Pain.
Pain was his first memory. Pain and the dark. The feeling of pain and fear and the surrounding darkness; then suddenly nothing. The feeling of nothing was strange with no emotions or sensations, but he was sure that he was awake. He had to be, how else could he tell that he was slapped in the face even though he couldn't feel it. He was aware of it and that was all. Strange; almost funny. Then he felt the burning, well at least he thought he did. It was dull, as if it were an old memory and had happened long ago. Where exactly was the burning happening? In his throat, mouth and guts? He wasn't even sure if it was happening now or it happened before; if it even happened at all. The feeling of disconnection was alien and yet comforting.
Then, the movies started. The movies were fuzzy and out of focus and didn't make much sense. They sort of skipped around and didn't connect properly. First there was a kitchen, then suddenly there was a stadium or what he thought could be one; broken roof tops that showed the sky and a clown.
A wave of fear came from that clown, but the movies went to fast for him to think to much about it. Then a woman. The woman was singing to him while stroking his hair. Was it his mom? Again, the movies were too quick. They were going to quick for him to see them or think about them and he started to feel dizzy and short of breath, at least he thought so. Time had no place where the movies were. Had he been watching them for seconds or days? Then suddenly, reality.
It was as if waking with a start, like the sensation of when it felt like someone dropped you in your bed and your not sure if that's what truly happened. He took in a breath and looked around. There wasn't much to see, a blue curtain and some sort of equipment. He tried to remember where he was, but his mind was failing him and it hurt to think about it. He looked down and saw that he was on some sort of table ; strapped down at the waist. He moved his hands to unbuckle it and it felt like he was controlling his hands from outside his body. The strap wasn't locked and came undone like a seat belt.
What's a seat belt?
He moved to get down but he suddenly felt heavy. As if someone suddenly put sand in his arms and legs and it made him feel lopsided. He jumped down and nearly collapsed; his body fighting his every move as if it didn't want to go. He wasn't going to let that stop him, his curiosity was too great for that. He moved closer to the curtain, his shoes clicking on the ground. Shoes, it sounds funny when you say it over and over again. He suddenly felt strange, it was that feeling that he first remembered, fear. It didn't go away this time. It stayed and made his chest hurt. He didn't even know what to be fearful of. He didn't or couldn't remember...perhaps on purpose? There was a sound in the air; he knew what it was but for some bizarre reason he couldn't think of what it was called. He wasn't even sure where it was coming from. Ignoring the feelings of everything he moved the curtain back and looked around.
It was that kitchen he saw in his movie, well sort of. In the movie it was complete. Canary-yellow and white wall and floor tiles with splotches of blue here and there, an old fridge and a kitchen table for three with flowers on it. In the movie there where four walls, here there were only two. The two walls that did exist didn't exactly look like what he had seen in the movie. They were dirty and looked like they were well, fake. He looked up, and didn't see the sky like he expected. He did see a playing card, isn't that what they were called, or was it calling card? He looked around and saw that this house was struned around and that it really wasn't a house but more of a play set that wasn't connected to eachother and was being stored in a larger building. Toys of all sorts surrounded the area, especially building blocks and large ones at that.
He felt confused. It was strange yet familiar, as if he'd seen it many times before. He walked out further, and could hear the sound again. It was making him nervous, it sounded so close but when he looked for it he couldn't see the point of origin. There was a new sound as well. It was quiet and came in jagged waves. Crying, yes...that's what it's called, isn't it? This sound was coming from a building block. He walked over to it, hearing the clicking of his feet as it echoed loudly off the walls. The closer he got, the louder that sound got.
'Crying. Don't forget that word,' he thought to himself, 'can't remember much right now, remember that at least.'
He came up to the block and saw that it wasn't a solid block, more of a box turned on it's side. He looked in and saw...what? This was frustrating. He couldn't remember simple things anymore, and he...
A girl, yes that is what it was. It took him a minute but then he remembered that name. A girl, and he was a, boy? Yes, he was sure of that, but it was still frustrating. He looked at the girl and studied her; trying to recall more. She was younger than him, or older...no definitely younger. She had to be; she was small, much smaller than himself. She had to be...what, four or five years old? He pushed the question of 'what's a year' out of his mind and tried to focus on what was in front of him. She had yellow hair, or is it called blond? He shook his head; everything was so swampy in his head. Her hair was in pigtails, held together with pink bugs, of what he didn't care. She was wearing a white shirt with red overalls and little pink shoes and lacy socks. Her face was buried in her knees with her arms wrapped around her legs. He bent down to get a closer look; when he did he heard that weird sound again and she must have too. She looked up suddenly and looked directly at him. Her face and eyes were red; must have been crying for awhile. Her face suddenly contorted into an expression. Why can't he remember the basics?
Fear, yes that's what fear looks like on a face. She was afraid. Afraid of what? He looked behind him and saw nothing but a wall; that wasn't scary but then again what did he know right now? He looked back at her and saw that she was trying to push herself further into the corner of the box; eyes darting all around him.
