Disclaimer: I know. I suck at writing Joker. Also... it's slightly violent, so people with easily queasily stomachs be a little wary.
Acknowledgements: Thanks to Uncle DK for the idea!
A Joker Carol
The week long snow in Gotham had blanketed the city in white, creating a snow globe of white beauty, picturesque and deceptive. Those walking the docks stood in heavy jackets, breathing heavily into their mittens, trying desperately to escape into the warmth and safety of their boats before the chill really got to them. Several families in their apartments (fancy mostly) sat around in a dimly lit room, glued to TV screen depicting visions of red and green, propaganda to fuel the easily manipulated minds of the wistful. In the back of everyone's mind: trees, snow, warmth, light, red, green… food, enhanced enjoyment of the material, unusual focus on the immaterial, and, most importantly, love.
Across town, events occurred in different spirit, but towards the same goals. Somewhere near Robinson Park, three men in a car attempted to escape pursuing Police, praying the non-vigilantes were the least of their worries. Somewhere in a back alley a woman drew her last breath as a nondescript man in a beanie choked the last life out of her, eyes fixated on the golden necklace around her neck and the fancy fur coat draped around her arms, thinking about how much the valuable items would sell for. Somewhere in Old Gotham, a man held an old convenience store owner at gunpoint, hoping there would be enough cash in the register to support his family through a meager holiday.
And somewhere on Park Row, in the section of Gotham called Crime Alley, a man suddenly a boy perched himself on a building's ledge, thinking about Christmases past and how just a few small pieces of metal had torn his Christmases away from him.
But the man holding all the innocent bystanders at gunpoint at First Gotham cared about none of these. The moment was his one and only thought. He had no delusions about television or warmth or fuzzy feelings or gold or meager dinners, or even of the great and terrible Bat believed to haunt the streets.
No. No this man (if he could be called that) was thinking of only one thing. His only thought circulated around whose brain he would put a bullet through.
Inevitably, it would happen. He had no qualms about that. It didn't matter to him who would attempt to rise up and stand against him. No one would. Enough people had borne their eyes out watching movies or gaping at the TV to know that they gained nothing by standing and rising against him.
But his smile was so inviting…
No matter. The question wasn't who would stand, but rather, who would fall.
His green eyes probed the bank floor, from his ignoramus henchmen (one of whom pointed his weapon threateningly at the crowd, and the other two, one stuffing cash from drawers into a nondescript bag, the other pulling rich looking items from the bystanders) to the bank manager (on his perhaps last appearance before heading home to his fat kids to buy them new cars) to the two very attractive female bank tellers behind the counter (both of whom looked frightened and helpless), to the security guard (beaten, bloody, and broken), to the wealthy looking business man on the ground (cowering in fear), to the young man and his girlfriend (undoubtedly planning to screw that night), to the elder mother (cradling her child as only a mother would) and finally to her young two year old son (who seemed confused and oblivious to the whole proceedings).
He was thinking too hard. Christmas was right around the corner, and he needed the money to… Oh who was he kidding? The money wasn't the point. He just needed the money to keep his little henchmen appeased. The point was to have fun.
And oh boy, was he having fun.
… Or was he?
"My dear ladies and gentle… beetles," the smiling man said, sneering at the child clutched in the woman's arms. "Thank you ever so much for appearing at tonight's show. Fortunately for you, we were able to have an uninterrupted show with no unfortunate…" he searched for the right word. "Bat-termissions."
He fingered the large gun in his hands. It really spoke volumes. Large, proud, and brash, with a muzzle large enough to fire a small rocket. It was all for show (a .45 caliber was just fine) but damn did that gun pack a punch. He thought about the sensation of pulling the trigger and watching the life leave the once lifeful eyes forever, of the blood splattering the ground and not on his purple suit.
Had he not been smiling…
These people were too well-behaved. Too perfectly mannered. Why did they always have to behave? Was their life really that precious to them? Did it really mean that much?
His eyes flitted back to the bank manager. Deep down, he knew the man was filthy, skimming off the top of First Gotham… That fine suit. Too many people didn't use First Gotham for him to make that kind of money. Heartless materialistic… He needed a message, something to strike laughter to his core, to make him laugh uncontrollably in hysteria that life would be so terrible.
And the two on the floor, so enraptured in protecting each other physically. They needed something to make them smile, to not think about the other in the throes of inevitable passion that would come from this event… should they survive…
And The Joker made his decision.
"Unfortunately," the Joker said, thinking rationally- for him at least. "Our little host this evening decided to not introduce us with the usual flair we demand." He pointed his twelve shooter at the security guard, where a middle aged woman was tending to his swollen face with portions of the red sweater she had ripped off her visage. "As such, we will need another… volunteer to take our little host's place."
No one in the bank moved. The woman had stopped actively cradling her child, the middle-aged woman stopped dabbing the security guard…
"No one?" The Joker asked smugly. "No volunteers?"
Someone behind The Joker stood up.
"I'll go," came the deeper voice of the bank manager. "I'll play your little game."
