Knight's End
By
Jasen Taylor
Dedicated to Bob Kane and Thomas Harris without whom this story would not exist.
In writing this, I have made the risky endeavor of appealing to the comic fan and casual observer alike.
The success or failure of this is up to you, the reader.
This story takes place, in the Hannibal timeline, between Red Dragon and Silence of the Lambs.
One is not unpunishedly the child of one's parents.
- Friedrich Nietzsche
PROLOGUE
Night falls on Gotham with the quietness of a commando strike team, subtly changing the already dark architecture to a deeper shade of foreboding. Eventually, everything runs from Gotham, even the sun. The city does not lend itself well to brightness. The dark history of the city casts its pall over the moods of all who inhabit it. The lawmakers like to joke that you can tell the intelligence of the people on the streets by the number of times they look over their shoulder. They say it with a humor they don't feel. The truth of their words steals the laughter from their throats. Still, life in Gotham wasn't as bleak as it used to be. There were fewer occurrences of violent crime each year. Sgt. Harvey Bullock could often be heard, usually around a mouthful of food, taking credit for the positive trend. "Chalk it up to perseverance, boys. That, and a whole lot of bullets." If Bullock fooled anyone with his empty words, it was only himself. Everyone else knew the real reason why the criminal element was finding it harder to sleep at night, and it didn't have anything to do with bullets.
That reason was even now perched atop a great oak, staring through his binoculars at a caravan of police and FBI squad cars as they made their way up the winding trail to Arkham Asylum. He lowered his binoculars, hardly noticing as the first fat drops of summer rain started to fall, splashing on his cowl and rolling down the back of his cape. Such things were trivial when you possessed the razor-sharp focus and single-minded determination of Batman.
He set his jaw as he studied the line of government and local police cars through the binoculars he held in his steady hand. He counted three local patrol vehicles and four FBI, the middle vehicle being a truck transporting a federal prisoner to his new lodgings at Arkham. Two men to a patrol car and he had to guess three men to each FBI vehicle since the tinted windows barred an accurate count. Eighteen men total but Batman would not have felt comfortable if that number had been tripled. He had kept up on the diabolical career of the approaching prisoner and knew the power of that steel trap mind. The man had an uncanny grasp of the human condition, the inner workings of the mind. The brightest psychologists in the country were jealous of the knowledge packed into that bald cranium, for their lifetime of studying was only a fraction of the wealth of information this man had gleaned by instinct alone. Victor Conrad, one of the world's foremost brain surgeons, had once stated that he was curious to see what fascinating secrets that brain could tell him but feared that to open the man's skull would unleash the Devil himself. He was only half kidding.
Few men commanded the kind of awe, respect, and fear all at once the way that this man did but then few men, thankfully, were Hannibal Lecter.
As the caravan passed out of sight behind the tree line, Batman secured the binoculars to his belt and jumped down from the tree. Not one leaf stirred to betray his presence.
Chapter 1
UNLIKELY ALLIES
Arkham Asylum. The name conjures up Lovecraftian visions of tentacled monsters residing within an unsuspecting town , waiting for the chance to spread their evil upon the world. The name was accurate, for locked within the dusty confines of its cells were the worst kind of humanity, monsters with faces and names on the tips of every Gotham resident's tongue. Here was Two-Face, who, like the coin which never left his grasp, was scarred on one side. The conflict of good versus evil is not always hidden within. Here, the cunning Riddler sat in a chair at the desk the guards had allowed him after finding that constant doodling and problem solving with the felt tip marker they gave him kept the loud shouting spells at bay. Besides Batman, the Riddler's worst enemy was boredom. Further on down the hall, in a specially -designed wing of the institution, resided the tragic Clayface, whose ability to mold his flesh into any appearance he desired had deteriorated to the point where the skin hung from him in ribbons, in places it pooled around his limbs, practically dripping from him. Without the special stabilizing chemical he needed, his skin had lost any semblance of cohesiveness. The cell had been designed by Batman himself to keep Clayface from dripping through the cracks in the floor. A grid of electrical insulation in the walls, ceiling and floor stopped any escape attempt dead in its tracks. After a couple of tries, leading to some very singed flesh, Clayface had accepted his fate.
