Villains • Bruce Wayne

Chapter 1 - Both Idiots

   The buzzing of my phone against my thigh distracted me for only a moment as the nurse recounted her concerns about Walter Whitmore. I didn't have to check to see who it was that was calling me though - my father had been trying to reach me since the clock hit midnight and the day turned into October 1st - my 24th birthday. Whether he was reaching out to offer me a gift or even a simple card, I didn't want it because I knew that wherever it was coming from was nowhere good. 

   "Are you sure you want to take him?" the nurse asked, eyeing me up and down and likely judging me for the Celine dress I had chosen to wear that day. It felt like an appropriate choice in Metropolis, but here on the outskirts of Gotham, I stood out like a sore thumb. "No offense, but your recovery center doesn't exactly seem like the kind of place that can deal with a man like Walter Whitmore."

   Although her words stung, I did not allow my face to reflect it. Especially since I knew exactly where she was coming from. Health Bridge Recovery Centre didn't exactly have the best reputation, not when the immediate client list consisted of a dozen nepotism kids who'd gotten their hands on coke a few too many times. The over-the-top facilities and accommodations didn't exactly help either. What I had thought would be high selling points had turned my center into a pretentious hideout for the rich parents of Gotham's finest to ship their kids off across the harbor into Metropolis, away from prying eyes. Although helping them - helping anyone - brought me joy, it was people like Walter Whitmore I truly wanted to help. People who had lost their way.

   "I assure you, we're more than capable of making sure he's in good hands," I answered with a smile. And it was the truth. After all, I was the one paying for the highly esteemed medical professionals. 

   "He almost murdered his wife," the nurse said slowly. "I'm not sure someone in your position understands what that means. He doesn't need art therapy or hydro flasks or whatever your Rich Bridge center is offering. He needs real help."

   Again, I did not allow my face to reflect what I was feeling, but I wasn't going to stand around and take her criticism either. "Look," I sighed, slumping my shoulders. "I'm here because an informant of mine let me know that your facility is way overbooked and they're going to give up his spot to let in someone else who they think needs this more. So it's either Hydroflasks at Health Bridge or the streets of Gotham." 

   The nurse narrowed her eyes at me but didn't seem surprised. Judging by her reaction, she knew this to be a common occurrence. Not just at this facility, but in all of Gotham. The rehab and recovery centers were flooded with patients and waitlists that were poorly supported by a limited number of doctors, nurses, and caregivers who were overworked to the core. Worse, the sheer number of criminals who cried insanity over a prison sentence and stole spots away from people who actually needed the help stretched into the hundreds. Gotham's streets were drowning in mental illness, drug overdoses, and criminals, yet my facility across the harbor functioned at quarter-capacity. And why? Because Gotham chose to ignore the problem and Metropolis refused to implement a system that allowed people whom they didn't deem fit into the city. 

   "You're going to escort back a murderer?" the nurse asked, her face contorting into one of judgment as she eyed me again. But it wasn't because of my dress this time. It was because she didn't think I could handle him. 

   "He's not a murderer," I said. While it was true Walter Whitmore would have likely killed his wife had it not been for law enforcement interfering, it was also the case that his wife, Ingrid, had been abusive toward him for over a decade; that Walter Whitemore had been diagnosed with severe PTSD from his years enduring her berating. And to blame Ingrid would be to overlook the fact that she too had endured an abusive upbringing and a job that took more from her than it could give. Yes, Walter Whitemore could have been a murderer, but he was not a bad man - he was a broken one, torn down by Gotham's failure to serve its people.