Capítulo 260: Chapter 169: The Long Easter (Part Nine)_1

In the windless cold night of Gotham, the air around the cathedral seemed to be frozen into a sheet of transparent ice. The icy moonlight projected from the top window onto the statue of Jesus, dragging a long cross shape on the cool-colored floor tiles.

In the middle of the cross was a giant crack in the old church floor. The crack, like an abyss, cleaved the shadow of the suffering Jesus.

A subtle light emanated from the crack, as if something was faintly floating underneath, and on the ground; the cross pointed in two different directions, and there were two different figures.

On the left, Batman was serious-faced and tense in his muscles. Although he still stood straight, you could see he was poised ready to strike.

Opposite him was Evans, kneeling, his head low. In the obscure moonlight, his expression was indiscernible.

In mid-air, a gauze-like cloud floated across the moon, and the moonlight from the window, like plucked guitar strings, intermittently brightened and darkened.

A shroud of shadow covered Batman. His mask cut eyes, the blue iris's pattern turned into uneven hands. With the moonlight darkening again, and the hour hand rolled back more than half a circle, everything returned to ten hours earlier.

Cobblepot stood in front of the old house cabinet, watching his mother rooting for a pile of dusty old objects. Cobblepot walked to his mother's side, reaching to grab her arm to support her, to help her stand up.

Madam Kolbott swatted her son's hand away. Cobblepot was somewhat helpless; he asked, "Mother, what are you really looking for? We've already searched through all of the closets in the house."

Behind Cobblepot was a floor strewn with miscellaneous items; not only was the central living room cluttered, but the bedroom's entrance was also piled up with various rags.

"I want to find the umbrella, the umbrella! It's raining -- need to open an umbrella..."

Cobblepot fetched the umbrella from the chair beside him and handed it to his mother. Yet Madam Kolbott continued looking through the lower level of the cabinet as though she hadn't seen him.

From night till day, and from dusk till dawn, it was not until Madam Kolbott was drained and returned to rest that Cobblepot had time to tidy these old objects.

In recent days, Madam Kolbott's condition had improved; she was no longer so aggressive, but she'd become increasingly eccentric, turning over the household objects every day. Cobblepot couldn't stop her; all he could do was to follow and clean up after her.

He knelt on the ground, using one knee to prop up his body. He then picked up the surrounding objects and put them back into the cabinet.

Located under the bookshelf, this cabinet mostly held old Cobblepot's collections, such as picture frames and candlesticks. Although these things weren't worth money, when Madam Kolbott was lucid, she would take these items out to polish them and remember Cobblepot's father.

Cobblepot was trying to place the last picture frame back on the top shelf of the cabinet when he noticed something obstructing, preventing the frame from being completely shelved and the cabinet door from closing properly.

Cobblepot thought initially that earlier stored items were not aligned, so he reached into the cabinet to rearrange. However, he realized that deep in the cabinet there was something akin to an envelope

Cobblepot took out the envelope. Covered with copious amounts of dust, under the faint light in the living room, he used his fingers to brush the dust off and found an elegant cursive lettering on it: "To Cobblepot..."

Cobblepot frowned. He was sure he had never received such a letter before and no one would send such a formal letter to a penniless lad.

The envelope was made out of delicate Doreen Paper, the English handwriting on it was crisp, with no sign of ink smudging.

Cobblepot turned the letter to the front. The wax seal had been broken. Seeing the seal on the envelope, Cobblepot felt somewhat familiar.

Upon opening the envelope and taking out the letter, he saw a familiar signature: "Carmine Falcone."

It was an invitation to a funeral from the Godfather.

The writing was very brief -- just an invitation for Cobblepot to attend a funeral. The letter was written by Carmine Falcone, and the funeral was to be held at the Gotham Cathedral.

Cobblepot briefly glanced over the invitation. the handwriting indeed belonged to the Godfather, however, something peculiar was that under the text of the funeral invitation, there was a note in small letters: "Please be sure to attend, otherwise, I will personally pay you a visit."

Cobblepot narrowed his eyes. He had not forgotten that his father died in the rain while attending the funeral of the Godfather's eldest son.

But this invitation felt quite strange.

It's rare for anyone to write such a formal invitation for a funeral, let alone the letter writer being the deceased's biological father.

Cobblepot had seen the Godfather's handwriting before. He noticed that on this invitation, Falcone's handwriting was exceptionally calm, fluent, not at all resembling an old man who had just lost his oldest son.

Furthermore, that line of small print, it was entirely threat-like. Who forces others to attend a funeral?

Cobblepot vaguely recalled the day after his father's return from the funeral, a high fever struck him. His body was burning hot, and he laid in bed, deliriously unable to muster a coherent sentence.