Around the corner from Clayface, apart from the others, was an empty cell. This was usually where the Joker was placed. The reason for the distant location being the madman's penchant for maniacal laughter was such that it prompted the other inmates to complain, especially the Penguin, who had once paid a guard handsomely to beat the grinning inmate within an inch of his life. This plan succeeded, though not quite how the Penguin had envisioned. The guard, having gotten in a couple good hooks, was thrashed with all the joyful glee the Joker could muster. He had broken all the guard's fingers, shattered his nose and snapped a knee before the remaining guards on duty could drive him back with pepper spray. After that, the Joker found a new home in solitary confinement. The Penguin, for his part in the debacle, was deprived of the carrier pigeons who kept him company. Though the Penguin was unhappy, for a while at least, there was peace.
For a time, anyway. Peace only visits Arkham, it never stays.
Two months ago, on a moonless night with no wind, the Joker escaped. No one knew how it had happened. One minute he was there, the next he was gone. It was whispered among the guards that the Devil had come to take him home. It was an event so eerie in its perfection, so confusing yet so simplistic that a massive manhunt like none Gotham had ever seen before was launched. Every street, back alley and avenue was combed through but to no avail. The madman had vanished. Some people thought he had left Gotham for good. That was the unspoken hope, anyway. Let it be someone else's problem for a change.
Then the murders began.
No, that was not right. To call them murders was to put them into a category. These were slayings of the most vicious kind. The killer had taken his time and enjoyed his work. The bodies reflected a confusing modus operandi. They had been stabbed first and then shot, sometimes the shots coming long after the life had left the ragged hunk of meat that used to be a living person. No, these were not just murders. They were statements. Batman knew the message behind them even without seeing the macabre death's head grin that was unnaturally thrust upon the mouths of the victims.
I'm back.
* * *
Sam Gordon had considered himself lucky to be assigned to Arkham. His wife hated it, but he wanted to be where the action was and for that Arkham was definitely the place. As he stood with his partner, Stuart Raimi, outside the heavy iron gate waiting for the FBI to arrive, he wondered if maybe his wife had had the right idea. Maybe he should have been a teacher instead.
"They say this guy can read minds, Stu."
"Jesus, Sam. Don't tell me that. I'm about to piss myself as it is."
"Maybe he's one of those mutants or something. You think he's gonna be any help capturing the Joker?"
"I don't know. They say he helped get this guy in Atlanta. The Tooth Fairy or something."
"Tooth Fairy? How bad could he have been? What's next, the Easter Bunny?"
"He got that name 'cause he wore these false teeth with fangs. He bit the lips off some tabloid reporter before he set him on fire. Bit his fuckin' lips off, Sam."
"Man, you really need to get off the Internet."
They heard the cars approaching before they saw them. The wind carried the sound of tires crunching gravel to their nervous ears. Sam's fingers danced a jittery staccato on his leg. Action or not, the thought of Hannibal Lecter approaching was enough to fill any rational mind with fear. The squad cars lined up along the drive, flanking the truck which pulled up a little ahead of the others. The armed policemen and FBI officers exited their cars and walked to the rear of the truck.
Police Commissioner James Gordon stood watching the men help the prisoner out of the vehicle. The restraining mask may have kept the cannibalistic nature of the man in check, but it did nothing to lessen the darkness behind the man's stare. The two men on either side of him picked up the chains attached to the straitjacket and started leading him toward the front gate. Four men followed, their stun guns at the ready. A weasely-looking man who had been barking orders the whole time now stepped toward Gordon.
"They tell me you're the man I should speak to."
"About?"
"Well, I have to say I'm a little nervous about this whole arrangement. This place isn't exactly known for its…security."
"If you think this was my idea, think again. The governor wants results and thinks this man can help. So much so that he's willing to let this monster call the shots for now. Lecter was brought in on his own insistence. As far as I'm concerned, the sooner he leaves my breathing space, the happier I'll be."
