The Long Easter (VIII)

At Gotham City Police Department, Schiller looked thoughtfully at two lists. Gordon walked over and saw several rows of names, with some circled in red.

"Are these the students who fell ill?"

"That’s right."

"So which batch of Easter eggs was the problem? The ones bought outside, or the ones handed out by the Gotham University Principal?"

"That’s the problem. The batch of Easter eggs my colleagues bought outside was contaminated. More than seventy percent of the students who received them suddenly fell ill."

"In other words…" Gordon picked up the phone and said to the person on the other end, "Find out how many Easter eggs are currently circulating in Gotham City’s market. Tell them to figure out a way to recall that batch immediately. They could be biological weapons that drive people insane."

Gordon’s tone was grave. The thought of hundreds or thousands of biological weapons capable of driving people mad circulating through Gotham’s markets gave him a headache.

"There may be a connection here." Gordon took a breath to calm himself, then said, "A batch of Easter eggs that can drive people insane has appeared on the market, yet at the same time, the Gotham University Principal handed out ordinary eggs and had the professors make them themselves. What does that mean? Did he know in advance that the eggs sold outside might be a problem?"

"Perhaps. But you should mobilize people first and have them recall those eggs from the market." Schiller yawned and said drowsily, "I’m going back to rest for a while. I haven’t slept for two nights because of those students who went mad."

"If you think I’m suspected of murdering Sheldon, then come arrest me after you find solid evidence."

With that, Schiller turned and left. Gordon did not stop him. Clearly, there were more important matters than the murder of the Gotham University Principal.

If these Easter eggs spread widely, it would be a terrorist attack even more terrifying than Gotham being flooded. Who knew how many madmen would take to the streets and kill people? Gordon thought. He had to stop this.

After Schiller returned to the manor, he had planned to sleep after taking a bath. But just as he came out of the bathroom, he heard the bell on the mailbox downstairs ring. He went down and found that someone had placed something inside.

He opened the mailbox and found a box inside. When he opened it, he found a brightly colored Easter egg.

The moment he took the egg out of the box, it exploded with a bang. Shell fragments scattered everywhere, and an unknown gas spread through the air. Schiller asked Gray Mist, "Is this the same substance found in the patients’ blood?"

"It is," Gray Mist replied.

Then Schiller noticed that it was not only the eggshell that had burst apart. A small note was also slowly drifting down. He reached out and caught it in midair. When he opened it, he found a line of words written on it:

"Happy Easter—Holiday Killer."

Schiller narrowed his eyes. Holiday Killer? Wasn’t that a character from the comic The Long Halloween?

But that was the Halloween Killer. Why had this Holiday Killer come out for Easter?

And killers were supposed to kill people. What was the point of sending Easter eggs that made people go insane? More importantly, one had been sent to him.

When Batman arrived at Schiller’s manor, he found Schiller painting an ostrich egg. Schiller was so absorbed in it that even when Batman deliberately made a little noise, he failed to notice.

Batman had no choice but to cough. Only then did Schiller react. He turned and looked him over before saying, "Do you need something? If not, don’t interrupt my creative work."

Batman glanced at the Easter egg Schiller was painting. A huge black smiling face had been painted in the middle of it, but the brushwork was crude, making the smile look rather strange.

Clearly, setting aside the nearly nonexistent technique and the utterly artless subject matter, scribbling on an egg with a pen could not be called creative work.

"Did you receive the Easter egg sent by the person calling himself the Holiday Killer?"

"It was because I received his egg that I decided to send him a return gift." Schiller picked up the egg he was painting, examined it, and said, "I think mine is much better than the one he sent."

"Some Gotham mob bosses and upper-class figures also received those Easter eggs. They went mad, were subdued, and sent to psychiatric hospitals."

"You received one too?"

"Bruce Wayne received one."

"Aren’t you going to send him a return gift?"

"More than that, I want to know what exactly that substance that drives people insane is."

"Looks like you already have some theories."

"I think it resembles the Fear Gas from before."

Schiller shook his head. "The symptoms are indeed similar, but there are differences."

"You think they aren’t the same thing?"

"That’s right. Similar outward symptoms do not prove the same cause. At least in my view, this was not caused by Fear Gas."

What Schiller did not tell Batman was that he had ruled out Fear Gas long ago, because he was the person who used it most often—more often even than Scarecrow, its inventor.

He had used Fear Gas on plenty of people in Hell’s Kitchen before. He knew better than anyone what symptoms Fear Gas could cause.

Although these cases had symptoms somewhat resembling those of people who inhaled Fear Gas, they were not exactly the same. Gray Mist had not found any Fear Gas components in their bodies either.

