The Fall

CHAPTER ELEVEN: BAT IN HELL THE CAPED CRUSADER fired up the Batcycle and burned out of his lair. He'd spent the past four hours searching every corner of his hideout but had turned up no further surprises. Then he'd changed all the entry systems and locks - yet still he didn't feel safe. Jet had done more than capture Robin. She'd now stolen his most precious secrets. He dreaded to think what else she knew. All thoughts of capturing the villainess had now been swept from his mind. She had to be silenced. Alien as it was to his nature he now knew she had to be killed. But first he had to find her. And his one hope was still Zenith. The tracking device had revealed him moving wildly around the city over the past day which Batman took to be a sign he was carrying out instructions and searching for information on Jet. It had now settled and was blinking its location as at an apartment block in mid-town. Batman couldn't get the vision of Jet laughing as she prowled through his home out of his head. He knew she was carefully taunting him, trying to make him lose his mind but the more he tried to resist it the more aware he became that she was getting to him. Her taunting, grinning face was still in his mind as he pulled up outside the apartment and cut the engine. The green light indicating the location of Zenith's tracker was blinking wildly on the map in front of him. He pulled out the portable scanner and strode inside. Ignoring the lifts he made his way up the emergency staircase to the first floor. The green light's rate of blinking increased. Batman carefully walked along the corridor until the blinking became a solid green blob as he stood outside a wooden door marked number 11. He bent his head forwards listening intently but could make out no noise. Tensing himself he lifted his foot ad crashed it into the door. It gave way instantly and flew open. Batman strode in and then stopped aghast his fists clenched in fury. Before him was a life-sized, coloured cardboard figure like those used in cinema promotions. It was Jet dressed in a tight Lycra top and shorts with her arms folded and a satisfied grin on her face. At her feet lay the body of Zenith his face contorted into a hideous grimace. Placed carefully on his forehead was Batman's tracker device. To the Caped Crusader the message couldn't be clearer. It was Jet's jeering way of showing him just how superior she felt - how she could continue to lead him a merry dance until she was ready for whatever plans she had for him. Batman stepped forward, let out a roar of anger and smashed his fist into the self-satisfied cardboard face. It snapped into two pieces and fell to the floor just as a familiar laugh echoed around the room. "Oh dear Batman," mocked Jet. "Another wasted trip for you. But at least you can handle Zenith's funeral details for me." Batman span round to see the iPod sat in its speaker dock on a shelf. "I think you owe him a decent send-off," continued Jet. "After all, you killed him. He wouldn't be dead if you hadn't asked him to find me. "Weren't you man enough to do it on your own? Or are you just too stupid?" Batman stepped forward and reached out to grab the player but stopped as Jet's voice rang out again from behind him. He whirled around again to see another iPod lodged in the corner of the room. "By the way my little plaything," she cooed. "While you were here I decided to borrow the Batmobile. I thought I'd take Robin for a spin to get him all revved up before I give him another fucking. Maybe we'll do it in the front seat. He does it anywhere for me. But then, he does anything for me nowadays." Her laughter filled the room again as Batman stood stock still almost unable to take in the latest assault on his senses. He screwed his eyes tight shut as he listened to Jet's laughter subside. It was replaced by another message. "Just a few hours now Batman. It will come when you least expect it. Do stay awake my darling." Batman could hear his heart beat through his body and felt as though a tidal wave was surging around his ears. Jet's voice was becoming a frightening precursor to agony in his tortured mind. He was so disorientated he failed to hear the whirr of the loft door sliding open above him. But his nostrils couldn't escape the stench as a tide of excrement, urine and blood flowed down on him in a cascade from on high. He staggered forward retching and then lost his footing on the soggy mass slipping onto his side into the hideous morass. Jet's gleeful tones harangued him from above. "Eat shit piggy boy," she taunted.