'It must be me,' he thought. 'She's afraid of me.' He crept closer, getting inside the box; wanting to show her that there wasn't anything to be afraid of as he reached out toward her. Her eyes bulged and she looked right into his eyes. Then that sound again. It was loud this time; it followed him into the box. That sound was making him on edge. That's what she must be afraid of. He stopped and looked around in the box. He didn't see anything, other than himself and the girl. He looked at his outstretched arm. There was...a colored glove covering his hand. A long purple...yes a purple sleeve on his arm. He followed his arm to his torso. Green, green and more purple. He had a green belly. No wait...that was just a...a vest. Purple pants, neatly pressed and white knees. White knees? He looked back up to the girl not looking at the fear in her face but her skin. Her skin was a fair peach color with different hues of red in it. He looked back at his knees and saw stark white with no discernible colors, just white.
Then that sound came back, only this time he saw his stomach heave with each sound. The sound was coming from him, from his mouth. As if it knew, the sound wouldn't stop this time. He tried pressing his hands on his stomach to stop it, but it kept going, so he covered his mouth but it only muffled it. The more he fought it, the louder it got. It was disturbing to listen to, what ever it was called he knew it didn't sound right. It was high and in wavering short spouts. He held his breath hoping to block out the sound but as he did, the sound stopped. He kept holding his breath, not wanting to hear that ugly sound again. With both hands over his mouth he looked down at the girl and saw that her expression had changed slightly. It was still fearful, but there was confusion there as well. He sat down in that box holding his breath, trying to contain it, but his stomach kept lurching; trying to force the sound out.
Laughter. That's what it was called. He remembered that laughter was supposed to be a joyful expression, but why did it make him so sick to hear it? The sound made his head spin and his stomach clench up. His confusion was reaching its peak, he wanted to remember everything but at the same time didn't. He started to feel light-headed and finally moved his hands away from his face and took a gasping breath. The laughter was gone; crawled back down his throat for now. He looked at the girl, this time she was looking at him with less fear but with more, he didn't know what but he didn't want to know. Her eyes suddenly darted from him and looked over his shoulder and the look of fear returned to her face tenfold. She shrank back to her corner and she looked smaller than she really was. He felt something fall heavily onto his left shoulder and then began to squeeze it to the point where it hurt. He turned to look.
The clown had come out of the movie.
There was only one thought in his head while looking at the movie clown; behave. He didn't know why, but it was the only logical decision. The clowns grip became tighter on his shoulder, his fingers digging in purposefully. The only thing he could focus on was the clown's eyes; everything else seemed unimportant at the moment. His eyes were red, narrowed and focused on his own eyes and were full of controlled anger. The clown started to talk to him, but he couldn't really hear what he said. The world began to blur at the corners as loud, painful memories poured out. The memories were coming too fast for him to fully understand and when he tried to focus on one, it only brought a new feeling of pain as if it was happening right then and there. He suddenly felt a violent shake on his shoulder that brought him back. The clown had leaned down closer to him, his face only inches away from his own. He raised his free hand and lifted up a finger and quietly said,
"Focus." with the same gleam in his eyes.
'Behave. I must behave,' was the only thing that ran in his head. He looked at the clowns face, focusing on that and had the feeling that his life truly depended on it. The clowns features were narrow and sharp. Pointed noes with a slender jaw line. Green hair oiled and slicked back revealing a large widow's peak, and a large grin that was devoid of any comfort. The clown looked at him for a few seconds, then leaned back tilting his head playfully, another expression taking over.
"Huh-hey! There we go," he said with a laugh, "don't need you zoning out just quite yet!" The clown stood up, violently pulling him up as well and then pushing him away from the box. The girl inside squeaked in fear as the clown grabbed her. He pulled her out just as violently, picking her up and looking down at her with true anger.
"I thought I told you to stay put!" he said giving her a quick shake. The girl did not answer, only cried all the more. As the clown started to walk away from him with the girl in hand did some clear memories start to come to play. Joker. That was what he was. He remembered that, and he was...what exactly? He tried to have a clearer memory of this man, but when he tried, all he got was pain and the feeling to behave. Meanwhile the Joker took the girl and pushed her into another building block box, but this one had a lid with a lock on it. He put the girl inside and slammed the box lid closed as hard as he could, locking it while muttering to himself.
"You'd think one would be enough but no," he grumbled to himself locking the padlock, "she has to go out and get another brat! She has no right to change the joke like this. After this is done, I think I may just get rid of her at the same time as the bird. Speaking of which, where is she?" He pulled up his sleeve to look at his watch, "She should have been back by now." He walked over to a radio on the fake kitchens' counter and turned it on. Only static first came out of it, but he turned a knob until a woman's voice played on it. The voice was monotone and slow, reading what sounded like police reports. The Joker then turned towards him, and he felt himself lock up.
