He Who Laughs Last
Gordon:
I hate it when my phone rings. I sit behind my desk doing paperwork, watching the Bulls lose – again. I remember when it was Jordan, Rodman and Pippen. I remember when they were unstoppable. Times have changed. There's not much love for my team in Gotham. Sometimes it feels like there's not much love for anything in this city. It used to be worse. Before he came. Before he changed everything. I could have moved back home. Chicago is a nice town and the cops I pissed off have long since retired. But here I'm respected. Here I'm the boss. The man responsible for keeping the city safe. But things are quieter these days. Safer. I hate it when my phone rings. It means there's something wrong. Something big. They don't call me out unless the press are having a field day. The phone rings and I'm told that something terrible has happened. I have to see it for myself. No Bulls game for me tonight. It doesn't matter. They'll lose. No team gets out of Metropolis with a win anymore. I could put a dime on it but I won't bet against my own team, even when it's a sure thing.
"Commissioner, this way." A new face. I don't recognize him. I make it my business to know my officers. He must be fresh out of the academy. Poor kid. He thinks he can make a difference. They all do. But they soon learn. He's taking me to the crime scene. It's the old opera house. A grimy, run down building that was intended to showcase the arts. It's showcasing something alright. It's on the stage. It's on full display. The new kid hasn't thrown up. I'm impressed. Three, no four bodies. All mutilated. Face down in quite a lot of blood. Gruesome but not strange. Not in this town. It's a good thing I didn't say that out loud. I'd look stupid when the coroner turns one of the bodies over. There it is. Carved into the poor man's chest. Three words. The same word three times.
Then there's the face. Scarred. Probably with a razor blade. All four bodies are the same. Brutalized. But no visible cause of death. The wounds are extensive. Painful. But they won't cause death. The coroner will confirm as much. He'll do a tox-screen. Standard procedure. I already know what he'll find. A fatal dose of Nitrous Oxide. They call it safe. They call it harmless. Too much of a good thing can kill you. The man who committed these murders has used it before. It's somewhat of a signature for him. Nitrous Oxide. Also known as laughing gas. The kid has thrown up on my shoes. He lasted longer than I did the first time. The same word three times. Ha. Ha. Ha.
He's back.
Alfred:
He's been sitting there for hours. Watching. Studying. He promised he wouldn't watch the news anymore. That life was behind him. The dark secrets of Gotham were no longer his to reveal. It's been six years. Six years since it ended. Six years since he determined his job was done. The masterminds of Gotham's criminal underbelly were gone. Killed in a gang war that almost tore the city apart. He defended the innocent. He didn't stand alone. He had partners. Friends. He trained them. When it was over they left him. Or perhaps he drove them away. Perhaps he knew that if they stayed they would be forever doomed as he is.
There was one loose end. One body the police never found. Master Bruce suspected the missing person had planned it all. One last hurrah, forever making his mark before disappearing. The news says he might be back. Now Bruce waits. He watches. He decides. Does he return to the dark that consumed him for so long? Did he ever really leave it behind? He's remained vigilant these past few years. He's remained in shape. Gotham is safer now. Jim Gordon cleaned house at police headquarters. Corruption still exists but it's no more prominent here than in any other city.
I still remember the day he told me of his grand plan. He would strike fear into the hearts of criminals. He would seek out the corrupt and bring them to justice. Five years. That was his timeline. Five years to fix this city, to make Gotham safe and make his parents proud. Five turned into ten. Ten turned into twenty. He trained others. Partners. Perhaps replacements. The more he tried, the darker things became. Criminals responded to his dark persona by taking more risks, becoming more unpredictable. The Dark Knight went from being feared to being a challenge to be met in kind. Rather than abandoning their criminal ways, they embraced the presence of the Caped Crusader. Cobblepot actively sold weapons to people trying to gain notoriety by killing Bruce. Dent, once his close friend, went insane, his multiple personalities amplified. Then there was Nashton. A man as intelligent as he was diabolical. He reveled in pitting his intellect with Bruce, committing the most terrible crimes, leaving clues behind for Bruce to follow. His elaborate riddles defined him. He signed them as Edward Nygma. The media called him The Riddler. Nashton hated that. We wanted fame. He wanted to be recognised as the man who could best the worlds greatest detective. But The Enigma was never to catch on. He would be The Riddler.
