The Dark Symphonies
Symphony the First
III. Gotham: Lento-Largo. Bat Song (The Joker's Waltz)—Victory and Defeat
A Note from the Author:
This story was written to the music of Shostakovich's Symphony No. 1: III. Lento-Largo.
(Disclaimer time! Woop woop! . . . not.) I do not own Batman, blah blah blah. I also do not claim to be the authority on Shostakovich, so don't come bitching at me. I have merely put the emotions I felt and the story I saw while playing this piece into words. This story is a personal reflection, not an analytical essay.
Additionally, I feel that I must include a brief background for this tale:
Gotham City is in ruins, looting and rioting and such atrocities are given free reign. Batman has been defeated. Bruce Wayne has come to the conclusion that his beloved city no longer needs Batman, so he has decided to let whatever happens happen. Pretty much, the bitter end is in sight; the apocalypse has come. Everything the characters have been fighting for, everything that has happened, has led up to this one moment, this one encounter.
This story is randomly in the middle of all this. The beginning and end are not clear. So . . . if you feel so inclined, feel free to add bits of your own.
Please keep in mind when you are reading that this story was based solely on the emotions in Shostakovich's symphony. Throw canon out the window. Do it. Enjoy my late-night, orch-dorky drabbles while I was supposed to be studying . . . .
~Cassie
Lento = 60
Bruce Wayne stared out the window of his penthouse apartment, gazing down at the crumbling skyline. His beloved city . . . all his work . . . gone up in flames. Below him, the city shuddered, finally giving in to the rioting and chaos that filling its streets. He had lost. Batman had been defeated. He had not been able to protect Rachel. He hadn't been able to protect anybody. Now all the criminals were loose on the streets, including the ones he had put in Arkham. He was no longer in control. Someone else was ahead of him. The Joker. He had won. No longer did the scourge of Gotham City fear the Dark Knight, no more did they cower in fear when they saw his caped form in a dark alley. Instead they laughed. The death toll of the innocent piled up everyday. People were leaving. Batman had failed them. Batman was dead.
espr.
He had grieved too much for too long to feel anything now. He knew he should feel something more, a greater sadness, but all he felt was growing numbness. It weighed down his chest and spread to his limbs, which were like dead weights. He could barely lift his head. Everything seemed to blur together, as if someone had taken a giant eraser and rubbed at him furiously. Now all that was left was a gray shadow that had once been. A memory and nothing more.
"Someone's here to see you, sir," said Alfred, interrupting his thoughts.
"I'm busy," he said without turning around, his voice barely a whisper.
Silence. "This one you'll want to see, sir."
He led her in, and Bruce turned. He didn't recognise her at first. Looking back, he should have. It would have saved him a lot of trouble.
"I know my coming here is odd . . ." she said quietly, "but don't freak out or anything . . . You see, I need your help. And I think I can help you, too."
His eyes narrowed. "How could you possibly help me?"
She paused. "I know where he is."
A muscle in Bruce's eye twitched.
"I know you want him. The Joker."
He frowned. The Joker? This girl . . . She was—?
" You're the only one I felt I could trust."
— Blonde hair—
"I need someone like you . . ."
—Girly giggle—
"I need a Batman."
—JOKER!
Within seconds the girl was slammed against the wall, choking under the grip of Bruce Wayne's fingers around her throat.
"How can I trust you?" he growled. "You think I would fall for something as simple-minded as that? You people never give up, do you?"
She gasped and struggled, unable to breath. Her legs kicked out, unable to find the ground. Alfred flinched but did not interfere.
"I can . . . help you!" she sputtered, her face turning red. "Please!"
He could feel her desperation; saw her mouth open and close, gasping for air. She was choking. But he didn't relinquish his hold on her.
"Please!" she gasped, begging him.
Batman considered her. She had come, without a costume, hiding nothing. Her face was a dull shade of purple now. Her hands clawed at his, but she was growing feebler by the second. She was pathetic. He could crush her if he wanted to. But did he want to? Everything had changed, after all. He was no longer Batman. But no, he still had his rules, his morals. No matter what, he couldn't go back on his principles. His mother and father had died for him. If he went back on his morals, all his work, all their work, would be for nothing. He looked at her. Tears were pouring down her face. She was dying.