"Get back behind the curtain, I don't want you running around incase we get a sudden bat infestation." He looked at the Joker and was going to do as he was told, but something in the back of his head told him not to do it. It was a weak feeling; easy to ignore, but it just felt...right. He didn't quiet know what to do, obey or disobey; he hesitated. The Joker saw this and slowly approached him, placing his arms behind him as he walked over to him. He then leaned down at him and said quietly:
"I said, 'get back behind the curtain', right now." He looked up at the Joker, not knowing what to do. The Joker smiled slowly, gently grabbing him by the arm and leading him back to the blue curtain.
"It seams to me," he said while leading him, "that we're not quite done yet. I think one more lesson should do the trick." Suddenly, he felt like he was going to die and wanted to run away. He tried to escape the Jokers grip while the laughter started to come out again. The Joker only held onto him all the tighter. He pulled him back behind the curtain, and tossed him back onto the operation table. The Joker looked him dead in the eye, and said:
"It seems that you need a good long lesson my boy," he strapped him back down at the waist, "now I know this will hurt you much more than me." He laughed at that and picked up a syringe and walked over to him.
He saw the injection needle, saw how large and dirty it looked. Fear took hold of his chest, locking him in place. Somewhere deep in his mind, he told himself if he fought it, it would only make it worse, drowning out the part that whispered him to fight. He didn't see the needle go in but he felt it. Felt how fast and deep into his thigh, aware of the weight behind it. Then the rush of fluid into his thigh and how painful that was alone. Then the burning started. It traveled up and down his leg, crawled its way up into his chest and then the pain was everywhere. His skin felt on fire with muscles seized, hands clawed and back arched painfully forward. If he hadn't been strapped down, he would have surely fallen off of the table. It was painful to breathe, but his chest heaved up and down, desperate for air. His eyes darted around on their own, not able to focus on just one thing while the world rippled. His wold became nothing more than pain and fear. Then, nothing but darkness.
He sat there in the darkness, not feeling or thinking of anything. Back to square one. Soon however, the world presented itself slowly to his eyes. His eyes demanded to stay closed, but he forced them to open. His eyes fluttered in attempt to stay closed as he tried to look around. His head felt painful and heavy to move, but he managed to tilt it to the side to look. He was still behind the curtain from what he saw. His body started to shake, making some of the metal of his straps clang onto the operation table. His chest was still heaving, trying to catch is breath but what little was caught was quietly laughed out. His skin was still burning slightly and his hair that was stuck on his forehead from the sweat made it felt itchy; all he wanted to do was scratch everything away. Then the curtain pulled back. The sudden bright light hurt his sore eyes and they tried to clamp down, but he felt if he did, the pain would surely start over again. The Joker sauntered slowly over to his side, his eyes never looking away from him and he never looked away from the Joker. To do so would be bad, he had to give him his full attention, even if he didn't have any at the time. The joker leaned in closer and whispered in his ear.
"Have you learned your lesson?" He didn't know what to do, but he nodded slowly, hoping that's what he wanted.
"And the lesson was what?" he whispered to him. Now he was in it, he didn't know. He looked into the Jokers eyes blankly, trying desperately to think of the answer.
"That's right," cried out the Joker, hurting his head from the volume of it, "never to talk back or question me! Oh, I knew you were a smart kid!" He began to remove the straps on him. "Much smarter than Harley ever was," he said while ruffling his hair. The act hurt his head, but he didn't dare show that it did, "yes sir, I've never been more proud of myself. Now JJ," he said while walking away, "I want you to come here. I want to show you something important." He tried to jump down and follow him, but his body was weaker than ever, but he knew now that to disobey was worse. He jumped down and collapsed on the floor, but finding what little strength he had left he got up and followed his dad.
Dad? Where did that idea come from? Maybe it was true because after all, his head wasn't working right. Maybe he did all this out of love. He caught up to the Joker, following close at hand. They walked out of the theater and down a crumbled hallway. He didn't really look around, only focused on his dad. His dad demanded attention and he knew what would happen otherwise now. He thought about what his dad had called him.
'JJ, that's my name', he thought. Simple enough, but why did it feel so...artificial?
'Don't question it,' he thought, 'focus on what's happening now. If you don't, it's back into bed with you and that's bad.'
They entered a old room that looked like it had once upon a time been a doctors office. Old file cabinets left to rust and a large oak desk that was probably expensive had papers and blueprints strewn atop it. In the corner was a large disassembled jack in the box; on top of that junk was an old straitjacket. Hanging on the wall was a old oil painting of a man with the title 'Our founder: Jeremiah Arkham'. Someone had drawn a fake mustache and beard on it, with goofy cross eyes and tongue sticking out.
"Everything is almost ready," the Joker said to him as he rounded the desk, "soon bat-breath's final curtain call will start, and you," he said looking up at him with a large grin, "will be the final nail in the coffin. In more ways than one!" He opened up a desk drawer and pulled out a large metal box. He tucked the box under his arms and started to walk out of the office with JJ following as best as he could. They reentered the operating theater and the Joker walked over to the kitchen table and set the box down on it.