"Well, I certainly can't call you dishonest. By the way, my name is Frederick…"
"I know who you are, Dr. Chilton. You're the man who's willfully joined himself to Lecter's hip. I haven't decided yet if you're crazy or just stupid though I suspect the latter. Maybe next time you write an essay about how damned brilliant Lecter is you ought to remember that he paid for his fame in blood."
Chilton cleared his throat before replying.
"Yes, well, and you are…"
"Busy. Excuse me."
Just as Dr. Chilton was cursing a world that did not understand genius, the light raindrops turned into a downpour.
Chilton's views on genius were the only thing that Hannibal Lecter found agreeable about the man. As mouthpieces go, Chilton was an especially embarrassing one. Always looking for the nearest camera or naïve journalist, he was on a self-imposed quest to prove he had something to say. Too bad his theories and suppositions about the criminal mind were lifted from people with far better qualifications than he. Lecter found it amusing that Chilton had gained his own spot on the Chesapeake State Hospital for the Criminally Insane's board of directors simply by repeating what had already been written about Lecter. Proof that stupidity is its own reward.
As Lecter was drawn to the opening gate, he glanced at the nervous guard on his right. The man was practically trembling and not because of the cold rain. Lecter took in a deep breath.
"You should have gone before you left home," he said in passing.
As the party of law enforcers, with Chilton bringing up the rear, retreated into the asylum Sam looked over at his partner after closing the gate.
"What do you suppose he meant by th…" He cut off his words with a glance down at Stuart's lap, where a dark stain was now spreading.
"Shut up, Sam. Don't say a word."
Sam turned away with a hand over his mouth to keep from braying laughter and bumped his head into a muscular chest encased in a midnight blue suit with the symbol of a bat on it. Gasping back his laughter, he staggered back a couple feet in surprise. He had not even heard footsteps on the gravel.
"You!"
"On the gate," said Batman in a gravelly whisper.
"Y…yes sir." Sam tripped over his own feet trying to carry out the Batman's wish. As the dark knight slipped through the still-opening gate, Sam noticed the stain on Stuart's crotch had spread further. This time he didn't think it was funny in the least.
* * *
The FBI had finished unlocking the chains from Lecter's straitjacket, allowing him to roam freely around the cell which usually housed the Joker. It had stayed exactly as he had left it, per Lecter's instructions. The paintings on the wall. The books on the shelf. Even the blood on the wall where the Joker had pulverized an unlucky rat that had wandered into the wrong cell at the wrong time. All had been preserved for Lecter's perusal.
Commissioner Gordon approached the yellow line in front of the barred wall of the cell.
"Dr. Lecter, I am Commissioner Gordon. While I will not welcome you to Gotham, I would welcome any advice you can give on our…problem."
Without turning away from the paintings, Lecter said, "I share in your distaste for the situation, Commissioner. I had quite grown used to my own four walls. However, I shall endeavor to….," he turned to Gordon,"…adapt."
"I don't understand. I thought coming here to observe was your idea."
"Indeed it was, Commissioner. It was the only way to recover the mind scent. I needed to see for myself the kind of conditions Mr. Napier had been living in."
"I know he was a patient of yours at one time but what can you hope to gain by looking at some paintings?"
Lecter, bored now with the conversation, studied the watercolor prints hanging askew on the wall. One was a green circle, gone over again and again with different green shades and textures until it resembled a bubbling globular mass. Lecter found it quite interesting.
"Hey, I'm talking to you!" Gordon was fuming at having been ignored.
Chilton strode up next to Gordon.
"He…doesn't respond well to hostility and if he thinks he's said all he needs to he won't waste another word. In fact, until he thinks he can offer us something, he may not speak for days."
Commissioner Gordon scowled. "That's just great. We may not have days. We've got five murders so far, two in the last week alone. He's stepping up his timetable, Lecter, so when you're done sniffing his mind, let us know. Come on, let's get the hell out of here." He waved to the police and FBI men around him and en masse they headed for the gate.