"Ooo hoo hoo!" The Joker crowed. "So we do have a little contender."
"Just…" the bank manager looked around to his clientele and employees, all defeated and at the mercy of the madman in purple in front of him. "Just leave them alone… I have a family at home."
"No need to tell us your life's story, boy-o," The Joker said, bored, toying with the precious weapon in his hands. "All we need you to do is to give us a proper introduction."
"A proper… what?"
A swish of purple, a loud crack, a splurt of red, and the bank manager was on his knees, gently cradling the broken and bleeding nose beneath his soft, black hands yelling and crying in pain.
"An introduction, man! An introduction!" The Joker shouted, infuriated. "Don't you ever have to give a presentation in this high end job you have?"
"Yeds," the bank manager said, voice hampered by his inability to exhale properly through his gnarled nose.
"Then why don't you give us a proper introduction?" The Joker asked. "It'll be loads easier than anything else you'll have to give. You won't even have to memorize anything."
"But what do I say?"
Swish, crack, and the bank manager cried out as the butt of The Joker's gun smashed into his cheekbone.
"It doesn't matter what you say, just so long's you introduce us."
The bank manager stood up slowly, face throbbing from his broken nose and quickly swelling cheek. "Ebeybody, just… just stay cahb and eberything will-"
"An introduction, you idiot!" The Joker shouted, swatting out with his gun and knocking the bank manager to the ground. "Not a warning."
The bank manager got onto his hands and knees and gagged, spitting out a tooth in the process. The Joker cocked his head slightly.
"Oh my, I'm sorry, you poor man," The Joker said, looking down at the bank manager. "This isn't a time for violence, this is a time for words and…" he paused. "Smiles. Let's try that one more time. An introduction, if you please."
The bank manager stood. "L-ladies and gentlemen," he said, blood still trickling from his nose and a dribble of blood squeezing itself out of his mouth, covering the area from his nose to his mouth in a red and sadistically enthralling beard and mustache. "Now presenting… The Joker and his… act."
The words came weakly, not in the grand theatrical manner the man who smiled would have liked, but the man had physically suffered enough for now. If he hurt him anymore, he risked not teaching the man the lesson he wanted to teach.
The Joker held out his hands, welcoming the claps in his head with a universal gesture of acceptance. "Thank you, thank you. And thank you my dear… sir for that lovely introduction." He looked to his target. "For my first trick-" He looked towards his target, pointed the weapon, and fired, sending the slug through the arm of the mother holding the child. She screamed as blood jetted out and sprayed her child, who had begun to cry from the loud noise.
Crying. How he hated the crying.
"And will someone shut that baby up!" The Joker shouted. He whipped around to face his men behind him. "Grab the bags, we're leaving."
The mother had begun to sob, and when The Joker looked back, he saw that the mother had handed off her child to the young woman, who was protecting the child, having scurried back to the safety of her boyfriend.
"What's this?" The Joker asked. "Part of the act has disappeared? Oh that's no good, that's no good at all."
"Boss?" One of the henchmen asked, three bundles in each hand. "Should we-"
"I said scram!" The Joker shouted. "Can't you do anything right?"
They left the bank running, throwing the loot into the back of the purple convertible, which was idling in front of the bank.
The Joker wasn't paying attention, he was too focused on what to do now. The mother had passed along the baby, which didn't make for the act. It didn't make for it at all. With a heavy sigh, he frowned. Smiling, he withdrew a small light green bullet from his jacket pocket and contemplated it. With a quick flick of his wrist, he popped out the chamber and loaded it into one of the now empty slots. He spun the chamber half-heartedly and, without looking to see where it stopped, he slapped it back into the gun.
"Well, my dear audience," The Joker said depressedly. "I hope you have enjoyed our show. Of course now, it's being cut short, so I would like to move along to our final act." He grabbed the mother by the hair and pointed the weapon at her head. She had begun crying amidst the blood that streamed from her arm and in love from her child who was crying in the arms of another woman. The Joker's mouth curved into a frown for a minute. No one was laughing. No one was… Everyone was frightened and terrified and crying and afraid. That wasn't the point. The point was for the laugh, to make everyone happy and to see the smiles on their faces.
He sighed. "My God! What is the matter with you people? I come in here just looking for a good laugh when I see you and all you bring is a holiday of terror and- no smiles! Smile, damn you!" He maneuvered his six shooter to the cheek of the mother. "Smile!"
She cracked a smile, the contraction of cheekbones pushing the gun slightly up her face. But it was forced. He knew patronizing when he saw it.
It incensed him. Where had the sense of humor of Gotham gone? Why did they have to be so glum and depressing? "It's Christmas!" He screamed, throwing the woman to the ground where she began to cry. "There should be smiling!"
But no one did.
The Joker dropped his arms and felt his body go limp. It wasn't good enough anymore. Nothing was good enough.
He looked up in despair. There was one thing that always sought to bring up his mood, something that could always drag that elusive smile out of his mind. The thought of life ending, the thought of something finished and gone because of his silly slip of a finger… It was all too… hilarious to describe.