"You should consider yourself lucky sonny-boy," he said turning to him, "inside here is a secret that I've kept for all these years. Now I'm sharing it with you." He opened the box to reveal what looked like a comicly large toy gun, safety tip and all. The joker pulled it out and held it up to show him.
"I had a gun smith make this for me after the first time I fought ol' pointy ears as the man I am today," he said with a nostalgic sigh, "It's a custom made dart gun! Inside is your standard 'Bang' flag, it'll pop out the first time you pull the trigger," he said as he did so. True enough, it made a loud toy gun bang sound with smoke, and the flag popped out. The yellow and red flag was bright and looked harmless. "However, when you pull the trigger again," he said while aiming it at an imaginary target, "Pow! The dart shoots out and impales whoever you're shooting at! Of course since this gun was a custom job, that gunsmith wanted a lot for it, a kings ransom, so I gave him a piece of my mind...and his mind made a mess all over the wall!" He chortled at his own joke.
"This gun was made for one purpose only," he said leaning closer to the boy, "to personally thank Batman for making me who I am today. I had planned on using it the next time we met, but as time went on," he said looking up with another wave of happy memories, "I grew to like our merry romps. I'd do something; he'd try to stop me and around and around we went for many years. But now, we're getting older," he said looking at him "and won't be able to keep up the merry game. It's time to finish it," he said with a growing edge to his voice, "to prove once and for all that I was in full control the whole time and that I'm simply tired of the game."
He pulled the back plunger on the gun and the dart retreated back into the gun, he then set it on the table.
"As for you," he said turning back to him and slapping his hands firmly on his shoulders, "you are the build up of the joke, and you will be the one to deliver the punch line. The ultimate joke! The final blow to his frail little ego! It will be hilarious!" He laughed long and hard at the thought and anticipation of the final showdown, knowing that in the end, he had already won. JJ didn't understand most of what was said, he tried his best to listen to his dad but his head was killing him and all he got out of it was that he was going to do something important.
The Joker looked down at his creation and had to smile. Here was his ultimate joke, this...thing he made. It was perfect! True Harley had given him the initial idea, but everything else was of his own design. It was also his most time consuming project. Sure he kept tabs on that Charles...what's-his-name for years but that was simple, this had required twenty-four hour dedication for weeks! He had originally thought it would take three weeks, but it had turned into months of work. The kid was more stubborn than he thought, but here he was now. He remembered when the kid truly cracked; he tried to get more information out of him but all he got was the five-mile stare. He thought he'd over done it, but now here he was. A chip off the ol' block! Well, almost. He had to be sure. He had to make sure that he would obey him, no matter what. The Joker looked him over again, noticed his suit was slightly grubby and his hair messy.
"Well kiddo," he said slapping him hard in the back playfully, "it seems that you need to get cleaned up first! Where is Harley?! She should have been back by now!" He looked at the doorway and thought for a moment.
"Guess I'll have to go fetch her myself," he said angrily, "I'll kill her if she ruins the joke." He pointed to the curtain and said:
"Get on the table and strap yourself in, I'll be over to...tuck you in, in a moment." Not even thinking about it, JJ turned and walked over to the curtain and moved it aside and climbed back on the table. He grabbed the waist strap and closed it over himself, lied back and waited. As he waited, he decided that he was just confused at first. Thinking was the quickest way of getting in trouble here; he had to just be reminded of it. However, a small part of him still nagged at him. He wasn't sure why he felt like this, but after he felt the needle and felt the anesthetic take over he didn't have to think anymore about it.
He woke up slowly, still dazed from the drug. He didn't know how long he had slept but he did feel slightly better though. Perhaps all he really needed was some sleep after all. He decided to wait for someone to come to him, he didn't want to get into trouble again after what happened earlier. He couldn't see much anyway as it was dark behind the curtain, so he decided to try to sleep some more as he waited. As he tried to fall asleep, that nagging feeling came back. Something in his head was trying to get his attention, but he kept ignoring it. He was suddenly aware that someone was yelling. He tried to focus on it but the voice was at a distance. Suddenly the voice boomed inside the room.
"Get back over here you little brat!" He heard the Joker call out. Objects were crashing down and breaking as a chase went on. He remembered that little girl locked up in the box, maybe she got out? He then heard a high loud yelp and then crying from what he assumed the girl. The girl kept crying and what seemed to be struggling, and the nagging feeling got stronger. Despite himself, he got up and peeked out the curtain. The girl was kicking and screaming; trying her best to get away, but a four year old is no match for a full grown adult. The Joker opened up the same box that he had put her in before and put her back into it. He closed the latch again and put another block on top.
