“So,” Helena said. “Do you think you’re ready?”
Martha nodded. “I have to see him,” she said, resolute. “Whatever brought me back here, I’m
sure Bruce is the reason. But are you sure you want to do this?” She shot a pointed glance at the taller
woman. “I know I just got here, but I don’t get the impression that you like taking risks. This could blow
your cover straight to hell.”
Helena shrugged. “I’ve thought of it. But I don’t really think it’ll be a problem. Why would he
suspect anything? And I can’t very well let you do this on your own.” She flashed a sardonic grin at
Martha. “Like you said, you just got here. This city’s murder on the ignorant.”
Martha nodded soberly. “It always has been,” she said. “And thanks.”
“No problem,” Helena said. “Now let’s get going. Bruce Wayne’s not an early riser from what I
here, but we’d better get there early unless he has plans.” She tossed her coat on and handed the spare to
Martha, who slipped it over her borrowed dress.
“Do you know if he still keeps Alfred Penneyworth as his butler?” Martha asked, as Helena
opened the door and they stepped outside. “He was like a member of the family when Bruce was growing
up, and I remember hoping that he’d be able to take care of Bruce.” Helena saw Martha’s expression
darken as she thought of the moments before her death. Martha was composed now, but still visibly shaken
by her recent experience. And it was no wonder. Her death may have occurred so long ago that it was
forgotten by most of Gotham, but for Martha it had been only yesterday. And the circumstances of her
ressurection were enough to make anyone’s mind reel.
Helena shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. She blew out her breath, exhasperated. “I don’t
believe this!” she said. “I simply cannot believe that I’ve accepted this so easily. I mean, how the hell do I
know you’re who you say you are?” She turned to Martha, almost accusing.
Martha shrugged, obviously miserable. “You don’t,” she said. “I don’t really believe it either.
Maybe I’ve fallen asleep and I’m just dreaming all of this- God! I hope so!” And she shook her head.
“But it feel so real- and if it’s real, what else am I supposed to do?”
Helena sighed. “I don’t know either. Come on,” and she opened up the door of her car. “Let’s
go.”
On the drive, Martha stared out the window, entranced by the passing streets. “It’s changed so
much!” she said. “So many buildings, and the people!” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I could never
imagine something like this. My God this is really happening.”
Yeah, thought Helena. I guess it is. “So what were you doing out there anyway?” she asked
Martha. “On that street, I mean. Before it happened.” She was trying to keep the conversation light, but
she couldn’t seem to find anything that wouldn’t come back to the present situation.
Martha smiled. “Tom and I- we were taking Bruce to a movie at the theatre. World premier of
“Zorro.” Bruce loved Zorro, wanted to be him when he grew up.” She shook her head. “I wonder what he
has grown up to be. He’d be. . .forty-six now. God.” She was silent for a moment, then asked, “What do
you know about him?”
They were out of the inner city now, heading out into the suburbs. The houses got grander with
every passing block. “Not much,” Helena said. “Mostly just the common knowledge.” She wondered how
much to say. Martha might not be pleased by the kind of man her son had turned out to be. “He’s very rich
of course, his investments have done wonderfully in the last forty years. He’s one of the ten richest men in
the world. Never been married, no known children, though he’s cut a wide swath through the local
beauties.” She coughed, but Martha didn’t seem too disturbed. “He’s very well known for his contributions
to charity, especially anti-crime groups. He’s a fixture at police department fund raisers and was one of the
main contributors to Harvey Dent’s campaign for DA, years ago. He never mentions what happened, at
least not in public, but it clearly affected him very deeply.”
"He was always a quiet child," Martha murmured. "And private. I worried-" she broke off, and sighed.
"Here we are!" Helena said, pulling up to the front gate of Wayne Manor. When it didn't open for them, she stopped beside an intercom box, on a pillar beside the door. As they rolled over the pressure strip, it hissed to life. "Welcome to Wayne Manor," a cultured, english voice emerged from the speaker.
Martha drew in a sharp breath. "It's Alfred!" she said.
The voice continued, "If you have an appointment to see Mr. Wayne, please wait and we will be with you momentarily. If you would like to make an appointment, please call during regular business hours. If you have an urgent matter that needs to be attended to immediately, please stay on the line and we will be with you momentarily."
The speaker turned off. Martha chuckled a little to herself. "Well," she said, "That answers one question." She shook her head. "He's changed. He never used to sound so english!"
"What happens now?" Helena asked. "It sounds as though they don't like unnanounced guests."
"But there's still a system for dealing with them. So we wait. They won't leave us hanging for long, I'm sure."