"Merry Christmas to all…"
His voice came out weakly, a mere shadow of the voice he had had just a minute before. It seemed devoid of life, of purpose. Why would they not smile? Slowly, he raised his weapon, pointed it, and fired a single shot into the forehead of the middle aged woman. She didn't even respond, except to fall back with a sickening thud to the ground, thrown backward by the force of the .45.
Yet, something was wrong. Someone screamed, but it didn't matter. Even the murder didn't bring any joy to his life anymore. He had thought it might have brought some little spark of humor back to him, but it didn't. Something had snapped. The laughter and joy of a murder didn't do anything… and he wondered why.
It wasn't enough. It just wasn't enough anymore.
His head drooped. "And to all a good night."
Defeated, The Joker turned and dragged his feet out of the door and into the snow of his beloved city, thinking of how she had let him down for the first time in a long time.
"Aw… Cheer up, Mistah J," Harley said, in her sickeningly screech alto voice and accent that rang through the halls of the Joker's head like a whistle to start a rousing game of dodgeball.
"Not now, Harley," The Joker said, not even bothering to convey to her how much he didn't care. He kept his arms folded on the table, chin staying depressedly on one of his exposed forearms.
"What'sa matter, puddin'?" the girl asked. "Bat gotcha tongue?"
"I said leave it, Harl," The Joker said. How he didn't want to put up with her. Oh how he didn't. If only he had the strength and will…
"But what'sta be sad about? It's Christmas! A time for all the boys and girls to be happy and bouncy… just like you…"
The drill of her voice lobotomized another hole into his brain. She just needed to shut up… drop the subject… perhaps wander off to accidentally fall in with the hyenas. Maybe their laughter would cheer him up. Or even better, he could put a bullet through her head. It could probably work.
An arm slid around his shoulders. He only had to guess it'd be red and black…
"This is your holiday, Mistah J," Harley said. "It's your time to see how much everyone loves being happy and laughing."
Something in The Joker's head started to throb. A tumor he had always got rid of yet always came back…
"And what's the point of it, Harl?" The Joker asked. "No one's laughing at my jokes. They all want to know about what they think about each other. It's all about that love nonsense or whatever it is."
"Oh you'll think of something, you always do."
"But that doesn't mean it'll be funny," The Joker scoffed. "They don't take me seriously anymore."
"Awww, sweetie, I take you seriously."
The smiling man eyed the girl suspiciously. She was the problem. She was the one always fouling everything up. He needed to be done with her. Hit her a few times and then dump her in the drink. Let Arkham sort out the rest.
"Ya know, I was thinkin-"
THWAP!
With a thud, Joker's backhand sent Harley Quinn flying out of her chair and to the ground. She had only barely managed to catch herself with her hands.
And the smile still stayed gone. The inner laugh track of people echoing claps and whoops that created the background noise of his sitcom life had ceased entirely. He couldn't hear anything, nothing but empty air.
"You're not laughin'," Harley said timidly, wiping her ever-white cheek. "Why ain'tcha laughin'? You always laugh."
"I told you to drop it," The Joker snapped.
"But you ain't even gave me a chuckle," Harley said, scared. "Not a one. Are you okay, puddin'?"
"Okay?" The Joker yelled. "Okay! Of course I'm okay!" He stood up and reached to the ground, grabbed Harley by the neck, picked her up, and threw her roughly onto the table.
Somewhere between terrified and exhilarated Harley choked and smiled. "Well if this is how you wanted me…"
"I don't want you!" The Joker screamed. How easy it would be to end her life. If only he just pushed down harder. Didn't want to twist, that would be too easy, but if he just pressed down again- squeezing the life out of her. If only she struggled… His face contorted into a look of psychotic pleasure and ecstasy as he felt the life leave her lungs.
"There's he is," Harley choked with her last breath.
The Joker fell back, feeling at his face and Harley sprang forward, gasping for breath. It was wrong. It was all wrong. She wasn't supposed to enjoy it. That was the punchline. She was supposed to suffer and he was supposed to laugh because of how much she had entertained him.
"There's the man I knew…" She said, voice raspy.
But it wasn't him. It might have looked him on the surface, but on the inside there wasn't the laugh track, no sounds of boos or claps or whoops or cheers. It was just the sound of silence. He hadn't really enjoyed that. Sure, it had given him a rush for a second, but now that the moment had passed…
The Joker turned around, defeated, heading for the bedroom door at the end of the hall. He refused to be her plaything. He refused to give her ecstasy and pleasure when he, himself, could experience none. It wasn't fair. She was toying with him. That's all it was. She just wanted to mess with him to get him to play games that she knew he didn't want to play. If it didn't sadden him he woulda killed her-
"What'sa matter?" Harley asked, hands and knees now on the table. "I thought we had somethin' there."
It took all of his resolve to not turn around and beat her until her face was a frisbee and she couldn't bleed anymore.
"I'm going to bed."
And he slammed the door behind him.