He's gone now. They all are. Everyone knows the story. The greatest criminals in Gotham, brought together by the most insane mind Bruce ever encountered, uniting with the single goal of destroying their great enemy. But they were betrayed. The clown it seems wanted Bruce all to himself. The building went up in flames. He did what Bruce couldn't do and he did it in a manner that Bruce wouldn't do. He destroyed the criminal hold on Gotham. In one move, the clown destroyed them all. Then he disappeared. That was six years ago. The apprentices Bruce took on went back to their normal lives. Master Dick returned to university to finish his education and now helps Lucius to run Wayne Enterprises. Barbara adopted Tim. He's at college now. His life as a crime fighter is over. Even Damien, his son and heir has left. He lives with Talia in Paris I believe. The final death of her father has prompted her to disband the League of Assassins. She now works to change the world in much more noble ways. Times have changed. But now he's back. The clown prince of crime. The one man Bruce could never anticipate.
"Alfred." Bruce's voice seems somber, much more so than it has been for many years. "Go down to the cave and turn on the generators."
"Are you sure that's necessary sir? It could be a copycat."
"I have to ready."
His eyes haven't shifted away from the TV. He's soaking in as much detail as he can. But he won't act. He won't put that suit on again. Not yet. He needs to be sure.
Gordon:
I haven't been up here for a couple of years. I used to spend a lot of time up here, waiting. The roof of police headquarters is a cold place, even in the heat of summer. I'd smoke a pack of cigarettes as I waited. Filthy habit. When it all ended I kept coming up here to smoke. Barbara convinced me to quit. A good decision. Now here I am again. The signal hasn't been fired up for six years. It's a cloudy night so the light should hit them and create a strong image. I hoped I wouldn't have to do this again. A fool's hope. I wonder if he'll come. It's been six years. He'll be here. I know it. Now I have to wait. I could use a smoke.
Wayne:
I've been waiting for this day. I knew he was out there. Scheming. It was only a matter of time. I didn't think it would be six years. I wish they were six years of peace. Six years of pleasant dreams. I found no peace. I knew the time would come. A light hits the clouds outside. I recognise the shape. Gordon is waiting. He's probably smoking. He's always had one between his fingers when I've gone to meet him. I heard he'd given up. Tonight is a night for old habits.
There are no cobwebs on the stairs down to the cave. I've kept it clean. I've kept it ready. I haven't been in a fight for six years. There's only so much training you can do. I might be rusty. Perhaps I should seek out some scum on my way to police headquarters and give them a reminder. Wouldn't that be funny. The clown loves to laugh. It's all he does. It's my fault of course. I dropped him...or perhaps he slipped. My greatest failure. Those chemicals should have killed him. It didn't. It created a monster with a monstrous grin.
The suit still fits. Mostly. I may have lost a little muscle mass. I've been sloppy. I should have trained harder. It's what I always told Dick. Never stop. Never assume the job is done. Keep yourself in peak condition even when there's nobody to fight. My belt is loaded. It's never empty. Always keep a smoke pellet on hand in case you need to make a hasty retreat. You can never have too many batarangs. I'm not sure what I'll need tonight. I'd better be safe. I'll bring everything. Alfred is at the top of the stairs. I tell him not to wait up. He always does. A cup of tea in his hands and the best poker face I've ever seen. I've trained myself to read liars. I can't read him.
Should I take the car or the bike? No. I can't be seen. I'll take the plane. Alfred calls it the Batwing. He names everything. Batwing. Batmobile. Batarang. Bat Cave. Bat Computer. Bat Shark Repellent Spray. Tim came up with that one. A joke of course. It's not very funny. The clown says I have no sense of humor. That's not true. I'm partial to the Warner Brothers cartoons. Wile E. Coyote cracks me up. All his gadgets and contraptions that never work. Acme needs it's own Lucius Fox. I've done it a thousand times. Fly into Gotham, level off above the cloud cover then exit. The cape becomes a glider and I roll in for a soft landing. Well...relatively speaking. Bats always land on their feet. Hurts like hell if I come in too fast. Can't show it. I have to be invincible.