He released her. She dropped to the floor, clutching her throat, her chest heaving.
"You filth," Bruce spat. "You expect me to believe you? You were his sidekick, his lover—"
"Ex-lover to be exact, Batsy," she said, her voice still rough. "Me and Mr. J are through—honest! I walked out on him this morning!"
He raised a sceptical eyebrow.
"Aw, now don't get all jealous, Batsy." He glared at her. She was really pushing her luck. "We had a good run, me and Mr. J. But in the light of all that's happened—" she glanced out the window at the burning city, "—I've begun to open my eyes."
"Why did you come here?" he demanded.
She pouted. Her voice dropped. "I came because I know where he'll be this evening," she hissed. "And I know you're looking for him. So I'll tell you."
Bruce thought this over.
"And how exactly did you find me?" he glowered, finally asking the question that had been burning in his head since she had entered the room.
She grinned but said nothing and only stared up at him.
"ANSWER ME!" he shouted, and she flinched but didn't move to defend herself.
"What's the matter, Batsy?" she crooned, "Don't like it when people confuse Bruce with Bat? Are you all insecure now that you don't have a mask to hide behind? Aw. Poor little baby . . . Well guess what. You know there's no escaping it now. Everyone knows who you are. And they're all gonna come after you. Bruce Wayne. Batman. Both of you."
He took a deep breath and contained his anger. This girl was testing him. She was either very daring or very crazy. He went with crazy.
"Fine," he growled, extending his hand out to the blonde woman on the floor who didn't need a mask. "Tell me where he is."
She looked at him in surprise. But she grinned and let herself be pulled to her feet.
"Follow me," she whispered, pulling out a pistol and shattering the window. She dashed away, surprisingly agile for someone in heels, and tumbled over the glass shards and out the window.
Bruce moved to follow.
"Mr. Wayne," said Alfred quietly. He turned. "It could be a trap, you know."
"Yeah, well, I've got nothing to lose now have I?"
The elderly butler said nothing.
"Open the cave one last time, will you Alfred?"
Più mosso
Batman followed Harley to an abandoned theatre.
"He's here," she had whispered after showing him in through the dressing room door.
They snuck round the back.
"Where is he, Harley?" he breathed.
No answer.
"Harley!"
She was gone.
"Oh, shit," he muttered.
Then he saw him.
ff pp Largo
He was sitting in a pool of light centre stage, playing cards with himself on a rickety little table.
"Ah! Joker beats nines! You lose, poo-poo!"
He picked up the machine gun leaning on his chair and shot it into the darkness of the house, aiming at nothing in particular. A maniacal, prolonged laugh echoed around the gloomy, empty theatre, sending a shiver down Batman's spine. He had heard that laugh many times before, but it still gave him chills. Silently, stealthily, Batman flew up to the rafters. He watched from above. No sign of Harley . . . what had happened to her? Whatever it was, he was willing to bet it was sinister in nature. He knew trusting Harley was a big mistake. Even if she had been telling the truth, which he doubted, there was still the chance she would skip back to the Joker's side. He knew Harley. She would do anything for her Mr. J. So what was the Joker up to? He wanted him here, that much was certain. But why? To gloat in his face? Winning was never enough for the Joker. It never was.
The Joker paused and turned his head. Batman could see his chalky white profile and carved, red lips, even more noticeable under the spotlight. He seemed to be listening for something. Batman tensed. He had been completely silent. There was no way he could know he was here. Then again, Harley and who knows what else could be anywhere in the darkened theatre. He braced himself for action . . .
. . . but it never came. The Joker turned around and resumed his gleefully morbid card game, seemingly content. He hummed a bar of some demented melody, tapping his foot against the stage.
Batman relaxed.
Then the Joker's hand twitched.
f
A knife spun through the air and lodged itself in his knee. Batman winced and gasped in pain. The Joker was standing now and staring right at the place he was hidden. He laughed.