As the dark hallway cleared out, Lecter scanned the books on the shelf, pulling one out at random. He stood reading with his back to the barred wall. At length, he cocked his head.
"Batman, I presume."
One of the shadows on the wall disattached itself and walked over to the cell. Batman had to admit it, he was impressed.
"How did you know?"
"Your breathing control is quite good but your suit gives off a faint rubbery tang."
Batman marveled at the man's mastery of his senses. Like a snake, he could almost taste the air.
"Come to compare notes or have you just come to gawk at the psychic vampire, as the tabloids are calling me these days?"
"Neither. I've come to offer you a warning."
Lecter walked over to the bars, an amused grin taking over his mouth.
"How sporting of you."
"Think of it what you will. This city is my home. I will protect it with my last dying breath if necessary. Make one move outside these bars and no amount of intimidation will spare you from my wrath."
"How very noble. Especially the part about dying. You need not worry about my untimely release from captivity. I have no desire to stay. This isn't my idea of a grand vacation spot. The sunlight doesn't reach far enough down to let you see your shoes and I'm a sucker for a sunny day."
Batman walked up to the man on the other end of the bars. He purposefully stepped over the warning line on the floor, putting his face right up to Lecter's.
"Don't treat this warning lightly, Lecter. Next time my suit won't give me away."
"Perhaps, Batman; but tell me, what will you do when I have this?"
Raising his hand, Batman saw that Lecter had procured a Batarang from Batman's own utility belt. Cursing himself for a fool and breaking the hypnotic spell of Lecter's eyes, Batman braced himself to snatch Lecter's wrist. He thought better of it. Instead he did the one thing even Lecter wasn't expecting.
He asked for it politely.
"May I have the Batarang back, please?"
Lecter paused, smiled and handed back the Batarang.
"Okey dokey."
Batman secured the weapon to his belt.
"I admire a man who doesn't let his pride get in the way of results. You've shown yourself to be a worthy competitor with intelligence far surpassing the useless FBI for you have at least earned some measure of my respect. I propose we work together and put these childish territorial fantasies aside for now. Might we not speed up this investigation if we pooled our intellects? A successful resolution would achieve both our goals which is to say my happy departure from your not-so-lovely city."
"And since I work outside the local law establishment you so despise, you're more likely to hear what I have to say."
Lecter nodded his head once.
"Agreed. A partnership, for now. This takes nothing away from what I said before. Your memory being what it is, I know you won't forget it. What's your plan?"
"First, to sleep. I've been on the road most of the day and even people of my advanced metabolism need to sleep now and then. Come back tomorrow and we will discuss this further." Then, as if in dismissal, Lecter walked over to the bed and got in, sleeping with his back to the bars.
Batman could not help wondering if this was how Faust must have felt as he walked down the hall toward the front gate.
Chapter 2
DANCE OF DEATH
I am death.
I am dismay.
I am the giver of pain and the taker of life. My steady hands wield the tools of my dark art with a skill sharpened by rage. Rage. My only friend through the long. dark years of my denial. Years before I came to know who I truly am. After time and experience had chipped away the rough edges, I was reborn.
No longer the sad and lonely man, mocked by many, pitied by all, even by her, my lost Jeannie, whose loins were filled with the life we could have raised. Fate's a bitch sometimes, but this too shall pass.
My life with Jeannie could never have been what it is now. Each day a gift sent to me by my dark-cloaked benefactor. The man who made me what I am today, the one who gave me eyes to see. Batman.
I am the clown prince of madness, whom lesser men call the Joker.
* * *
"Vicki! Wait up!"
Vicki Vale, ace reporter for the Gotham Herald, turned to see who was calling her.
"Samantha? Is that you?"
"In the flesh, girl!" Samantha Mathis, an old school chum of Vicki's, wrapped her arms around her in an affectionate hug.
"My God," said Vicki. "How long has it been?"
"I stopped counting when it got depressing. How have you been?"
"Fine. I've got this deadline that's kicking my ass. Other than that, can't complain. You've heard of the murders, I'm sure."