Gordon:
Two hours on a rooftop. Six cigarette butts at my feet and a seventh on the way. Waiting for him is like watching a clock tick by. The sound of life on the street barely reaches the top of Police Headquarters. But I still hear it. A jet flies by overhead. It could be him. I used to wonder where he got his toys. A million dollar tank of a car. A custom-built plane. He must be rich. I used to spend hours in the den pouring over notes. I was consumed with finding out. I had to know who he was. Then it happened. Barbara. Confined to a wheelchair for being his side kick. I wanted to hate him. I tried to hate him. I couldn't. It wasn't his fault. Barbara chose that life. To this day she doesn't regret it. I didn't need to know who he was. What mattered was what he did.
I looked away for a second. One second. There he stands. Powerful. Eclipsed by shadow. I still don't know how he does it. It's easy to see why criminals are so afraid of him. "I wondered if you'd come."
"It's been a long time." His voice is the same. Gravelly, quiet but fierce.
"Maybe too long. I'd ask how you've been but you wouldn't tell me." Was that a smile I saw under his mask? No. At most it was a slight grin. Still, he's mellowed. "I'll cut to the chase. Four bodies, all mutilated with a signature carved into their chests. But it can't be him, can it? He's dead."
"No Jim. He's alive. He's been alive all these years. Waiting. Watching."
"The Joker." I find it hard to even say the words. What he did to this city. To Barbara. "What does he want?"
"Me."
"There's something we kept out of the media. We found a note." Even as I hand it to him I can see his eyes disappearing behind a lens. I've seen it before. He's never told me what it is. I never asked. But I can guess. He's scanning the note, looking for clues.
"He who laughZ laZt."
"LaughZ hardeZt." Interesting note. Pointless to most. But for Joker it's everything. "He's baiting you."
"Of course. He wants me to find him. Get your men to the Monarch Theater. Tell them to create a perimeter. Nobody comes out."
"The Monarch? Why do you think he's there?"
"There's trace amounts of butter and popcorn on the paper."
"There must be a dozen cinemas north of the river alone, not to mention the rundown carnival and fairgrounds. He's used those places before. Why there?" He's already on the ledge. He'll leap off and disappear. If I hurry I might catch him gliding away. There's no point. He's told me where he's going.
"It's the only place he could be." He jumps and he's gone. There's something he's not telling me. There's always something. This time I don't have to guess. The Monarch Theater is where it all began. I was obsessed with knowing. After Barbara was put in the chair I tried to let it go. I lasted a week. The clues were there from the start. I only had to put them together. They call him the worlds greatest detective but I'm not so bad myself. The Bat was born behind the Monarch. In Crime Alley. An eight year old boy saw his parents murdered before his eyes. The richest man in Gotham. They playboy billionaire. I never called him on it. I never asked. He knows. He must know. He always knows. We have an understanding. I won't share his secret with anyone. Not even him. Young Bruce Wayne died with his parents that night. A moonless night that saw the birth of Batman.
Batman:
My cape extends allowing me to glide over the city. My grappling gun in my right hand, ready to find a target and propel me forward. I can make out a few faces on the street below. Most don't see me. A few look up. They don't believe what they see. They haven't seen me in six years. It's a trick of the light. That's all.
Even before I set down in Crime Alley the stench fills my nostrils. It's like a sewer. A few junkies sit on the moss covered ground, plunging needles between their toes. They're too high to notice me and even if they did they would think they're on a trip. It must be good stuff. They can't be here. Not now. A couple of well placed batarangs knock the syringes from their hands. They stagger off in fear. Good. I've still got it. It won't matter inside of course. The Joker isn't afraid of me. He's never been afraid.
Even as I approach the side door, ready to meet my fate, I can't stop the memories from flooding back. The Mark of Zorro. It used to be my favourite film. I haven't watched it since that night. My parents walking me to the car. We were happy. It was a good night. Joe Chill, a thug. Down on his luck like everyone else. It's no excuse. My father tried to reason with him. Let me help you. You don't want to do this. Even as the man was robbing him, Thomas Wayne was trying to help him. Martha Wayne's pearls snatched from her neck. They fell to the ground, bouncing off the cold wet concrete. Chill had a gun. Coward. I don't think he even meant to shoot. My mother fell first. Thomas reached for the gun. He tried to pry it away. A second shot. Chill and I had a moment. He stared at me. I could see the fear in his eyes. I saw his mind quickly trying to calculate his next move. Shoot the kid. It must have crossed his mind. He didn't. He ran. I knelt beside my parents for ten minutes before someone found me and called the police. No point really. They were already dead. The clue in the Joker's note was obvious. The trace amounts of cinema food. Stale popcorn covered in butter. The message itself replacing the letter S with the letter Z. For Zorro. This is where it all began.