His room was dark, yet even in the darkness he could see some of the glow-in-the-dark trinkets he had collected over the many years of personal instant gratification. The glow-in-the-dark-baseball bat on the wall beckoned him with his faux-green, while the silly looking alarm clock on the night stand read eleven o'clock. One hour until Christmas Eve, and this whole fake holiday would be over for another forty five or so weeks, plenty of time for him to do another eight or nine dozen rounds in Arkham… And if he timed it just right he'd land in there just after Thanksgiving… Didn't want to go in too early though. He'd realized a new idea as he roamed the streets on the past holiday afternoon: the only thing funnier than people stuffing their faces with stuffing was stuffing them so full of stuffing they'd explode.
And what just three weeks ago was the wittiest thing that he could think of, something to think of in the sad times, something that made him laugh in peals and screams suddenly became a thought of different times. What was happening to him? How did it get so out of control? What on earth was he to do?
He sat down on his bed and put his head in his hands. The lights outside the drawn curtains of his room were too bright, and the world was too yellow and there were too many frowns and not enough smiles and to many people celebrating because everyone else told them to celebrate and the world was turning blue and Harley needed to shut up and that woman in the bank needed to die and everyone in that bank should have died and he woulda done it but the world was too blue and he should kill someone because it always made him feel better and Harley was being too annoying and she should die.
The Joker stood up and opened his eyes as a blinding blue light overtook the room, lightly rippling open the curtains. The man who had (at least he thought he had) at one point in that evening been smiling shielded his eyes as the blue light dimmed.
Standing in the room, in front of the window was a person, silent, with a blue flame encircling over her head like a halo. The light pink flowing dress she wore matched her bleached-chalk pale skin and the white sash tied around her waist with a cute bow on her hip complemented the ensemble. Her shoes were beautiful white heels, shiny, reflecting the dim blue light emanating from her halo that gave a beautiful glow to the room. She looked somewhere between an angel and a princess, bathed in a faux moonlight. To say the least, the look and effect was nothing short of magical, breathtaking even.
The Joker had cocked his head to look at her. "Who the hell are you?"
She frowned. "I beg your pardon."
"I said 'Who the hell are you?"
The woman, whoever she was, looked shocked and appalled, amazed that someone could be so rude to someone like her. "I'm the Ghost of Christmas Past."
The Joker looked at her dubiously. "Lady, you can't fool me. I've gone up against The Great Batbino many times. There's no way you can come in here like this and expect me to believe that you are a… Ghost."
"Believe what you will," the Ghost said expressionlessly. "But your belief has no bearing on whether or not I am who I say I am."
The Joker opened and closed his mouth several times, not quite sure exactly how to respond to that. After a few seconds of making his brain hurt, he rolled his eyes. "Fine you're a ghost, big deal. What do you want?"
"I come to show you Christmas Past."
The Joker looked at his watch: 11:02. "It's not Christmas."
"That is irrelevant. It will be before too long," she extended her hand. "Come with me."
The Joker looked at her hand, which had turned a beautiful, entrancing blue in the surrounding light. Too bad he didn't care. "Listen. I love the effort and I love the sympathy card, but I really have better things to do. Things… joyous and festive."
"Come with me," the woman repeated. Her hand did not move.
"Look, I don't know how many times I have to tell you, but-"
"Mistah J?" Harley's voice came from the hall. "I just found Battleship! Looks likesomeone put it under the sofa. Wanna come out and play with me?"
If there was only one thing in the world that could have made The Joker grasp the Ghost's hand as fast as he did it was that. The thought of being alone with Harley for so many minutes, just playing that stupid game. Maybe he should have let go. He could finally be rid of the harlot.
But when he tried to release his grasp from the Ghost's, she continued to hold on tightly, and the dingy apartment fell away, the world spinning into harmonious wisps of colors of blue and yellow and black-
They landed in a hospital. Exactly where, The Joker did not know. He looked around, trying to read the signs, but all he could see in the pitch blackness was a clock that told him it was just before midnight.
The Ghost let go of his hand. He pulled it away forcefully, massaging it slightly.
"And now where are we?"
But the Ghost did not answer. Instead, she looked past The Joker and over his shoulder. He turned around, facing a set of double doors. He wondered where he had seen them before. They looked familiar, yet seeing as he had been into Gotham General so often, it was damn near impossible for him to tell where these ones these led to.
The door burst open and someone in a white lab coat staggered in. The laughter came softly, as though the slim, short haired woman had just remembered a very old and very funny joke. It was a chuckle first, then it built and built until it became a raucous symphony of hysteria as the man began crying.
The door kicked open again and a heavyset black man, burst through, collapsing to the ground almost instantly. He was wheezing, laughing so bad he was unable to stand up.
"Now now, Doctors Johnson and Johnson," came the voice of another man, someone The Joker recognized all too well. "How are we doing today? How's the shampoo?"
The Joker took a step forward, watching as his former self took a few very deliberate, thought out steps into the ward. He was holding a needle that was far too big for him and his forehead had a large circular mirror on it. The other Joker took a look at his clipboard and smiled again. "Oh no. Looks like it's not too good at all, is it? We said no more tears and hear you are tear-ing all over the ground!"
