairs.
Got to stop him before he gets to the car, Wayne thought. He took the stairs in threes, praying for balance. For time.
The impostor had pulled the front door open.
From five stairs up, Wayne leaped. He tackled ‘Batman’ hard, knocking him to the floor. Desperately, they struggled. The impostor seemed to have endless reserves of mad energy.
He kicked Wayne in the knee. Then he punched him savagely, a sharp blow to his kidneys.
Gasping, almost paralyzed, Wayne fell back. He heard the sound of footsteps moving up the stairs. Now what?
“I’ll prove to you I’m Batman,” the impostor shouted. His voice was high, wild.
&nb
sp; Still immobilized by pain, Wayne opened his eyes. ‘Batman’ was pulling a cord out of his utility belt. It glittered oddly.
“Sure,” he said. “You think I’m just Joey, Alice’s son. But I’ll prove it to you. I’ll prove it to everybody. I’m really Batman.”
Alice’s son? Wayne winced. Now he remembered. Her eldest son. Suffered from delusional episodes. Institutionalized years ago. Wayne had forgotten all about him. The whole world had. But Alice must have brought him home.
“I’m going to escape by swinging out the door,” Joe Chilton announced. “That should convince you. Only the real Batman could do that.”
He prepared to lasso the crystal chandelier with his glittering rope.
“You fool,” Wayne cried. “Don’t! Wait!”
The cord hooked around the light fixture. Faceted crystal teardrops danced and tinkled crazily. There was a flash. A pop. Joe Chilton screamed and kicked convulsively, like a puppet being jerked upward by its strings. A plume of smoke rose from the chandelier, and then the light went out. ‘Batman’ tumbled forward, over the banister, down to the first floor, landing with a thud. He didn’t move.
Slowly, painfully, Wayne pulled himself to his feet. His kidneys throbbed. His knee felt like it was on fire. With one hand on his lower back, he limped over to where Chilton lay, taking care to avoid the dangling rope. He didn’t have to touch Chilton to know the truth. He was dead. Electrocuted. That shiny rope was metal cord.
The impostor lay on his back, his blue silk cape rayed out under him. The missing jewels lay by his side, jarred out of his pocket in the fall.
Again, Wayne had the uncomfortable sensation of looking at himself, dead. His head swam strangely. He felt a chill.
I’m alive, he told himself fiercely. I’m Batman, and I’m alive.
Taking hold of the blue silk mask, Wayne yanked it upward. For one eerie moment, he almost expected to see his own face revealed. The face behind the mask was sharply featured, though, with high cheekbones and sandy hair. It didn’t even remotely look like him.
But the suit was a good copy.
Straightening up, Wayne lifted his head toward the stairs where his aunt lay and blew her a kiss.
Then he picked up the phone and called the police.
The Batman Memos
Stuart M. Kaminsky
MEMO FROM: David O. Selznick
TO: All Executives, Selznick International Studios
DATE: December 14, 1942
Follow-up projects to Gone With the Wind and Rebecca are moving much too slowly. Submit reports immediately on status of projects. Did we ever get the copyright on Mein Kampf? What about the ghost novel? Is Ben Hecht wrapped up? And what about the Batman story discussed at the Friday meeting? Is there something there? Is it a hoax? Harry, what about the rights? Is Walter back from Gotham City? Did he bring the clips? Ed thinks Errol Flynn would be willing to play Batman, but it would take a trade with Warners and they might want too much. Let’s get some action on this one before MGM picks up on it. Fleming says he would consider directing but I think it’s more a Woody Van Dyke project, which means another deal with MGM. Ivan, where is the report on Joan Teel? Have your people found her? We have four more weeks of shooting on the Leslie Howard movie. Jess tells me she has two more scenes that can be shot on the last day. If you don’t turn her up, we’ll have to have a fast rewrite. Has anyone gone to the police with this? Ivan, if you don’t turn her up by the 6th, go to Murchison in the Los Angeles Police Department and ask him to make some discreet inquiries. Or should it be discreet? What does publicity think about letting the information get to the press? Good promo for the Howard movie? Bad taste? Feedback on this one. What’s going on with Phyllis Walker name change?
MEMO TO: David O. Selznick
FROM: Walter Schlect, Story Development and Rights
DATE: December 17, 1942
Batman is the real thing. I interviewed Gotham City’s Police Commissioner Gordon, who’s high on the guy and suggested I talk to Bruce Wayne, one of the town’s social and business leaders. Wayne is into textiles, construction. Inherited a bundle and keeps his investments local. Wayne’s a little stuffy, lives with a kid about sixteen whom he calls his “ward.” Setup seems odd to me but so does the whole setup in Gotham. Wayne claims to be able to make contact with Batman and says he can get Batman to let Wayne represent him. Wayne didn’t seem too interested in the whole deal but he said he’d be willing to talk. I’ve attached some newspaper pictures of Batman and his kid sidekick, Robin. We’ve got nothing in color but I’ve had Sheila in art fill in. I’ve also asked Dr. Benjamin Pinesett at U.C.L.A. to send you a psychological profile on Batman based on the clips and interviews attached. I billed the trip and profile to my department. A copy of the billing report is attached.