Now here I am again at the Monarch. The Joker knows who I am. I don't know how. It doesn't matter how. Gordon knows. He won't say it but he knows. He's a damn good detective. Maybe I shouldn't be surprised that Joker has discovered my secret. For all his posturing, the Riddler was never a match for me. But Joker...insane? Yes. Stupid? Hardly.
Entering through the side door I come upon the theater. It's run down. Old. The screen is still up. The projector is on. Joker is putting on a movie. The Mark of Zorro. He's sick. Twisted. No. Not Zorro. The Laugh of Joker. Terrible title.
"Welcome Batman. Have a seat and enjoy the show." His voice seems to be coming from all around. Of course. It's the surround sound speakers. The voice is from the movie. The first scene is familiar. It's stop motion. It's crude. Not smooth at all. But it tells a story. The Red Hood appears on a walkway. He's carrying stack of money. Something chases him. A bat. A big clay bat with Dracula fans. The bat pushes the Red Hood over the railing. That's not what happened. He fell. I tried to catch him. I tried to save him. The Red Hood falls into a vat of chemicals. Iris out. New scene. The chemical factory is on fire. The Red Hood climbs out of the vat. His skin has been bleached. The Red Hood is dead. A surpisingly lifelike figure of the Joker emerges. Laughing.
"This is where it began for me Batman. Ace Chemicals. And right here at this lovely theater is where it began and will end for you." Another new scene. Inside the Monarch Theater. A hand drawing of the Joker on the screen. The big clay bat is staring up at it. The Joker figure sneaks up behind him with pistol. Wait.
Even as I turn I'm pushing my cape out, knocking the gun out of Joker's hands. Life imitates art. The movie plays behind me. I'm not paying attention anymore. Real life is much more interesting. Joker isn't strong. But he's quick. He's crafty. He squeezes his lapel. I know what's coming. I roll to avoid the acid coming from the plastic flower.
"You're pretty agile for an old man." He says it with a laugh. He says everything with a laugh.
"What do you want Joker?"
"I missed you Bats. Is that so hard to believe? After all the fun we've had I just wanted to catch up."
"You killed four people tonight."
"Four? Oh my dear Batman. I didn't kill four, I killed seventeen. I needed to make sure the idiots at Gotham PD would find at least one dump site. From your reaction I'm guessing they didn't find them all. Those poor souls are out there just waiting to be found by some poor innocent child on his way to school in the morning. It's sure to scar him for life." He laughs again. Everything is a joke.
I move swiftly. He dodges to the left. He doesn't get far. My hand clutches his throat and I lift him. His back slams hard against the wall. He won't stop laughing.
"OK you got me. Did anyone ever tell you that you're no fun?" I want to squeeze. I want to shatter his neck. Might kill him. Might just paralyze him. Like Barbara. He did to her with a bullet. No. I won't cross that line.
"Poor Batman. You look so grim. Would you like to hear a joke?" He just won't shut up. "There once was a little prince who had everything he could ever ask for. Then one day a bad man came along and killed the king and queen. And so the poor little prince swore to avenge his mother and father by hunting down all the bad men he could find. But the prince was a good guy so he couldn't kill them. So he dressed up like a monster to scare the bad people and then had them thrown in prison. They escaped and he caught them again. They escaped again and he caught them again. And so the poor prince was doomed to do this forever. But then one day a great wizard came along and blew up all the bad men."
"That's not funny." Just a little squeeze. It won't hurt...much.
"Oh I haven't gotten to the punchline yet. You see the wizard was the baddest man of them all and the poor prince spent the rest of his life knowing that the wizard did what he could never do. You see Bats, you're the prince and I'm the wizard. I know a joke isn't funny when you have to explain it but you've never been one to get a joke, especially when you're the punchline. I did what you couldn't. I saved Gotham from the bad men. In the end you're still just that little boy crying for mommy and daddy. Still little Bruce Wayne. Oh I know exactly who you are. And me? Well...I'm Batman. HahAhAHaHa!"