"No! No more! Stop it!" the man pleaded before belting out more laughs. He collapsed from the position on his hands and knees to his side, cradled in a fetal position.
"But you need your shot," The Joker said, tucking the clipboard under his arm, withdrawing a large green vial and filling the needle with it. "I thought you of all people would know you need your shot."
"No! Please!" the woman wheezed. "Please! We'll do anything! Anything you want!" And the laughter overwhelmed her again, making her bend over as her laughs split another stitch in her side.
"But this will make you all better…" The Joker said, voice trailing off as he flicked the tip of the full needle. "No need to get any air bubbles in. They're only supposed to go out, you know." He bent over the black man and shoved the needle into his left butt cheek, pressing down hard on the plunger.
"No! Seriously! Stoppppp!" He screamed amidst his ha's and he's. But the drug had already begun to take effect. He laughed again and again.
"What- what did you-" the woman attempted to speak, but she failed, unable to contain herself at the sight of her colleague.
"Just what the doctor ordered," The Joker said brightly, injecting her with the other half of the poison.
And she laughed ever harder, tears streaming down her teeth, pain beyond pain anyone could possibly imagine.
"You remember this?" The Ghost of Christmas Past asked.
"Remember it?" The Joker asked. "I loved this night!" He watched with relish as a smile came over his face. His past self had just shoved two huge woolen stockings into the immobilized nurses.
The Joker gave a contended sigh. He knew what came next. It was so beautiful. So charmingly poetic, so-
And then came the screaming of a child, a baby no less. He had forgotten how horrid it sounded. He felt like vomiting or cutting off his ears and feeding them to his pet fish. Thank God it would be over soon.
"That noise!" The Joker past shouted. "How can they stand that noise!" He pulled out a small snow globe and flipped it over, winding the bottom as he went. "Lucky for you I can make noise too."
He walked right through The Joker present and The Ghost, heading down the hall to the first door on the left. The Joker present placed his face on the glass to watch. The punch line of this one was fantastic. One for the record books…
The door banged open and in strode the legend himself, the pesky little bat. Even nine years past he still looked ridiculous, with his yellow and black symbol, and that utility belt that with small cylindrical slots that couldn't solve anything. The Joker present looked into the Baby Care facility, where his past self was putting the finishing touches on his snow globe. In sixty seconds, it would burst, leaking into the room the wonderful essence of laughter he had perfected. Nothing soothed the nerves from a baby' crying and screaming better than a baby's laughter.
But it was not meant to be. No matter. The joke only needed a good punchline. It wasn't about the set-up.
The Joker past looked up at The Batman, who was glaring at him through the window to the Neonatal unit.
"Batsy!" He called. "You're just in time to enjoy the laughter of little children."
Both Jokers smiled, one realizing accidental ingeniousness, the other reflecting on past luck.
"Ah ah ah, Batsy," the Joker past wagged his finger. The Bat couldn't break the glass. Couldn't risk hurting any of the babies.
Batman sprinted for the entrance, and both Jokers followed his path, heading for the door. Joker past got there first, unlocked it, and graciously pulled it open. "And a Merry Merry Christmas to you, Batty man!" He bowed low as Batman hurried past him. The Joker got his clean escape, in exchange for loss of screaming. Oh how the Joker of the present marveled at his ability to get away. It was then, though, when things were so much simpler, when his material was enjoyable and fresh and exhilarating.
The Joker watched his former self cackle his way out the hallway, running with reckless abandon like a child playing a game. Seconds later, Batman appeared, chasing after him, but in the maze of a hospital, the Joker past was already gone.
The world swirled blue again and he found himself in his apartment again. Harley had stopped shouting and he was with the woman with the blue halo.
"What is past has past," she said, and with a very sensual flash of blue light she vanished.
The Joker scowled. She had brought up better times, happier times. It was a different era, when he could waltz into a hospital, cause mayhem, and waltz away, creating a swath of humor and hilarity as he went. Batman wouldn't catch him, but he would certainly chase, which added to the laughs and incentive to play.
But Batman hadn't stopped the bank robbery. There hadn't been any word that his joke had gotten across to anyone, even the people who had watched him. It was maddening that that ghost would drag forward such a nostalgic idea and not give him any sense of-
There was a tinkling as something in his closet fell and smashed onto the ground. The Joker looked up, confused. No one else had been in here. The only person stupid enough to hide in his closet was Harley, but she wasn't stupid enough to do it now… was she?
The Joker walked to the door, contemplating what would be on the other side fo the closet door. He held out his hand to the door handle and twisted slowly, opposite hand drifting towards the twelve shooter still at his side. If it was anyone stupid… maybe they'd get his special blue present… And maybe he'd laugh. He wasn't exactly sure.
He pulled open the door quickly, making the figure inside jump.
The person in the closet was larger than life, very robust, and with makeup to look incredibly theatrical. His makeup made him look sad, like he had been crying. Taken at the surface, however, the makeup looked clownish… The Joker knew who this person was supposed to represent: the crying clown, Pagalliaci.
