Chapter 4891

"I can tell." Tim, driving through the rainy night, held his phone and said: "A normal person wouldn't be running around alive and well after being soaked like a corpse all day, then come to report to the police. Someone's after him? More like the thief crying 'stop thief!'"

After hanging up, Tim drove straight to the police station. The station was still brightly lit, but few people were around. Most had gone to disaster relief or to calm the public. Otherwise, Tim wouldn't have been called back. He was the only one with nothing to do.

The rain outside was heavy. Tim tightened his trench coat. But after entering the station, the coat was still soaked and shiny everywhere. He had to take it off and hang it up, felt his gun at his waist, then walked toward the front desk.

As he approached, he saw a slightly plump middle-aged man standing there. Tim froze. Having seen so many corpse photos, this was the first time he'd seen a living person, and it felt a bit off. Brand looked utterly ordinary, with nothing remarkable about his appearance.

"Oh God, you finally came." Brand said, "Brainiac insists only you can handle my situation."

"We probably don't know each other," Tim said, "Of course we might have met before. But I've never examined you medically. Do you know who I am?"

"Tim Drake, you live at Wayne Manor. I'm friends with Xilei, so naturally I know you." Brand's excuse was flawless, but Tim just felt something was off.

"Alright, pleasantries can wait," Brand said, "Someone's after me. I need your and Brainiac's help."

"I don't understand what you mean." Tim looked out at the weather, "In this weather, even the professor would go home to sleep. Who'd be after you in this storm and flood? How could they even track you?"

"I don't know," Brand said, "I don't know how he'd come after me, but he definitely will. I hope you can protect me."

"Then tell me why you think someone's after you," Tim sighed, as if forced to ask.

"You don't think this is my hallucination, do you?" Brand couldn't help but say, "I'm a psychiatrist. I don't have persecutory delusions."

"Hard to say," Tim replied briefly.

"I came to Gotham to hide from my enemies," Brand said.

"That's not strange," Tim nodded, "Unless forced, outsiders usually don't come here."

"My enemies are coming now."

"Why now?"

"How would I know!" Brand grabbed his hair, saying, "He comes when he wants. If I could stop him, I wouldn't need to hide here."

"What makes you think he's coming?"

"I heard the wind," Brand said.

"Then why didn't you run earlier?"

"I did run. But the plan went wrong." Brand took a deep breath, "Now I didn't escape. So I need your help."

"How do you want us to help you?" Tim asked, hands in his pockets.

"Where is Xilei now?" Brand asked.

"I don't know, probably at home." Tim wasn't telling the truth, just saying casually, "With this rain, everyone should be home."

"But I heard Gotham University has been evacuated."

"You've heard a lot of things."

"I want to see Xilei."

"I can't take you there," Tim said, "First, it's night, the professor might be asleep. Second, we're police, no warrant, can't just barge in. Third, even if we went, I couldn't bring you—what if you're a psychotic killer?"

Brand's expression said: "You wanna hear what you're saying?"

Tim gave a half-hearted shrug: "How about this—wait till morning, I'll have Brainiac check if the professor evacuated and where, then bring you to see him. Sound good?"

"No, I must go now," Brand said, "I'm his friend, I won't hurt him—why can't I see him?"

"That's the problem," Tim said, confused, "You're his friend, want to see him, why go through us? Just call him or go to his place yourself."

"No," Brand said, "My enemy might be watching Xilei. If I contact him, he'll immediately find me."

"So your enemy knows Xilei? Then going to see him should be fine, right?"

"But in front of Xilei, he wouldn't dare touch me."

Tim's eyes lit up: "So you want to stay with Xilei to avoid your enemy killing you. But if your enemy and Xilei are that close, going to him might just get you killed by both of them."

"No way," Brand said, "I have some history with Xilei."

"I don't see it," Tim bluntly said, "Just now I told him you reported someone after you, but he looked unconcerned, said nothing, and let me leave."

"I must see him," Brand insisted, "Take me to him."

"If I don't, what'll you do?" Tim challenged, raising an eyebrow, drawing his gun.

Brand instantly stepped back two steps, hands up: "No no no."

Then he realized, protested firmly: "I came to report a crime—how can you point a gun at me?"

"Tim," Brainiac reminded. Tim rolled his eyes, put his gun away, and said, "Since you're here to report, come with me to file a report—first, a statement..."

Brand gritted his teeth and stomped, but Tim didn't look back, heading to the interview room, so Brand had to follow.

