Friday, October 22, 1963 had arrived. Bruce, aka Al, spent
the day stressed out, awaited nightfall. His parents, oblivious of the danger
to them, went about the day normal routine. The young Bruce sat in school,
pondering over Al Bundy's warning. At 6:30 p.m., the black Rolls-Royce limousine pulled up in front of the
Gotham Convention Center. Alfred Pennyworth, opened the door for Bruce as
he climbed into the car with the Wayne family. Everyone was dressed formally;
the atmosphere in the car was light as they prepared to celebrate young
Bruce's good grades. They went to dinner, then headed to the theater.At the Monarch Theater,
everyone bought goodies and went to the family's private balcony to watch the
Zorro film. Alfred had departed; he would return to pick everyone up at eleven. The
way their family's guest knew the story, Alfred would only come to pick up
a heartbroken child. By the time the movie commenced, the nine year old boy had forgotten
everything he'd been told by Mr. Bundy. This was his special night. He was
able to stay up late, and watch his favorite hero on the big screen. Bruce's guest, however, was not enjoying the film. Every breath he took in
felt like he was trying to breathe under water. He tried to remain outwardly
calm. The adult Bruce thought the movie had been run in slow motion when it had
finally ended. It was the longest two hours in his life. Now it was time
to make any move he could to save his parents. As they left the balcony, Tom suggested, "How does going for a walk sound?
It's 10:30; Alfred won't be here for a half an hour." As Bruce knew, Martha agreed and so did his counterpart. It meant staying
up even later to him. Bruce weakly nodded his agreement to Tom's idea. However,
this promenade was going to be very brief. Tom led the group toward Pearl Street. When they reached the corner of
Broad and Pearl, Bruce made his move. Suddenly, Bruce tripped on a broken
piece of sidewalk and fell to the ground and cried out in pain. The nine year
old turned to see him sprawled out on the pavement. "Mr. Bundy! Are you okay?", he shouted. The fallen Bruce clutched his ankle and said, "I believe I've sprained it!" Tom and Martha stood at his side. "Let me help you up.", Tom said, taking
Bruce's hand. "Can you walk?", asked Martha. He gingerly tried to put pressure on his ankle, and winced in pain. In truth,
there was nothing wrong with him. It was his way of stalling them so they
did not reach that alley. Tom said, "Put your arm on my shoulder. Use me as a crutch so we can get
back to the theater where Alfred will be picking us up." Bruce did just that, hobbling along, hanging on to his father. Had it not
been necessary to keep hopping on one foot, Bruce would have been dancing up
and down for joy. He had succeeded in saving them; it was 10:43. They had
died at 10:39. Alfred pulled up to the curb at precisely 11:00 p.m. Young Bruce and Martha
got in the car. Tom intended on helping his guest up from the bench to assist
his entry into the limo. But this did not happen as Bruce forgot about his
"sprained ankle" and effortlessly walked to the car. Martha gaped at him. "Your ankle certainly healed quickly.", she stated. Bruce looked at her blankly, not understanding what she meant. He turned
to see Tom standing by the bench, dumbfounded as well. He thought about her
words. "Oh my God.", he whispered, his face turning dark shades of red. "I
walked to the car on my sprained ankle." "Get in.", Tom said sharply behind him. "You have a lot of explaining to
do Mr. Bundy."
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