"Don't hurt me, sir, don't hurt! Please sir, I'm begging you!" the clown said, pleadingly.
The Joker looked at him feeling no sense of pity towards him. "Did Harley put you up to this?"
The Pagalliaci looked at him. "Do you promise not to hurt me if I tell you?"
The Joker rolled his eyes. "Fine." He was sick and tired of these interruptions. If worse came to worse he could just kill him anyway.
"No," The Pagalliaci said. "She didn't send me."
"Good. Now get lost," The Joker said, pointing over his shoulder.
"But sir," The Pagalliaci pleaded.
"I said scram!" The Joker shouted.
Not needing to be told twice, the Pagalliaci hurried out of the closet, past the broken snow globe on the floor and accidentally bumped into The Joker.
The smiling man had no time to respond to The Pagalliaci's intrusion of his space. The world turned blue and he found himself standing in Robinson Park in the middle of falling snow. Near him was a bench.
"What happened?" The Joker asked. "What did you do?"
"I left! You asked me to leave and I asked."
"I didn't mean take me with you," the Joker said, angrily. Bullet through the brain… End of a crazy night, and he could sleep off the lack of laughter in his head. His hand reached for his gun, just a squeeze and it would be over…
"Look, " The Pagalliaci said pointing past The Joker's shoulder.
The Joker turned around. Some ways away, sitting on a park bench, decked in her red and black and with that disgusting pink coat over her, was Harley. It was difficult to tell what she was doing.
He failed to care. "Let's just-" But the Pagalliaci had already headed for Harley. "Suit yourself." He began to walk in the other direction, shoes crunching the snow under his feet. Then, without warning, he ran into something, like an invisible wall. He pushed against it, but it pushed back, pushing him towards the Pagalliaci and Harley. He slipped on a small patch of ice and fell back on his hindquarters. The invisible wall kept pushing him against his will towards Harley, face dragged forward through the snow. Of all the-
"Hello there," the Pagalliaci clown said, stopping in front of Harley's park bench. The Joker's slow slide in the snow came to a halt.
Harley looked up. "Oh, hi." She wiped her face with her sleeve.
"How are you?" The Pagalliaci said. "You look sad."
"Oh, I-" she looked up and wiped her face again. "I'm not."
The Pagalliaci gave a weak smile. "Mind if I sit down?"
Harley paused for a second, then closed her eyes, shook her head, and scooted over, wiping some of the snow to the side and off the bench. The Joker stood up dusting the snow off his purple suit. No need to get any closer.
The Pagalliaci clown took a step forward, turned around and sat down on the bench next to Harley. The invisible wall pushed forward and knocked The Joker forward face first into the snow. Incensed, he stood up to see the Pagalliaci clown sitting on the bench next to Harley.
"Why are you on this bench?" The Pagalliaci clown asked.
Harley looked around, not making eye contact with the sad clown. "It's uh… It's nice out. I felt like taking a walk."
The Joker turned around and pushed against the invisible wall as hard as he could, but he didn't budge, feet sliding instead back through the snow. Any minute she'd look up and see him, and he didn't want to deal with her. He just wanted to go to bed and fall asleep and let the voices back into his head.
He turned around pushed against the wall with his back and all his might, keeping an eye on Harley.
"I'm sure it is," the Pagalliaci clown said. "But is there anything specific that made you come out here?"
Harley shot him a look. "What's the big idea? Who are you? And what are you doing going around lookin' like that?"
The Pagalliaci clown looked down at his attire. "I just came from a costume party. No time to change. But really, what's wrong?"
"Why do you care?" Harley asked, resting her hands on her knees, looking straight ahead.
And she saw him. He knew it. He was looking right at her and she was looking right back at him. They even made eye contact. But it was strange. She didn't react to him at all. No bounding or yelling or anything, she just stared straight through him as though he wasn't even there. Weird. The Joker looked down at himself and felt himself to make sure he was there and he could still see himself.
"I
care because I'm curious," the Pagalliaci clown said, mimicking
Harley's position.
"Maybe it has something to do with my
problems."
"You have problems?" Harley looked at him skeptically. "Keep dreamin', sweetie."
"No really," he said. "I do."
"Like what?" she asked him.
"No one thinks I'm funny," the crying clown said with a grim chuckle.
"You?" Harley said, looking at him. "Really? You think you're not funny? I can't look at you and not laugh."
"You didn't' laugh when I walked up the first time."
"Yeah, but now I'm lookin at you, blue, and you're hilarious looking,"
"It's the tears on the cheek, isn't it?" the sad clown asked.
"No, it's the… whole shi-bang," Harley said. "The tears, the outfit, that depressing drone you have."
"I'm glad someone likes it," the clown said. "Makes my purpose of bringing everyone to smiles that much easier."
Harley nodded and then put her chin back in her hands and her elbows onto her knees. "I wish people smiled at me."
The Pagalliaci clown looked over at her. "People don't smile at you?"
Harley shook her head. "Not the people who matter."