"I can't believe this," he grumbled to himself, "here I am, ready to put on my grand finale for ol' bats and Harley has to go missing in action on me! Ungrateful wench! I had to clean up the kid myself, and now," he said kicking the box as hard as he pleased resulting a yelp within, "this other brat keeps running around and crying! What did Harley want with her anyway? Did she think I wouldn't mind?" He looked around and JJ quietly went back on the table, not wanting to get caught off of it. He heard the Joker walk on the tile of the fake kitchen and then heard what sounded like paper.
"Dear Puddin'," read the Joker out loud with venom in 'puddin', "I'll be back home in a day or three. Wanted to get together with Pam one last time before I settle into family life. I hope you will consider..." He stopped reading it out loud, only mumbled. He crumpled the letter up and threw it away.
"Bah! If she thinks I'm going to do the same thing to that kid as I did to Robin, she's sorely mistaken! I don't have time for this! Not this close to opening night!" He pulled out a handgun from his holster and pointed it at the box, but stop when he was about to pull the trigger. An idea popped into his head. He did have to make sure that the bird brain was under his thumb. He turned and looked at the curtain. He had to make sure that he would do what he said. This was too important; the entire joke rested on him able to 'deliver the punch line'. He had to make sure.
Behind the curtain, JJ's mind was racing. That word triggered something in his head; gave the nagging in his head new strength. This was wrong. Everything was wrong. He tried to think of what it could possibly mean, but he couldn't figure why the word 'robin' would cause such a feeling of unease. The Joker called out to him, he would have to figure it out later. He got back down again and walked out from the curtain. The Joker had his hands on his hips, looking down at him with pride.
"Hey there son," he said with glee, "since your ma is out sleeping with another woman, I thought we could pass the time with a little game." He picked up the bang dart gun and held it up again.
"It's called, 'target practice'. It's a fun little game that we're going to play with Batman and his friends, but I want to make sure you know the rules first." JJ kept looking up at the Joker, but the new thought kept coming on stronger and he couldn't stop or completely ignore them. The Joker gently place the gun in his hands, and it slowed his train of thought.
"I know I said that this was made for Batman," as Batman landed on the thug and knocked him out instantly, "but I just want to make sure you know what to do." JJ started to shiver slightly, the movies were starting again and he couldn't risk making his dad angry. A old, kind face of a man whisked by, asking him if he had done his homework, a girl with red hair smiled at another man as they practice...ugh! These movies were horrible! He didn't know what they meant. He had to make his dad happy because he then would be happy too. He looked down at the gun and tried to focus on that; to drive away the movies.
'This isn't right.' said something in his head. He shook his head, trying to silence it. 'You know this isn't right. Fight it.' Fight it, fight what? The world started to spin again. The movies...memories kept playing on. He was flying; soaring in-between buildings while laughing as if he had done it a million times before. He liked this movie and focused on this one. He landed and looked around at the rooftops of the city. He heard a cry. "Help!" He was shaken from the memory when he heard the girl call out for help as she kicked and cried trying to get away. The Joker held her by the arm as she kicked in the air, crying from the pain of being held up.
"Make daddy proud," he said while pointing to the girl, "you know what to do. Deliver the punch line." That last sentence triggered a response, he suddenly became calm and raised the gun and pointed it at the girl. Deliver the punch line. 'Don't do it.' the voice called out again, 'you know who you are, you know.' He started to laugh, of course he knew who he was, it all made sense because everything didn't make sense and that was the joke. The voice didn't get the joke, that's all. He pulled the trigger and the flag popped out; it had a stronger kick than he realized. Pull the trigger again and the girl will be saved. Saved? What no, he meant shot. Then everything started to melt into movies as his head bobbed in the invisible waves. All the movies of the old memories and the new started to fight for screen time. One movie started while another was in the middle of it and it was making his head hurt. He had to do as his dad said or he would get into trouble! One life was mingling with another and he didn't know what to do. The voices were crying out for attention.
'Don't do it.' 'You have to' 'This isn't you' 'Do it' 'He's right' 'Don't shoot'
He closed his eyes, trying to shut the voices up, but they shot open when he heard a new voice, one that was low, strong and confident. Not just a voice, but a true wonderful loving memory.
"I'm proud of you Tim."
...He remembered.
Reality came crashing back when he heard a loud bang and felt himself push back from the recoil. The world suddenly became quiet. Peace at last. He looked on, seeing the girl on the ground all crumpled up from being dropped. The Joker stood there with the most pure expression of shock and surprise. He was looking down at the dart sticking out of his chest where his heart was. He numbly fumbled for the dart and wrapped his hand around it. He looked up at his creation, still in shock.
"That's not funny," he said with a blank look on his face, "that's not..." he gasped and a look of fear washed over his face as he fell down face first. He didn't move. The laughter erupted out of him as he looked on. Nothing in the whole world was more hilarious than this. He was a walking joke to what he was! Of course it was funny! Hilarious! The greatest joke of all! He looked at the gun and all the emotions of the past three months hit him; all the pain, fear and longing. He let the gun go as he laughed on. He was laughing so hard that tears poured out...or was he crying. Yes, he could admit it to himself; he was crying. He fell to his knees, not caring how much it hurt to do so. He had never sobbed so hard in his life. The last time he did so, his mom came into the room and held him tight with gentle strokes on his head, but that was three lifetimes ago. There was no mom, there was no dad, there wasn't even Batman. He wrapped his arms around and hugged himself, his sobbing echoing loudly throughout the decaying insane asylum.