"Of course. They say the Joker's gone completely off the charts. Aren't you scared to be walking the streets alone?"
"A little. I'm not bad at taking care of myself, though."
"You never were bad at that. Let's get together some time and catch up, okay?"
"Absolutely."
"Great. My car's parked this way. Next week, say Friday?"
"Sure, give my office a call. You be careful too, all right?"
"You bet."
Vicki watched her go. She hadn't been too sociable of late. The only things keeping her company were her laptop and the cup of coffee that never left her side. She had been thinking lately of Bruce Wayne, her sometime lover. She hadn't seen him in a while and wondered how he was doing. Maybe she would stop by for a visit if he was home, which was rare. Wayne Enterprises practically ran itself. You'd think he would have more time to spend at home.
* * *
She walks alone in a city full of terror, an invitation to the wicked. I've got my RSVP in my hand as I silently walk behind her. I keep the blade sheathed until needed so the gleam doesn't give me away. I am prepared to the point of relaxation.
A cat knocks over a trash can on a corner nearby and she visibly jumps. Must be careful now, she'll be alert. Alertness improves the hearing. I keep step with her increasing stride as she heads for a white Saturn, so clean it reflects the moon. Stepping over puddles to hide my position, I lunge in as she focuses on putting the key in the door.
Pinning her head against the top of the car, I wrap my gloved hand around her mouth, stifling the scream before it escapes her. I unsnap the sheath from my cold blade and let it drop. I have to bang her head against the car twice to dull the adrenaline rush of her struggling. Well, okay, I didn't have to. I wanted to.
I touch the blade against her flesh just to let her know what is to come. She begins to cry as I raise the blade in the air. It sings its whistling song as I plunge it down hard into her spine. Again and again it plays its deadly tune, up and down, up and down. Each upward arc spraying more and more blood. I can't resist it. I laugh in delight as the spasmodically twitching thing in my arms begins to rhythmically slow down, its heart belching forth the last ounces of her life fluid.
In my jubilation, I begin to jump up and down, celebrating my return to the good life. I break her neck by accident but that's okay. I adapt well. Dropping her carcass on the ground, I bring the bottle of spray up to her face and apply a liberal dose. It works quickly and dissipates just as fast so the only victim is the intended target.
Her face contorts, the muscles straining to please me.
* * *
Vicki was almost to her car when she heard it. A laugh no person should ever have to hear. It was coming from behind her. She turned around and saw nothing. She realized it was coming from further down the road, around the corner where she had last seen…
"Samantha!"
She reached into her purse and pulled out her nine millimeter Baretta. The only women in Gotham who carried pepper spray were tourists. Holding the gun out before her like Bruce had taught her, she headed toward the sound. She had walked ten steps before she heard the gun shots. Her legs, to the dismay of her brain, quickened the pace. She looked around but the streets were deserted. There was no one close by to hear.
Approaching the corner, she hugged the side of the wall. It was in the low fifties with a light wind but Vicki was sweating. She was scared so badly she could feel her heart pounding in her ears, making that seashell wave of blood fill her hearing. She remembered Bruce's instructions and let the gun whip her around the corner.
Too much to take in at one time. Blood. Lots of it. Through the hurricane in her head, she heard running footsteps. By the time her eyes cooperated with her hands the man had turned another corner. She caught one telling detail before she dropped to her knees in front of her dead friend, who she had just been reunited with.
The killer had worn purple pants and suit.
Chapter 3
TEMPORARY PEACE
Commissioner Gordon stared at the grinning body and felt sick to his soul. They had no leads on the Joker's whereabouts and that was disturbing for more than the obvious reasons. The Joker rarely snuck around like this, preferring grand entrances and even more spectacular exits. These private killings in a secluded setting just weren't his style, and the bastard who was supposed to be helping them on this didn't feel like talking. A rookie was cleaning up part of the crime scene where Bullock, who had seen a lot of crime scenes in his time on the force, had sent his recently devoured doughnuts out of his body the way they had entered.