The Joker rolled his eyes, shaking himself out of the reverie of listening to their conversation. Why couldn't he just leave? It would be so much easier. But for this damn invisible wall… He pounded on it, but no sound came out. Something was there, but it stayed completely unnoticeable were it not for the tangible thing that was there.
"And who really matters?" the Pagalliaci clown asked. The Joker pounded harder on the invisible barrier. He needed out.
Harley sighed heavily. "Mistah Jay."
"Mistah Jay?" The Pagalliaci clown asked. "Who's he?"
"He's the one who makes me laugh. He makes me feel like me."
The Pagalliaci clown nodded. "He sounds special."
"He is," Harley sighed dreamily. "But he's been distant recently."
"Any idea why?" the Pagalliaci clown asked.
Harley shook her head. "He hasn't been the same for a while."
"You should ask him what's bothering him."
She shook her head. "He always disregards me, like it's nothing, but I know deep down he loves me."
The Joker began to claw at the invisible barrier. Get him out. Let him out!
"Do you?" The sad clown asked.
Harley nodded. "Uh huh. He always comes back to me. And I always come back to him. Me and him, we're inseparable."
She said it. He couldn't believe it. How could she say that about them? He didn't need her! He could leave her at any time!
He turned around and crunched through the snow back towards her. He'd show her inseparable. He'd show her how much he needed her. He cracked his knuckles. This was it. This was the moment it all ended. It was the moment he was finally able to end his misery and get the voices back.
The Pagalliaci clown ignored The Joker's walk towards him. "Is there anything you can do to show him you love him? Maybe you need to let him know that he makes you smile."
Another ten yards. She'd be dead in twenty seconds.
"Hey yeah! That sounds like a good idea!" She stood up. "How'd you come up with that?"
Five yards. The Joker rolled up his sleeves.
The Pagalliaci clown shrugged. "It's what I would want." He paused and looked past her. "Hey! What's that?"
Then three things happened at once: Harley looked behind her to see what the Pagalliaci clown had pointed at, The Joker wrapped his fingers around Harley's neck, and the Pagalliaci clown grabbed the Joker's bicep. The world turned blue again, and The Joker felt his fingers slip through Harley's throat as the images around him spun from Robinson Park to his apartment's bedroom.
The Joker wrenched himself free of the Pagalliaci clown. "Why'd you do that? I had her! And you went and ruined everything."
The Pagalliaci clown shrugged. "The present is here, and you can't be somewhere you never were."
And with a flash of blue light, the Pagalliaci clown vanished.
People flying in and out. Blue flashes with people and angels and clowns transporting themselves into his room, and without permission to boot. This was too ridiculous, too wonky. And he was about to kill her! No matter, she'd be back soon, he could do it then and see if his blue bullet really worked.
The Joker flopped back on his bed. He could sleep and kill her in the morning. It'd be a good Christmas Eve present to throw her body in the river.
But would it bring him the ecstasy his mind had told him the act would bring?
He sighed, thinking about how the punch line never really seemed to pan out anymore. Nothing worked, nothing helped, and nothing brought back the canned chorus of laughter to his wonderful, brilliantly hilarious mind.
A draft blew through the window, rustling the purple curtains lightly in the small breeze. He hadn't left the window open. He had closed it well before that first ghost or whatever she was arrived and it hadn't, to his knowledge, opened since. The Joker lifted his head to see what had opened it and saw, in front of the window, was a very Satanic looking clown, decked in purple, and with makeup that would frighten and scare young children.
"There's another one of you?" The Joker asked.
The third figure nodded, insane grin on his face. There was no life to his eyes, and yet, there was a sadism about him that The Joker recognized. He seemed like a clown devoid of humor and knew only how to inflict suffering upon others.
"And you want me to go with you?" The Joker asked.
The Satanic clown nodded.
"And if I come with you are you all done for the night?"
Another nod.
The Joker sighed. "Fine. Fine, let's go." He stood and walked to the Satanic clown. "Let me guess, you're the one who's going to tell me the future of the errs of my ways?"
A third nod.
"Fantastic!" The Joker said faking ecstatic. "Delightful even."
The Satanic clown grabbed The Joker's arm and the room turned black, reappearing again as a lonely city street. It was a nondescript street, snow falling as it had been all month, but this time it was full of pedestrian traffic, people walking busily from point a to point b without a real concern for anything else in the world.
"Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!" shouted a voice The Joker recognized as his own. He walked side by side with the Satanic clown until they had reached the nearest street corner, where a man was dressed in a torn and tattered purple suit, standing in front of a box, and looked pale, even though he had white makeup on. "And to you all a very eggs-celent holiday season!" The man held up a rubber chicken and the crowd booed.
"What?" The Joker on the street corner shouted. "It's comedy! It's what you all want! Why can't you just laugh at the joke! It was a good punchline! Funny! Humor? Ha ha?"
But people weren't paying him very much attention at all. He was performing to an audience no one could see.
"Didn't he used to fight the Batman?" a passer-by asked.
"Now I see why he doesn't," the woman walking next to him nodded.