"The Court of Owls cannot be ruled out. They have not been completely eliminated," Batman concluded.

"What are you going to do?" Schiller asked, turning back to him.

"He must have a purpose for doing this. If he wanted to kill them, he would have had better methods."

"Many people were not affected," Batman continued. "Those mob bosses were not so unwary that they would open unfamiliar packages, and many people had no interest in buying Easter eggs. If he wanted to kill people this way, it would be the least efficient method."

"This is more like a warning, isn’t it? It’s as though he’s saying, ‘I’m about to start causing trouble, three days from now, on Easter.’"

"He should kill on Easter, or he would not call himself the Holiday Killer. The only question now is who his target is and what his purpose is."

"Perhaps many seemingly unrelated matters can provide some clues."

"Such as?"

"Such as Sheldon’s death. You know better than Gordon that I didn’t do it. If he had truly offended someone, or learned important information and was silenced because of it, it should not have happened at a time like this."

"All of Gotham City is undergoing massive reconstruction." Schiller sighed. "No matter how deep the grudge between the mob and him, they would not act at this time. Aside from lacking manpower, carrying out an assassination now could offend the people focused on rebuilding and make everyone paranoid."

Schiller took a list from the other side of the table and handed it to Batman. "This is an important clue. Before Easter, Sheldon distributed materials for making Easter eggs to many professors, asking them to make the eggs by hand and give them to students rather than buy them from the market."

"What happened afterward proved that the Easter eggs circulating in the market had a problem. Therefore, Sheldon may very well have known about it in advance."

"Perhaps because it involved his own interests, Sheldon rejected the logistics department’s proposal to buy ready-made eggs from the market and had the professors make them themselves. He wanted to avoid those problematic eggs."

"Then how did he learn about it ahead of time? Could that be connected to his death?"

"I thought you wouldn’t involve yourself in this matter." Batman looked at Schiller.

"No matter what, the Easter egg the Holiday Killer sent me was the first gift I received for Easter. I want to give him one in return."

"I think this clue should be enough for you to uncover something. If you find where the Holiday Killer is hiding, help me deliver my gift to him."

Schiller picked up the egg and handed it to Batman. Batman looked at the crude smiling face and narrowed his eyes.

At the same time, Evans and Cobblepot were chatting in a hospital room. Evans sighed and said, "Gotham Cathedral had finally been repaired, but now the foundation has cracked. It may need to be rebuilt entirely. Even the Old Priest who had been stationed there all this time has left. I have nowhere to go this weekend either."

"I couldn’t tell you were such a devout believer." Cobblepot looked at Evans.

"Of course." Evans said with some distress, "Originally, our principal moved the Easter arrangements up early, and I thought that was good. That way, I could go to the church to pray on the evening of the actual holiday. You know, Easter celebrates Jesus’s rebirth. Prayer and rituals are very important."

"But look at this." Evans spread his hands helplessly. "First it rained all day and the flood broke out. Then Gotham suffered an ice attack, roads cracked everywhere, and buildings were damaged."

"Just when things were finally getting a little better, a murder happened at Gotham University. The case is still under investigation, and now some Holiday Killer from who knows where has appeared and driven several mob bosses insane…"

"This year’s Easter has really been long…" Evans sighed.

"No matter what, Easter is three days away." Cobblepot lay in the hospital bed and said, "I need to go back and take care of my mother. When I went home yesterday, I wanted to send her to the hospital too, but she refused. She insisted on returning to the old house and would not stay in the new apartment."

"Elders are always like that." Evans spoke with clear sympathy. "My father is the same. Sometimes I feel that he treats me very well, but other times, I feel that he is too old-fashioned and stern."

"The Godfather is already tolerant enough to let you study all that random nonsense." Cobblepot said to Evans, "What mob heir spends all day singing and dancing without even practicing his shooting?"

Evans shrugged. "I can actually tell that my father doesn’t like me being so unproductive, but he still indulges me. I don’t know why…"

Then he opened his mouth and said hesitantly, "I remember that my father and my brother had a very poor relationship. Maybe it was because my father’s demands of him were too strict."

"I was still young then, but I vaguely remember them arguing, and it was very intense."

"Later, my brother died, and my father no longer allowed anyone to mention his name."

Evans sighed. "Many people do not even know that the Godfather had an eldest son named Alberto Falcone."

Today’s ten thousand words are here! Please vote and send tips!

Don’t stockpile chapters, don’t stockpile chapters—the kid has dropped so far in the rankings he’s gone numb.