On the way, he kept looking left and right, paranoid. Tim seemed careless, like a irresponsible bad cop, but was actually watching Brand closely.

After observing a while, Tim noticed Brand didn't seem to be faking it. He genuinely felt doomed, yet showed no signs of supernatural ability. Still not desperate enough.

Tim casually asked: "You said your escape failed—how did it fail?"

"Uh, actually it succeeded, but for some reasons I came back," Brand said vaguely.

Tim immediately realized this might relate to the corpses at Arkham Asylum. Remembering what Xilei said, Brand might have been replaced. The real Brand likely left, he faked a double, but the double was killed, so the real one returned.

But there's a logical flaw: no matter who killed the fake, Brand had no reason to return. Is Gotham better than life? The fake bought time—enough. Why come back?

Tim felt it wasn't that simple. He sat in the interview chair, about to ask Brand details, when the overhead light began to flicker.

Tim looked up—shadows flickered on the light. That deep black reminded him of things clinging to corpses. He icy-stared at Brand. But Brand just sat there, looking normal.

Indeed off. Tim lowered his eyes, opened the notebook. As he wrote the first line, the text twisted into blobs of black ink, like writhing maggots on the ground.

With a snap, he closed the notebook, hands on the table, looked at Brand and said: "Tell me about you and your enemy."

"He borrowed money from me," Brand said, "He had no intention to repay, and I had no intention to ask."

"I hear no reason for enmity."

"Now he wants more."

"That's not an enemy, that's a robber?" Tim saw shadows on the opposite wall, making him dizzy, so he closed his eyes.

"How to put it," Brand opened his mouth, saying, "In our line, there's a rule: if you can get money from me, that money is yours."

"You won't resist?"

"I did resist. It was useless." Brand sighed.

"Then what I should do right now is learn from this robber." Tim said half-jokingly. Bludhaven quickly shut him down — a cop still has to look like a cop.

"You have talent." Brand said.

Tim looked up again at the shadows dangling from the ceiling. He lowered his head and said, "I heard you're the attending physician for Mr. Nigma and Mr. Cobblepot."

"Yes, Edward is my patient. Cobblepot may become one in the future. But neither of their problems matters right now. Can we get going?"

Tim weighed things in his mind. Some abnormal phenomena had appeared around him, and he was certain this wasn't his own hallucination. His control over his own mental world was not weak; he knew very well whether his mind had any issues, and right now he was perfectly lucid. Then these things might be supernatural phenomena.

There had been similar black shadows on Brand's corpse earlier, which proved this might be something Brand brought with him. But Tim also instinctively felt that Brand wasn't attacking him. This might just be some negative side effects that came attached to his abilities.

Then could it be that Edward's sudden deterioration was related to these negative effects? Was it these things stimulating him that made him strike at Brand?

"Let's not beat around the bush." Since these abnormal phenomena looked extremely dangerous, Tim wasn't certain he could keep ignoring them either. He decided to lay his cards on the table. "Bludhaven found your corpse in a room at Arkham Asylum, yet you're standing right here in front of us perfectly fine. Can you tell me what's going on?"

"You saw wrong." Brand said very firmly. "I withdrew from Arkham Asylum that day, then hid somewhere to avoid enemies. There couldn't possibly be any corpse."

This was an obvious lie. Because when Brand heard he had a corpse, he was neither surprised nor curious. Even for a Gothamite, this reaction was a bit too calm.

"Bludhaven extracted your DNA from the water." Tim produced the only evidence.

"Then he tested it wrong," Brand said. "You can extract my DNA right now and test it — it couldn't possibly match the data he got."

Tim had figured it out — Brand didn't intend to hide it either. He was completely fearless, knowing scientific methods couldn't touch him, which was why he could brazenly distort the truth.

"Edward." Tim brought up another name.

"What about him?" Brand countered.

Tim immediately realized Edward must have been taken by Brand. Brand had preemptively tampered with his mind and memories; Edward might not necessarily remember how it happened.

Tim's expression cooled. Brand was like a terrible character parachuted into the ending of a detective novel, completely breaking the Ten Commandments of Detective Fiction, violating every article he could violate.

No prior setup, superpowers not disclosed in advance, memories directly altered afterward, even able to alter scientific test results like DNA. Chains of evidence and logical deduction didn't apply to him.

Holmes couldn't handle him, Tim thought. But isn't this a coincidence? The "Professor" also has connections to him.