He didn't know how long he had sat on his knees and cried. He cried so much that he wondered if the room would flood with them like in that one story. His chest kept catching raspy breaths as if he was going to sob again, but nothing came of it. His whole body hurt from it. He finally opened his eyes and looked ahead.
There it was, the corpse of his torturer and his...fathers nemesis. The corpse of the Joker. It wasn't just a nightmare that he had hoped it was. He looked down while biting his lip. Not all of his memories of the past few months were unlocked as of yet, but he remembered his past life as Robin. He remembered the quiet understanding way of Alfred, Barbara's infectious laugh and Dick's relaxed ways. The laughter came back, it was loud and maniacal and sounded too familiar to the Jokers. He held his breath and covered his mouth. He didn't want to even think that he could produce such a ugly sound. He could hardly believe that he had lost himself to that madman, and even thought he was his dad! How could he be so weak? He opened his eyes and realized what he had done. He had told him everything! He had betrayed everyone's trust and told the Joker everything he knew. He looked at the Jokers corpse again and at the gun near his knees. He felt sick. He got up and tried to remember where a restroom in this dump was.
He rushed out of the operation theater and turned down a hallway and found the closest restroom. He didn't make it to the toilet but he did reach the sink. What ever was in his stomach lurched out and spilled over into the sink. He didn't have much inside, but he continued to retch even after the fact. He hated this feeling; always had. He tried to stop but his body was insistent in continuing on. Finally it did stop and he put his head on the cold porcelain sink. He breathed in, trying to clear his head and plan the next step. Without looking up, he turned on the faucet to rinse it out. He would find a telephone, call Bruce or Dick, have them fix everything. He stood up and took off his gloves to cup the water to rinse out the bile. He cupped his hands under the water and was going to take a sip when he looked at them.
They were white. Not Caucasian white, but clown white. He took a sip, he was just tired. He spat the water out and panted. Panic was starting to settle in. It was makeup...yes it had to be. He looked into the mirror and choked down a laugh. He looked just like him. White face and green hair; dark ruby lips and...and... He bent down and splashed the water on his face. It was just makeup. It will wash off. He rubbed his face hard with his hands, knowing greasepaint makeup was thick. He grabbed the dirty towel and rubbed his face into it. He paused, and slowly lowered the towel. It was all still there. The midnight black around his large eyes, the red irises, the white of his skin and that horrible grin. It was far wider than the Jokers ever was, showing all his teeth and somehow even more terrifying. The laughter came out again, loud and nerve-racking as ever. It made him retch again as he laughed. He sank to the floor of that disgusting restroom while laughing and retching. He couldn't. He couldn't call for help now. Not like this. He was pathetic. Laughing and dry-heaving on the floor with eyes wide open not looking at anything. He couldn't do this to the others.
He didn't know what to do anymore. He didn't want to let the world know what happened. That face in the mirror was the most disgusting, pathetic thing he had ever seen. He stood back up and looked again in the mirror. It was stupid, what he was wearing was stupid. He looked like if Eddy Munster had designed his clothes. Knee-high socks and that comicly large bow tie? He walked away from the mirror, absolutely hating that kid inside it. He needed something to keep his mind off of it so he slowly put his gloves back on. He didn't...feel right without them on. Hopefully that was just out of frustration. He looked around inside the theater and yep, that guy ain't gettin' back up again. The laugh tried to come out again, but he swallowed it back down.
'Wait, wasn't there someone else here?' Of course, that girl! Where did she get to? He looked around and soon saw that she had huddled herself in the farthest corner of the room. Now he knew why she looked at him with such fear earlier, he was a mess. He walked over to her and got on his knees, trying to comfort her by gently touching her shoulder. She flinched away, eyes never leaving him. He decided to tell her that he wasn't going to hurt her, but when he tried to speak, only that nauseating laughter came out.
He clasped his mouth again, feeling stupid for having to do that so much today. He lowered his hand and tried to say something. Anything that resembled English would do, but whatever he tried only insane laughter came out. He covered his mouth again with both hands. Good God, he couldn't talk. He backed away from the girl and a strange muffled wailing noise came from inside him and he couldn't control it. He backed into the same box that the girl had been in where they first met, curled up and began to cry again. It wasn't like before, where it sounded like sobbing, now it just sounded like sick laughter. It was true, he didn't want to believe it but it was true. He was sick. He was mad, deranged, unhinged...insane. He was insane. He laughed all the louder. Now he really couldn't face...well, anyone for that matter. He was a pathetic, insane joker-kid. He felt something touch his arm and he slowly looked up. The girl had crawled inside with him and sat right next to him, looking worried. She then did something he wasn't prepared for, she hugged him around his waist. He looked down at this little girl. He was the older one, he should be comforting her, not the other way around. He started to shake, it felt nice. He picked her up and squeezed her like a teddy bear, not even considering if he was hurting her or not.