"Thought you could hide from me, did you?" he taunted, his laughter filling up the theatre.
He picked up his machine gun and waved it in the air, the bullets ricocheting every which way. Batman was hit. He fell, the sound of the gun and the Joker's laughter still echoing in his ears. He clawed out desperately, seeking a handhold, and found one. His grip was strong, but he could feel himself slipping gradually. He didn't have much time.
The Joker laughed. "I see we have some bats in the belfry! I'll have to report this to the management," he screeched gleefully, walking toward him with a skip to his step.
Batman looked around desperately. Still no sign of Harley. Leave it to her to ditch at the last minute. Then he saw movement backstage. Maybe Harley hadn't left after all.
"Long time no see," said the Joker, his annoying voice grating against Batman's ears. "Haven't seen you around lately, Batty. What's the deal?"
Batman grunted, struggling to keep his grip on the metal rod he was clinging to. Don't let him get to you, he told himself, It's what he wants.
A curled, red shoe stepped into his eyesight. He looked up. Harley Quinn stood on the platform above him, now in full costume.
"This bat bugging you, Mr. J?" she giggled, pouting flirtatiously.
Batman silently cursed his luck as he hung from the rod. Things were going from bad to worse very quickly . . . Of course she was still on his side. Batman had been a fool to trust her. This was all a part of the plan.
The Joker considered his sidekick's offer for a moment. "Get 'em, Harley-poo," he said softly, smiling devilishly.
But if Harley was here . . . then who was—?
She kicked out, her foot colliding with his head, and he felt himself fall once more, accompanied by giggles and peals of laughter.
He f
e
l
l.
He felt himself hit the floor with a thud. His head ached. Then a shadow fell over him. The Joker's grotesque face was in front of his, more gleeful than he had ever seen it. He held a knife in his gloved hand. He laughed.
ff
The knife plunged downward once, twice, three times into Batman's face. Blood sprayed onto the stage and dotted the Joker's white face, smearing his make-up. There was a hungry look in his eye, an uncontrollable gleam. The dog had been let off the leash. Again and again he brought the knife down on Batman's face, enjoying the pain he caused him. He laughed.
Then it stopped.
Batman opened his eyes. The Joker was gone.
He glanced around, confused, the pain muddling his head as he searched for his saviour.
pp
She stood off to the side, looking furious and twitching the whip in her hand. Catwoman.
"That's not what we agreed, Joker," she hissed. "You promised him alive."
The Joker grinned. "Well I'm not one for promises, now am I?"
He laughed. Harley giggled.
Catwoman stepped threateningly into the centre of the stage, into the pool of light.
"Get away from him, you bastard," she spat, crouching and preparing to pounce.
The Joker only grinned.
She sprang into the air.
At first, he wasn't sure what had happened. Next thing he knew, Catwoman was lying in a steadily spreading pool of blood and the Joker and Harley Quinn were laughing hysterically. He saw the Joker holding a pistol in his outstretched hand and Catwoman twitching on the floor directly underneath the spotlight. She looked like an angel.
"And I was going to let you live, too," sneered the Joker. "Pity."
p
Violin Solo
Batman stared at her fallen form and the growing crimson blot around her. She had stopped twitching. Blood poured down her face from the hole in her forehead, staining her once-beautiful pale face. Her beautiful face . . . He had loved her once. Selina Kyle. Catwoman. They hadn't been perfect for each other, granted, and they had fought against each other plenty of times, and yet . . . Batman was stunned. He had lost her. Just like that. That was the last straw. The Joker had crossed the line.
Tutti
The Joker was distracted. Seeing his opportunity, Batman struggled to his feet and lunged himself at him. Caught off his guard, the Joker was hit. Batman tackled him to the floor, feeling his weight crush his opponent. Harley squealed behind them.
"Don't, Harley-poo!" ordered the Joker. "Let us see what the bat will do." He looked him directly in the eye. "What are you gonna do, kill me?"
His choked laughter rang throughout the theatre.