The doctor diagnosed pneumonia, but before he could be taken to the hospital, he was dead. Cobblepot received no last words from his father and, consequently, had no knowledge of the funeral he had attended.

But this invitation stirred doubt in Cobblepot.

He reconsidered his exchanges with Evans. Cobblepot was a skilled persuader and extractor of information. In his interactions with Evans, he had subtly probed for information about the mysterious eldest son of the Godfather, but obtained nothing useful from Evans.

Cobblepot crouched in front of his cabinet and began to speculate based on the information he had. Before the death of Alberto, Evans must have already been born, though their age difference was unclear, there was a period when they must have lived together.

What puzzled Cobblepot was the fact that Evans' descriptions of his elder brother were abstract and often contradictory. For instance, Evans had mentioned that Alberto was a hardworking and ambitious individual, an undeniably gifted genius, the very model of a natural successor. However, Evans also said that Alberto was often despondent due to his inability to fulfill the tasks set by the Godfather. As per Evans' accounts, the most frequent occurrences were the arguments between Alberto and the Godfather.

The unexpected discovery of this invitation at home revived Cobblepot's doubts about his father's death. With this doubt in mind, when he returned to his room at Arkham Mental Hospital, he began to subtly guide Evans during their casual chats to reveal more information.

"Last time you said you wanted to join the university basketball team, you must have been playing basketball since your childhood, right? It's really impressive..."

Cobblepot laid on the bed and turned into a new position, his voice full of admiration, "I envy families with multiple children. Siblings are natural playmates. I used to see two brothers living at my street's corner playing soccer in the alley from time to time. Your brother must have played basketball with you, didn't he?"

"He..." Evans instinctively wanted to reply, but he paused when the words reached his lips. He sat by the bed, staring listlessly. Cobblepot asked him, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing... nothing..." Evans shook his head, "I just can't remember clearly. I distinctly recall having a good relationship with my brother, and I suppose we must have played together, but when I think back on it, I can't recall anything."

"I'm sorry for being presumptuous, but I found an invitation letter at home yesterday. It was a request from the Godfather for my father to attend your brother's funeral. You probably attended your brother's funeral, didn't you?"

"Funeral?" Evans mouthed the word, then sat at the edge of the bed, lost in thought. After a long silence, he said, "I guess... I'm sorry, but my childhood memories are blurry. I honestly cannot recall what transpired then."

Evans sighed, "My mood has been bad lately, and I've been having nightmares. It might have affected my memory."

"One is currently unable to enter Gotham Cathedral, meaning I can't pray. This irritates me. I also have not seen the old priest for a long time. I used to enjoy sharing my thoughts with him."

Evans looked upset. Cobblepot said to him, "Have you considered writing to him?"

Evans shook his head and said, "The situation in Gotham Cathedral is severe. There's a huge hole in the floor, and the repairs will take time. Given the potential risks posed by the construction works, the old priest has moved elsewhere, and I don't know where he lives now."

"But you are the Godfather's son, can't you find him if you ask around?"

Evans considered and said, "Actually, I don't really want to disturb the priest; after all, he seldom gets a vacation."

"But with Easter, such a grand occasion approaching, his inability to deliver sermons in the cathedral probably makes him feel lonely, doesn't it? If you have a good relationship, why not keep him company?"

After pondering for a while, Evans said, "You have a point. I'll ask someone to look for him. If we find him, he could spend Easter with us at Falcone Manor."

"Your relationship with the Godfather…"

"Actually, it's not as bad as you assume." Evans sighed slightly and said,"The Godfather isn't concerned about my ambitions, he's concerned about me lacking them."

"But for some reason, whenever I face him, especially when we're in a serious discussion, I always have this sense of urgency. It feels like I desperately want to say something to him, but I can't verbalize it."

"In his presence, I always overreact. It's strange because I'm not like this when I interact with my classmates or teachers."

"Before I got admitted into this hospital, this situation worsened. There were several instances in which we nearly had a row. I suspected I might have some psychological issues, so I sought Professor Shearer."

"So, hence you're here?"

Evans nodded and said, "It seems, in retrospect, I am not sick. I just tend to overthink and struggle with emotional control."

"If medical means are unable to soothe your emotions, you might want to seek solace in your faith." Cobblepot said to Evans, "Even though I don't believe in God, you're a devout believer, and perhaps, everything will get better on Easter?"

"I hope so."

With the deepening moonlight streaming through the window, Cobblepot heard Evans whispering his prayers, the sound echoing endlessly in the silent ward, inducing a wave of sleepiness.

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