"Not so tight!" said the little girl, the first thing she said all night. He came back to reality and let her go. She rubbed her arms.
"Ow, you hug too tight," she said looking at him, then she looked down and what little maturity had been there was gone.
"I want to go home!"
'You and me both,' he said to himself, 'but I can't go back, they would...' the laughter started again, and he held his breath to stop it. He had to do something. Batman would eventually figure it all out. He would come here and see what has happened. He had to do something about it; had to buy time. He looked at the girl and patted her head and pointed to the ground.
'Stay here,' he thought to her, even though he knew she couldn't hear him, 'I have to do something first.' He stood up and looked over at the body. What if he was faking it? It could just be a big fake out and as soon as he got close, he'd grab him. 'No. Don't be stupid, JJ.' He stopped and smacked his head.
'My name is Tim, not JJ! It's JJ, no I mean Tim!' He held his head and let the laughter fly out. He was going to have to work on some things, but he had to focus on the matter at hand. He was still chuckling when he touched the body, it felt stiff already. He grabbed the Jokers' shoulder and pulled it towards himself to flip the body over. The face was...not what he was expecting. He figured the Joker would die with a large, triumphant smile and expression but this? He had no smile what so ever, no expression...nothing. Blank eyes conveyed nothing, didn't even had a hint of malice within. He looked like a normal human, save the skin and the green hair...
'No, no no don't think like that' he said to himself, 'it makes the laugh come out.' He looked down at the dart in his chest. Falling on it had pushed it further inside, but not by much. He took off his gloves again, thinking if he got them dirty, he would get hurt. He put them in his pocket and grabbed the dart and pulled hard. It was stuck. He stood up and put his foot onto the chest and pulled and pushed as hard as he could, causing a little congealed blood to pool out of the wound. It finally came free and he fell flat on his backside.
'Jeez! That was really stuck tight,' he thought looking at the bloody rod. The flag had bloodstains on it now, as well as his hands.
'Better hurry,' he thought, 'don't want to get caught...red handed.' He laughed so hard at the lame pun, harder than anyone would have. He forced himself to stop. This wasn't normal; he had to focus on what to do next. He remembered from a story that Bruce had told him that a long time ago the Scarecrow had tried to poison Gotham with a fear toxin via a underground river beneath Arkham, this Arkham. He got up and walked down a hall, looking for a way down to the basement. He couldn't believe that they left this place to rot; why not completely demolish it? Look what happened! He'd have some words with the mayor if he ever got the chance. He soon came to a open doorway that led to the basement. He flipped the light switch, hoping that there was power here as well.
The light came on in protest, but then stayed illuminated. He walked down into the basement, walking over broken bits of wall. He looked around and felt so uneased down here, but then he saw the doorway that led to the underground river system. He kept looking around however, looking for a...yes there was one! He picked it up but only saw that it was a coal shovel, but it would have to do. He placed it near the doorway and ran back up to where the body was. Half way back though, his body suddenly felt weak, his legs shook and his head felt light.
'Come on,' he said to himself, 'you have to keep going.' He walked back into the room and reached the body. He picked up the Jokers' legs and didn't realize how heavy they were, or maybe he was weak. He situated himself so he could pull comfortably. He heaved and pulled hard to get the body in motion.
'My gosh, I must be weak!' He had pulled bigger men before like this and now it was if the body weigh three hundred pounds. He had to keep going though, he had to bury the body. It was only right. The Joker may not deserve it, but he was going to get a proper burial by God. He pulled and pulled, thinking that the hallway must have stretched while he was gone. Finally he reached the basement stairwell. He looked down and wondered how he was going to do this. He put the legs down and got behind the head. He pushed up until the Joker looked like a sitting manikin. He pushed further until the body went violently down the stairs, bones breaking all the way. He looked down, the Joker's body was twisted at the bottom of the stairwell. He started to laugh at it but stopped when he realized how sick it was to do so. He went down the stairs and looked closer at the body. Cuts in the skin, broken bones and his neck was twisted funny. He tried to contain the laugh, but he couldn't fully. He grabbed the legs as best as he could; the left one felt like bending funny where he held it and he began to pull again.
He reached the doorway again that led into the underground caverns. As he pulled the body, he grabbed the coal shovel and put it on top of the body and continued on. There wasn't much light down here, only emergency lights that must have been installed after what had happened with the Scarecrow. He soon came to a spot that looked like it had soft soil. He picked up the shovel and tried his best to dig. Coal shovels he decided made lousy normal shovels. He was exhausted, emotionally and physically, but he carried on. He had to. If Bruce ever found out...more like when he... He kept digging until he thought it was deep enough. He dropped the shovel and grabbed the Joker's shoulders and pulled him toward the hole. When the Joker's body was parallel with the hole, he got a idea, he started to search the body hoping to find something useful on him. He found a hand gun, that was expected, however instead of throwing it away or leaving it where it was, he put it into his own pants pocket. It didn't fit all the way, but for some reason he felt better with it in there.
