Suddenly, a face flickered before Elliot's eyes - the sole survivor among all the massacres he had committed: the little girl, Bellika.
The string of homicides he'd committed during his escape were outbursts of rage. He had a mentality: the more someone causing him trouble resisted, the more he was inclined to rebel against their will. All the more so when that someone was the Federal Bureau of Investigation, who was hounding him for the murder of his parents. So why not exterminate the parents of more individuals, or even more than just the parents?
He didn't intentionally let the little girl survive. Her parents had claimed she was attending a winter camp up until their deaths. Even when he dug out the husband's heart in front of his wife, they didn't utter a word about the whereabouts of their hidden daughter.
It was only after learning from news reports of a survivor did Elliot realize that there was someone still alive. Some unscrupulous tabloid journalist, driven solely by gaining exposure, had revealed Bellika's survival without regard whatsoever for any retaliation she might suffer, thereby alerting him of this loose end.
And just like that, the idea of using Bellika as a bargaining chip to threaten Batman, who was hot on his trail, occurred to Elliot. Successfully executing this plan earned him his current status.
If anyone had irrefutable evidence to accuse him, it was Bellika. This little girl could have borne witness to the entire process of him murdering her parents and, more crucially, his act of threatening Batman.
Having been kicked out, Elliot didn't have access to the Wayne Family's resources for his defense. Once the jury sympathized with the girl and believed her, he would inevitably be sent to jail. When that happened, Amanda would surely execute him in the most gruesome way possible.
No, that couldn't happen. Elliot, trembling from head to toes, reflected on his efforts over this period. Although things weren't going in his favor, there was still a slim chance of turning things around. But if he's jailed, his game would truly be over. He must find a way.
And in order for him to survive, Bellika had to die.
Elliot swiftly got inside the stolen car, racing towards his next destination. He knew he needed to kill Bellika before the Federal Bureau of Investigation managed to take her away, and perhaps someone could tell him where the girl was.
While it's a long way from Gotham to Kansas State, the journey wasn't too long if one ignored wear on the car and drove non-stop. By the time the dawn broke again, Elliot had arrived at the residence of the tabloid journalist who'd disclosed Bellika's survival. He extracted the girl's new address from him.
He left the journalist bleeding without confirming whether he died, for time was against him.
When he finally got to Bellika's residence, he was panting heavily. With his fists clenched tightly around his gun, he had planned to knock on the door and then gun down all living beings who answered it. Yet, nobody answered the door despite his persistent knocking.
Elliot knew he would soon attract the neighbors' attention if he continued like this. This wasn't a place off-limit to the Federal Bureau of Investigation. He had to act fast.
Without delay, he scaled the balcony of the second-floor apartment. Through a slit in the curtains, he saw the door of the opposite room was open, and there was a lump on the child's bed, which indicated that Bellika was likely still asleep. The person currently looking after her had probably stepped out for errands.
Elliot picked the lock and tiptoed through an empty room. As he stepped into Bellika's room, he raised his gun to aim.
"Bang!"
The bullet pierced through the quilt, but there was no reaction, no bleeding, no screaming, and no death.
"Bang!"
Another shot was fired, but this time, Elliot was the one shot — a bullet had drilled straight into his right scapula and lodged in his lung. The excruciating pain made him scream, and he staggered and fell to the ground.
Across the room, a blonde girl who appeared to be just over ten years old held a gun in her hands. With tear streaks on her face, she looked at Elliot.
"Damn murderer, die!"
The voice was tender, filled with the tremble of suppressed sobs. It sounded pitiful yet helpless, contrasting sharply with the death knell rang out by the gunfire.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Red blooms of blood sprouted all over Elliot's body. Only when she had fired all the bullets did Bellika finally drop the gun before collapsing onto the floor in a fit of tears.
Noisy commotion ensued from the entrance, where Amanda and a group of agents stormed in. Seeing the scene inside the room, everyone immediately understood what had happened. Amanda rushed to hold Bellika, saying,
"Don't be afraid, don't be afraid, child. It's not your fault, you're a brave hero. You avenged your parents, this damned murderer got what he deserved!"
She then gritted her teeth towards the agents behind her, "Call a doctor! No not paramedics, no one needs immediate help here. This damned murderer is dead! Call a psychologist! What a bunch of useless good-for-nothings, hand me a phone!"
"Hello, Professor Shearer, I have some very unfortunate news. Elliot broke into Bellika's house to attack her... No, thank the lord, Bellika wasn't injured. This brave young girl has excellent gun skills, possibly from hunting with her father. The murderer got the punishment he deserved."
"Yes, she may have some psychological trauma, which is why I'm calling you. Do you know any child psychology experts? Alright, let me write down what you say..."
In the office of Shiller at the New Arkham Mental Hospital, after jotting down the phone number, he hung up the call. He looked at Bruce and asked, "Did you manipulate a 11-year-old girl to murder?"
"I didn't manipulate her, and it's not murder."
Bruce looked out the window, his mind reaching back to that day. After Elliot had left in his moment of triumph, Bruce, his face bleeding profusely, held the sobbing and convulsing Bellika. He had whispered words that he would never forget.
"I have never spoken of vengeance. I just told her that the fact I gave up my identity, scarred my face, and chose to stand beside her goes to show the extent to which I love her, as much as her parents did."
"That is to say, no matter what she does, my love for her will never waver."
"Isn't that the essence of manipulation? Love and security?"
As Bruce gazed at Shiller, his deep blue eyes seemed to hold a tempest within. In the morning light that shone through the window onto his body, amidst the play of light and shadows, Shiller could discern the extended bat wings spreading wide from the long scar on Bruce's back, casting an immense shadow.
The day a batling leaves the nest in such chilling early morning isn't too late.
From this point onwards, with his powerful wings honed from the moment he uncloaked himself, he could create a fearful shadow and also break free from the shadow to soar under the sun. He could fly in the vast expanse of the sky as well as retreat to his dark yet warm nest to rest.
This bat of the nest would carry a lone lamp across the abyss, allowing countless eyes lost in the darkness to glimpse a faint light.
Every endeavour of Shiller's was solely to enable countless knights and forsaken children, who, although he had never met, shared the same fate, to stay one more night awaiting the break of dawn in the rotten wooden boat.
If there's no dawn in the future, at least they could spend the final night in the comforting glow of this lamp, enjoying a beautiful dream.
(End of Volume II - Bat of the Nest)