MEMO TO: David O. Selznick
FROM: Ivan O’Connor, Security
DATE: January 3, 1943
Nothing to report on Joan Teel. Check of her apartment indicates she hasn’t moved out. Clothes are still in the closets. Food in the refrigerator. I’ve talked to Lieutenant Murchison of the Los Angeles Police Department as you requested. He is making inquiries.
MEMO TO: David O. Selznick
FROM: Benjamin Pinesett, M.D., Ph.D.
Professor of Psychiatry,
The University of California, Los Angeles
DATE: January 4, 1943
At the request of Mr. Walter Schlect of your story department and based upon (a) biographical information provided by Mr. Schlect, (b) newspaper and magazine clippings also supplied by Mr. Schlect, (c) photographs, and (d) interview transcripts provided by Mr. Schlect, I can draw some tentative, but only very tentative, conclusions about Batman. I would be happy to interview Batman if and when he is available for a more conclusive study at my usual fee. As you will note, the bill enclosed takes into account that Mr. Schlect informed me that the report was needed urgently and his insistence that the report be no more than three pages. I therefore worked on it over the New Year weekend. I will also include a few observations concerning the disappearance of Joan Teel, which Mr. Schlect also mentioned to me and for which he supplied me with studio biographical information and a private investigator’s report.
It is my opinion about Batman that we are dealing with a case of infantile fixation combined with a Messianic complex. The two often accompany each other as your experience and mine with actors will bear out. Whoever this man is he is fulfilled only by wearing a Halloween costume. Fortunately, this need to hide his identity behind a costume is combined with a belief that his intervention is necessary to protect the city of Gotham from criminals. I say “fortunately” because under other circumstances such a man might well become a transvestite or join the Ku Klux Klan or, to put a better light on the situation, he might join an institution or organization that would allow him to wear a uniform—the police, the postal service, hospital service. However, such institutions would not allow him to preserve his identity. That the man is, in lay terms, mentally disturbed is self evident. What disturbs me even more is that the entire community of Gotham City including the Police Commissioner has embraced and supported this delusion, allowing “Batman” to not only feel that he is above the law but give him structured support for such a delusion. It is possible that such an unstable personality will eventually lose the distinction between right and wrong. Untreated and unchecked I would say institutionalization is inevitable. What disturbs me even more is that he has enlisted a young man in his delusion. The damage may already be great for the young man.
Note that Batman is garbed in the dark vesture of a bat, a night creature. Note the shape of the costume, the cowl as helmet, the dark phallic imagery is undeniable. In contrast, Robin is identified with a vulnerable bird, a bird of light hues. The relationship is dangerous.
My recommendation is to enter into no negotiations or correspondence with this man other than to suggest that he seek professional consultation which, I am sure at this point, he will not seek.
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As for the Joan Teel situation, I’d suggest you place a call to her parents’ home in Dixon, Illinois. It is not unusual for a 20-year-old girl in her first pressure situation—a 20-year-old girl who has been nurtured, supported, and given awards and prizes by parents and those surrounding her in a small, isolated community—to find the pressure too great and simply return to the “womb.”
MEMO FROM: David O. Selznick
TO: Walter Schlect, Story Development and Rights
DATE: January 7, 1943
Our boys are dying around the world. I think they could use a Messianic hero. The whole country can use one and F.D.R., while he fills the emotional need, doesn’t address the physical. I’ve called Bruce Wayne in Gotham City and said the same thing to him. I think I’ve persuaded him and he is willing to make the trip to Los Angeles to discuss the project and to bring with him a letter of consent from Batman. Wayne has even indicated an interest in investing in the project and serving as consultant. Danny has talked to Errol Flynn. He is definitely interested. I’m not sure what our alternatives would be. Gable is an Army private. Ty Power is a Marine private. Hank Fonda is a sailor, and Van Heflin has just been drafted.
MEMO TO: David O. Selznick
FROM: Ivan O’Connor, Security
DATE: January 7, 1943
Joan Teel did not return to Illinois. Dead end here. Lieutenant Murchison of L.A. police is checking girlfriends, boyfriends. So far, nothing. Might turn into a touchy one. Check of unidentified DOAs and hospitals has also turned up nothing.
MEMO TO: David O. Selznick
FROM: Harlan Turkbekian; Turbekian, Zimmer and Kitt,
Attorneys
DATE: January 8, 1943
We’ll have to move cautiously on this one. I’m not sure the signature “Batman” on a contract will be legally binding since, we assume, Batman has another, legal identity. We have done our own profile on Bruce Wayne of Gotham City. He is, indeed, a man of both substance and, apparently, integrity. In spite of his considerable business interests, there has never been a major suit brought against him or any of his companies. If Bruce Wayne is willing to sign a contract or letter of indemnification holding him responsible should “Batman” bring suit or contest any movie, book, play, or story based on his exploits, we feel it safe and reasonable to proceed. It is also my opinion that in case of litigation Selznick International could claim that Batman’s exploits are in the public domain. In that case, however, you might be compelled to present a past exploit of Batman drawn from newspaper and other accounts rather than create a fictional tale. Ross Zimmer and I will both be available after Friday for further discussion on this.
The Further Adventures of Batman Page 17