Keys. He took those. Anything else you sick...yes there was. It was deep and hidden inside, but he felt it near the breast pocket of the vest. He pulled it out and looked at it. It was a old photograph, wrinkled and faded with age. It was a picture of a woman, one he didn't recognize. Now it had some blood speckled on it. He looked at it, then at the Joker. If it were anyone else, he would have left it there on the body, but he put it into his own vest pocket. A small petty victory. He pushed the Joker into the hole, surprisingly he landed face up. However he notice that the hole was too short and the Joker's feet stuck out.
'Wonder if Ted Bundy had this problem,' he thought and laughed loudly, it echoed for quite some time. He took the shovel and corrected the problem; right before he started to shovel the dirt back onto the body he took one last look at the face and wondered if he should cover it or at least close the eyes. Then he tossed dirt on it. The dirt stuck to the eyes, not flinching, still dead. He laughed and finished the job.
It took longer than he thought to bury the body but he did it. He looked at the small mound of dirt where the Joker would rot away. Kind of fitting, maybe he'd haunt this place and be trapped here forever. Wait, that was a scary idea. He turned away and walked back up with the shovel in hand. He put the shovel back right where he had found it. He looked down at his hands, blood and dirt covered them. He slowly walked back to the restroom lost in deep thought. He never thought he would be doing...this. He pushed the idea away, he had other things to do right now. He turned on the faucet and scrubbed his hands. He didn't realize that he was shaking so hard until he looked at his hands. Memories of the past three months started to come out...his 'movies' as he had called them. He tried to control his breathing; he didn't want to panic and melt down again like he did earlier. He decided to look again in the Joker's office to see if he could find anything more useful to him.
He found the office again, and went over to the desk and tried to pull the drawers open, but they were locked. Good thing he took those keys off the Joker. He fumbled with the keys, trying all of them with the drawers, however only one worked with one drawer. He opened the drawer and looked inside. There was five large bundles of one hundred dollar bills, some useless papers and some pictures and...he couldn't believe it. He pulled it out and held it up to look at it. His mask, he kept his mask. He gently put it into his vest pocket. He looked around the office, trying to see if there was something else he could use. In the corner of the office, there was a old leather messenger bag. He walked over to it and looked inside, there wasn't anything in it. He put it across his body and adjusted the straps to make it fit properly. He walked back over to the desk, grabbed the bundles of money and shoved them into the bag. He pulled out the gun he took from the Joker and put it into the bag as well.
He looked at the papers and saw they were from years ago and were worthless. He tossed them away and found what looked like three magazines for the hand gun he had. He picked them up and into the bag they went. He picked up one of the pictures and...it was him. He looked at another one, again it was him! The Joker documented everything! He took any pictures he could find in the drawer and shoved them into the bag. He then remembered that Harley had been taking pictures and...filming. He had to find that film! He sat and thought about it...if he was...heh..the Joker, where would you present a film to Batman? Wasn't there a projection screen at the top of the operation theater? He walked as fast as his body would allow him back to the operation theater. When he got there, he looked up and sure enough, there was a projection booth up on the second level.
He started toward the booth when his foot stepped on something. He looked down and saw that he had stepped on the toy dart gun. He looked at it for a moment and then bent down and picked it up. He should have buried it with the Joker...but it was too late now. He walked over to the flag dart and picked it up. He carefully put the dart back inside the gun and pulled the plunger. The bloodied flag retracted back inside, and he reluctantly put the gun into his bag. He looked up and saw the girl looking at him. He completely forgot about her, how could he have done that? He walked over to her and held out his hand, deciding to take her up to the booth with him. She looked up at him and hesitantly put her hand in his. He gripped her hand and they started towards the stairs. The upper balcony indeed had a projector inside it. He walked up to it and saw that there was a film reel in it. He took it off and looked at the film. He could see a tiny Joker in the film, this must be it. He took the film reel and shoved it into the bulging bag.
'There,' he thought, 'it won't stop him, but it will slow him down. I should be long gone by the time he figures it out...after all he hasn't...' He started to chuckle again, why hadn't they found him yet anyway? Batman was the worlds greatest detective after all. His train of thought was interrupted by the girl pulling his arm.
"Um..are we going home now?" she asked quietly. He looked down and nodded 'yes'. As they started to make their way out of the decaying asylum, he couldn't help but wonder how he was going to pull all this off. He wasn't even sure how he was going to help this girl; it wasn't like he could ask her or even write her a note. He looked down at the girl who was clinging tightly on his arm. He didn't feel like one anymore...but, he was a hero once, he could at least act like one for one more time.