He's insane. Some would say the same about me. Still, I can't help but laugh for some reason.
"That's the spirit Bats." He's laughing again. Now so am I. Something's not right. I have a sensor in my suit. It will confirm what I suspect. Laughing gas. The whole theater is filled with laughing gas. I'm on the floor now, laughing so hard that tears are bursting through the mask. Joker is still standing. Still laughing. What's that in his hand? A lighter. He's going to blow us both up. We'll die together. Laughing hysterically. He's the joke and I'm the punchline.
Joker:
Look at him. I've never seen him laugh before. It's a bit creepy. Still, I'll take it. I just need to light a flame and we both go the way of the dodo. He thinks I'm insane. Of course I'm insane. I fell into a vat of chemicals. That will screw anyone up. It doesn't mean I don't love it though. The games we played, the fun we had. I even got rid of all the other nutjobs in Gotham. But does he thank me? No. Ungrateful little bat. How many bats does it take to clean up Gotham? None. All you need is a clown. I'll have to remember that one. Oh wait, I'm about to die. That's right. Great to go out on a joke though. That's terrible. Knock Knock. Who's There? The Joker. The Joker Who? I don't have a punchline for that one. Harvey Dent walks into a bar and orders a shot of whiskey and a shot of rum. The bartender asks who the second drink is for. Harvey says my other half. The Bartender replies, you mean your wife? Harvey shoots him in the face. Haha. What's black and white and red all over? A newspaper. What's black and white and red all over? The Penguin's exploded remains. So many jokes, so little time.
Gordon:
It's quiet inside. A dozen cars surround the Monarch, waiting for my order. Joker is inside. Batman too. Quite a reunion. The cops are out in force. We can take no chances with the Joker. He's one man but I've never seen one man do as much damage as he's done. A call came in on the radio. Three more bodies all with the same carving in their chest. There may be more out there. Waiting to be found. SWAT's assembled. They're ready to breach. It's now or never.
I'm hesitating. Why am I hesitating? I trust Batman to get the job done but it's the Joker. He needs back up. So why am I hesitating? A feeling in the pit of my stomach is telling me to wait. Something's not right.
I'm on the ground before I know what's happening. My body feels like it's been hit by a freight train. What was that? A shockwave from an explosion? What explosion? I barely register the cloud of black smoke rising from the top, the flames bursting through the windows, the shattered walls. Batman is in there. I want to rush in. It's too hot. I don't even make it to the door. It's just a little heat. Fight through it Gordon. Come on. Someone's pulling me back. It's that rookie cop. What is he thinking?
"You can't go in there Commissioner." I want to chew him out. Berate him for daring to give me an order. But he's right. He's protecting me from myself. I can't go in there. I have a family to think of. Batman is in there. The Joker is in there. Dead. I can only hope he made it out. He always does.
Grayson:
"...forensic teams are still searching through the rubble at the Monarch Theater this morning but the evidence is pretty clear. Several body parts were found at the scene along with the remains of an old purple coat and and what appears to be Batman's cowl. Our top story once again. Batman and the Joker, having not been seen in six years are dead. This is Vicki Vale for Gotham Network News."
It's all over the news networks. It went national almost immediately and world wide soon after. The death of Batman. The death of the Joker. Batman was my mentor. He taught me everything I knew. I even wore the cowl myself on more than one occasion. Now it's over. Batman is gone. Gotham no longer needs its Dark Knight.
Sitting in this damn cave, I'm reminded of the training he put me through. I thought I knew better of course. I was wrong. Batman was always right. I used to think it was arrogance. But there was nothing arrogant about him. He knew what needed to be done and he did it. That was his life. That was his death. Alfred tells me that Kent is flying in for the memorial. I've heard that some of the others will be there too. They didn't always like each other. Heck, a lot of the time they didn't even get along. But there as nobody Kent respected more and the same was true of Batman, though he'd never admit it. So Gotham moves on. There are still those who will fight for justice in Gotham. Now they fight in his name. To honor his memory. Only a handful know the truth.