The Joker scowled and threw the rubber chicken at the passing couple, where it hit them and fell smack to the pavement. They stopped and turned around, rubbing the respective back of their heads.
"See what I mean, Carol?" the man said. "He's just a hack."
"I am not!" The Joker shouted back in protest.
"Spoken like a true hack," the man said, nodding.
"Come back and say that to my face!" The Joker shouted, but the man ignored him, continuing on with his partner down the street corner. The Joker reached down into the box of props by his feet, picked up a snow globe, which he threw across the street, where it smashed on a building and shattered harmlessly to the ground. He reached down and picked up another one, thought for a second, and dropped it. "Laugh, damn you! Laugh!"
But no one did.
"I've seen enough of this," the Joker looked at the Satanic clown. "This is rubbish."
"It is your path," the Satanic clown said, smiling sadistically.
"Know what I think of your path?" The Joker asked, reaching into his suit pocket.
"Wha-"
BLAM!
The Joker's twelve shooter fired a bullet into the head of the Satanic clown ghost. The smoke trailing out of the sudden hole appeared blue. The Satanic clown fell backward, sadistic smile still encased on its face. Before it hit the ground, the bullet had taken its effect and the Satanic clown had begun to laugh in its early postmortem seconds.
"Heh."
The laugh escaped The Joker's lips before he could even think about it. After all the pain, suffering, and work to show him something… important, it had all bubbled down to the use of a single bullet.
"Heh heh."
And of all the chances of bullets in the twelve shooter, one in eleven, the one experimental bullet had landed in the head of the point of the moral. And the moral was laughing at him and his brilliant concoction of posthumous laughter.
"Heh heh ha ha ha ha ha."
The Joker's laugh quickened as the Satanic clowns blood flowed onto the street, invisible to the passersby. What did The Joker think of this future baloney? Bullocks to the future. He needed to do what he needed to do.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!"
The Joker's laugh broke into an unstoppable cacophony of sound. It wouldn't have been so funny if there hadn't been so much to it. The Joker hunched over with laughter, unable to contain himself. A side split and his gun "accidentally" slipped into position over the Satanic clown's dead, laughing face. He fired off the rest of the ten shots in rapid succession, mutilating the face into an unrecognizable puddle of splurting red goo and sticky white flesh. It made it all the funnier, this set-up. That stupid angel had made him aggravated, the sad clown had made him furious, and this third clown… Well… He was just an idiot.
And he was the one who could see the future.
The world turned black and The Joker found himself laughing in his room again. The Satanic clown had gone, obviously too… weak to lead him back. The fits of laughter continued to peal out uncontrollably. He didn't know why it was so funny, but it humored him. This whole experience was the biggest joke he'd heard in a long time. So much set-up for a terribly cliché punchline. Oh it was worth it. It was so worth it.
There was a knock at the door. "Mistah Jay? Are you alright in there?"
But the Joker couldn't stop laughing. He couldn't think about anything except the continuous reel of applause and cheers and whoops and claps in his head. He tried to calm it down. He needed to let Harley in on the joke. She did, of course, have noble intentions.
"Hee hee, come in," he said, wiping away a tear and clutching a stitch in his thigh.
She pushed open the door slowly. "Mistah Jay? What's goin' on?"
"A joke, Harl. A great joke."
"Wanna tell me what it is?" Harley asked, taking a step into the room and shutting the door behind her.
"It would take too long," the Joker said, laughter finally starting to die down.
"Maybe some other time then?"
"I said it would take too long!" the Joker snapped. He had forgotten just how much he had hated her.
"If you say so," Harley said. She paused and took a few steps forward, sitting on The Joker's bed. "Is there anything I can help you to do?" Her voice trailed up his arm. "Anything at all?"
Harley. Always wanting the bigger things.
The Joker pulled out his twelve shooter and pointed it at her head and, without thinking or giving her time to do much more than gasp, pulled the trigger.
CLICK
"Oh, right," the Joker said, laughing once. "I forgot! I'm out of bullets!"
"Are you crazy?" Harley asked. "You coulda killed me right there!"
The Joker laughed, contemplating the thought. "I could have!" He tossed the gun up and grabbed it by the muzzle and brought the butt of it down across Harley's head as hard as she could. She yelped in pain and he smiled. It felt good. It felt wonderful to finally feel good about this again. After all the lack of humor in his head it felt so… right.
Again he brought down the butt of the gun on Harley's face, breaking her nose and sending blood flying. His laughter pealed out again as Harley flinched away to the bed, landing on her back. The Joker tossed the gun aside and pulled her arms aside and continued to hit her. Again and again and again he hit her, cheeks swelling under the repeated battery. Her yelps turning into whimpers as he began to rip off her red and black outfit.
The passion coursed through his veins. Why hadn't he tried this sooner?
She was saying something, but he couldn't hear it amidst the sound of skin on skin. He had missed this sound, the special kind that was totally devoid of cartoony action, one that derived from physical pain.
Why had it taken the laughs so long to come back?
But he didn't care. He didn't care at all. All that mattered now was the laugh was back.
And it felt good.