"Perhaps," growled Batman, and he saw a glimmer of doubt flash across his face as he realised that he meant it.
His hands pressed against his throat, just as they had with Harley's. The Joker struggled, but Batman was stronger.
"Are you . . . really going to kill me?" he sputtered, still trying to play his testy little mind games, even as he faced death.
Batman did not answer, but only tightened his grip.
The Joker gasped for air. Just like Harley had. Only this time, he wasn't letting go. This time, he aimed to kill. If he broke his rule, just once, everyone would be safe once again. This wasn't about personal morals. This was about Gotham. All the innocent people that had died because of him . . . Rachel . . . Catwoman . . . Selina . . .
Più mosso
Suddenly, a great groaning sound like a monster reawakening from its long slumber filled the air above them. A familiar screech of metal against metal followed. Sparks flew. A series of lights flickered then went out. The spotlight remained. A giant light fixture came crashing down on top of them.
Batman reacted instantly, throwing himself out of the way. So did the Joker.
Harley stood high above them amongst the metal, waving her gun triumphantly. She had caused the light fixture to fall. She had saved her Mr. J.
Batman moved to apprehend her, but the Joker was faster.
"I said—" he growled, "—let's see what the bat will do!"
The gunshot rang out. She let out a tiny squeal of surprise. Then was silent.
Harley jerked back from the force of the bullet. The Joker never missed a shot. Her eyes rolled back in her head. She slumped. Her body fell from the ceiling of the stage, and she landed with a dull thunk, her limbs breaking on impact and splaying in awkward angles. There was blood. Again. So much blood . . . he skull had cracked as well. Blood was everywhere . . .
Batman stared. The Joker laughed.
"Now it's just us!" he giggled.
Batman glared. So much blood . . .
"You see?" he snarled, "This world is only made for two people. Me and you. Everyone else is just . . . a complication. A part of the game. We don't need people like them."
"You're wrong," Batman said, his voice low and menacing, "It's you we don't need."
The Joker grinned. "You sure 'bout that?" he whispered, his question filling the dark theatre more that his ringing laughter ever could.
Batman glared back with more confidence than he expected. "Yes," he said sharply, cutting through the Joker's layers of mental manipulation.
He poised himself to attack. The Joker opened his mouth in laughter. The cycle was about to repeat itself once more, when . . . he froze.
The Joker saw her. His lovely Harley Quinn, lying bleeding and broken in the wings of the stage. He let out a gasp of horror.
"Harley-poo!" he screeched, dashing to her side.
Batman stared. What was he playing at?
He dropped down beside her, cradling her limp and bloodied head in his hands. He screamed. It was the howl of an animal in pain.
"Look what you've done!" he spat, turning to face his enemy.
He then turned back to his lovely Harley and screamed again. No tears, only screams. The blood soaked his purple suit and gloves. He shook with pain.
But Batman knew what he had to do. He had to get rid of him, once and for all. His reign of terror could no longer continue.
Slowly, methodically, as if in a dream, he struck a match and threw it at one of the dark curtains that framed the stage for this dismal play. Catwoman lay centre stage in the pool of light, drowned in crimson. The blood reached the edge of the stage and dripped onto the floor. She was so beautiful . . . The Joker screamed again. He didn't seem to notice that the fire had spread. Batman knew he didn't have much time before the whole place was ablaze. He considered for a moment what he was doing—breaking his one rule. He glanced at Catwoman. His Selina Kyle. There was nothing he could do. He could feel intensity of the flame growing quickly, and forced himself to focus. It was a price he would have to pay. The Joker was still clutching Harley and screaming like a madman. Batman stepped over them, his cape brushing the Joker's face. He didn't even notice.
Batman strode out of the theatre without looking back. There was nothing he could do.
He flew off into the night sky. The wind whipped through his cape, and the blood dried in the lines of his face.
Batman was victorious at last. The Joker was dead. Batman had won. But as he flew above the burning theatre, now fully ablaze and his adversaries with it, he felt a strange loss.
For in that burning building, he knew, he had left himself to die with them.
fin