"Leave it alone, Jeffries. You'll just contaminate the scene further."
"Yes, sir."
Gordon looked over at Vicki Vale, who was relaying the scene a third time to Detective Montoya. Montoya was a good officer, capable and intelligent. She put an arm around Vicki in a show of support and understanding, bonding in the way that only people who had undergone traumatic experiences can do.
A voice spoke behind Gordon.
"Will she be all right?"
Gordon closed his eyes and swallowed hard.
"Damn it, man, don't you worry about giving me a heart attack?" He spoke the words with a harsh tongue but secretly he felt relieved. He was glad to have Batman on his side. Ever since he had struck up an unofficial partnership with the man, he had seen more results than on any other police force he had ever worked on. Unfortunately, it appeared even Batman was up against it this time.
"I thought your heart was made of stone, Jim."
"Oh, that's cute."
Such was the feeling of kinship between the two men that they could express camaraderie on even as grim a scene as this.
"She's a tough kid, Batman. She'll be all right. Apparently the victim was an old friend of hers."
Gordon looked over but Batman was gone. Glancing around, he saw the cloaked figure standing just outside the ring of tape surrounding the corpse. He stood looking down solemnly. Gordon walked over to him.
"I don't mind telling you, Batman. This troubles me deeply."
"I know, Jim. It's not like him."
"Why would he change his tactics now? It just doesn't make any sense."
"There isn't much about the Joker that does."
Gordon nodded. "They've brought in someone from Chesapeake who's supposed to help figure out all this, though I have serious reservations about that plan. You've probably heard of him. Hannibal…"
"Lecter. Yes, I know."
"You know of him, then?"
"I spoke to him earlier tonight."
"What?! You didn't get clearance to go see him!"
"We can't afford to waste time on paperwork. I wanted to see what his intentions are for coming here."
"Well, he won't speak to me. Thinks I'm a complete idiot. Did you get anywhere?"
"I think so. He wants to talk to me tomorrow about the case. I'm still not sure what he's up to but I intend to find out."
"Amazing. Well, if you think it'll lead anywhere, of course I'll authorize it. There's only one problem."
Batman knew where Gordon was going but asked anyway. "What's that?"
"Lecter brought some carry-on baggage. Frederick Chilton, a real gloryhound scumbag. Goes around showing off Lecter like he was King Kong. No regard at all for the atrocities that man did. I don't know if he'll like you horning in on his show."
"Then I'll just have to convince him that it's for the best."
Gordon almost smiled. "Just don't do anything unless I'm there to see it."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
Gordon knelt down to peer again at the clotted remains of Samantha Mathis. "How long do you think we have before the next one?"
His question met with silence.
Gordon glanced up. Batman had gone.
"Suppose I should have seen that one coming."
* * *
Batman leaned back comfortably in the driver's seat of the Batmobile, feeling the satisfying thrum of the powerful engine. A beeping sound called for his attention from the dashboard. He activated the video phone. The face of Batman's most trusted friend in the world appeared in all his dapper, patient glory.
"What is it, Alfred?"
"Thought you'd like to know, sir, Miss Vicki Vale has called twice in the last hour. She rather insistently wishes to see you."
"I thought as much. Put a dinner for two together, will you Alfred?"
"Already cooking, sir. I hope you don't mind roast beef."
"Dependable as ever. Thanks, old friend." Batman switched off the video monitor and dialed Vicki's cell phone directly. She picked up after the first ring.
"Bruce?"
"Hello Vicki. Alfred told me you called." He spoke now in the easy, carefree style of millionaire playboy Bruce Wayne.
"Bruce, something's happened. I need to see you."
"Sure. Are you all right?"
"No. I'll tell you about it when I see you."
"I'll be here."
Batman hung up the phone, punching the engine into fourth gear.
* * *
Alfred answered the door before Vicki could even ring the doorbell. "Good evening, Miss Vale. He's waiting for you in the study."
"Thanks, Alfred."