Gotham PD is going to shine the Bat Signal for a whole year as a mark of respect. A fitting tribute. Quiet and elegant. Batman wouldn't want a fuss. I hear footsteps behind me. I don't even have to turn. I know that step pattern by sound. Batman is dead. Now he has to train himself to be Bruce Wayne.
Batman:
He runs his thumb over the lighter. Nothing. No spark. No flame. I'm still laughing. I have to get up. I have to get out. He's trying again. He flicks the lighter harder this time. Still no spark. I'm reaching for the door. He's on me. Jumping on my back. Damn fool. Is he not feeling the effects of the gas? He's always laughing. It's hard to tell. He's tearing the cowl from my head. Dammit he's stronger than I gave him credit for. I manage to push him off. My face exposed. It doesn't matter. He already knows who I am.
He tries again. This time he gets a spark. This time he gets a flame. I'm diving for the door. I have to get out. I feel the heat of the explosion on my back, the fire races through the auditorium. It melts through the cape and through my armor. Dammit Fox it was supposed to be fireproof. The last thing I hear is laughter. Insane, joyful laughter. Then my ears are ringing. I'm on the ground. Outside the Monarch. I've landed where my parents died. My body burns, blisters coating my skin. I won't die today. Not here. Not now. My grappling gun. Damn it's been fused. I have to get away. The fire is spreading. It could consume the alley.
I can't keep my eyes open. I'm floating. Dying perhaps. I manage to squint. My vision is blurred, my eyes filled with smoke. A figure in the darkness. A demon come to take me to hell? I'm not sure I deserve to go to the other place. Have I honored my parents? Have I done them proud? Maybe Kent has come to save me. He'd never let me forget it. No, not Kent. Someone much worse.
"Dick?" My voice is hoarse. It's hard to speak through the pain.
"Easy Bruce, I've got you."
He's pulling me up to an adjacent rooftop. Dick Grayson, my protege. My successor. The first Robin. Nightwing. What about Joker? I manage to look back. I don't see him escaping. He's dead. I know it. I feel it. Killed himself. Went out laughing.
Wayne:
Dick is at the computer. Vicki Vale is on the screen. We had a thing. It didn't last. It never does. They're saying they've found remains. Joker. They think I'm dead. It's been two days. A memorial service is planned. They don't know. Batman isn't dead. My wounds will heal.
"How are you feeling?" A stupid question. Well intentioned.
"I'll heal. I need you to go to Wayne Enterprises. Talk to Fox. I'll be needing a new suit." Dick looks at me like I shot his dog.
"Are you serious? It's all over the news Bruce. Batman is dead. Maybe he should stay that way."
Poor kid. I should stop calling him that. He's almost thirty. "There's still crime in Gotham Dick."
"There'll always be crime in Gotham. But guess what. All the psychos are gone. The mob was destroyed. Joker is dead. You've won."
"What have I won? I didn't wear that suit for six years. In one night the Joker undid those six years."
"You know Bruce, for the worlds greatest detective you can be a real idiot sometimes. Gotham isn't sinking back into the bad old days. It's moving onwards and upwards. Batman's death isn't creating fear and panic. It's inspiring people to carry on his legacy. Your legacy. Gotham no longer needs Batman."
"And if the criminal scum that plagued this city attempt to rise out of the sewer again?"
"We'll handle it. You trained us well Bruce. If we're needed, we'll be there. But Gotham has a chance to stand on its own two feet for the first time in half a century. Take a break. You've earned it."
His words hit home. I have won. Haven't I? My enemies are gone. Gotham is safe. As Dick leaves the caves I'm left alone in the dark, where I've always been. The question I've refused to ask myself fills my thoughts. Who am I without Batman? Is it enough to be Bruce Wayne. Alfred is getting old. He was old when I was a child. He won't be here forever. The others have their own lives. Do I sit in this cave alone? Waiting for the day Batman is needed again as I have done for the past six years? Is there a life for Bruce Wayne?
I find myself picking up the phone and dialling a number. I'm not sure what I'm going to say. Will she even speak to me? She's moved on from her past life. Can I do the same? I don't know. The phone is ringing. She picks up. She says hello. I'm not sure what to say. Start with the basics.
"Hello Talia? It's Bruce."
Who is Bruce Wayne without Batman? Perhaps it's time to find out.