She made her way towards the study, looking around the mansion. She had been gone too long. She had missed the homey feel of Wayne Manor, the way it enveloped you in its illustrious jaws, the smell of cleaning solvent mixed with the mustiness of antiquities. She felt pangs of nostalgia as she remembered how safe she had felt within these walls and corridors that always led her back to the waiting arms of…
"Bruce!"
He stood from the chair he had been sitting in before a roaring fire. It looked as if he had been sitting there for hours instead of hurried minutes spent changing outfits and patting down his unruly hair.
"Vicki."
She ran to him and clasped tightly to his waist.
"I saw him, Bruce. He's killed again. A friend of mine. Oh, Samantha…"
She broke down then, the tears running freely down her face.
"Shhh. I heard them talking about it on the news. You don't need to tell me."
She pressed her face against him, the grief and fear pouring out in waves now. The sound of her sobs filled the room. He held her until the tears subsided. She looked up at him, her movie star face giving him that look of angst and barely restrained passion that turned his knees to butter every time.
"Thanks. I needed that."
"Anytime."
Bruce leaned over and hit the remote for the CD changer. Billy Joel started singing about "Honesty".
"Sorry to walk in and fall apart on you."
"Don't apologize. I'm glad you're here."
"Are you?"
"It's not safe on the streets these days. I want you where I can keep an eye on you."
"Why can't they find him? He was never this hard to catch before."
"He's never acted quite this way before. Even Batman can't locate him."
"Have the police told you anything? Do they have any leads at all?"
Bruce replied with a frustrated sigh. "None."
Vicki pulled away. "I'll understand if you don't want to get close. I know I've hurt you before."
Bruce went along with the game. He grabbed her arm and pulled her close. Wrapping a hand around the back of her neck, he smoothed her hair out, watching the golden waves wash over his fingers. He traced her arm with his fingertips, finding her hand and interlocking her fingers with his. He began to sway back and forth with her to the rhythm of the music. Staring into her eyes, he wondered what he was thinking about. There was a killer loose in the city, his city. He should be searching tirelessly through the night until the bastard was brought to justice. The self-made mission called to him.
Tonight however, that call was drowned out by the audible distress signal sent out by the woman in his arms who was determinedly trying not to look scared. Putting the mission on hold, he resolved to make certain that tonight at least, there would be a corner of the city where peace would be found. He moved his hands up and down her trembling body. In his studies with martial arts masters around the world, he had learned the position of each pressure point of the human body. Those that dealt out pain…and pleasure.
His fingers sought one of the latter now in the small of her back. The slight gasp in his ear told him he had met with success.
"I don't want to be alone tonight, Bruce. Tell me anything you want. Lie to me if you have to, just don't let go."
He looked down into her eyes, piercing her with his stare. "No more words now."
Otis Redding replaced Billy Joel to tell the pair about "These Arms of Mine" but they had stopped dancing by that time. Leaning down, Bruce nipped her bottom lip playfully. He gingerly draped her lips, waiting for her to respond. Her trembling lips pushed into his with a passion that had leapt out of the stables and was running free and wild. They held each other, relishing in the warmth and unrestrained pleasure of each other's company.
Alfred looked over the roast beef dinner with pride, one of his better efforts if he did say so himself. Presenting it aesthetically on a silver platter, he began to carry it into the study. As he entered the wide hallway, he saw Master Bruce carrying Miss Vale up the long flight of stairs leading to the guest bedrooms. Shaking his head with a sigh, he turned around to put the meals back in the oven.
Chapter 4
BEGINNINGS
The streets were crowded on the day the boy's life changed. He had no idea the shape his future would take in just a few short minutes as he came bounding out the door of the theater, his parents calling after him. He stood waving an imaginary sword as his father walked up to him.
"Slow down there, Zorro."
"I told you we shouldn't have let him eat so much candy." Martha Wayne said to her husband.
"I want to be like Zorro when I grow up, Dad."
"I thought you wanted to be a doctor like me. Wouldn't you rather save lives instead of hiding from the law all the time?"
"I'd rather take out the bad guys before they hurt people, then doctors wouldn't have to work so hard."
"He wants to put you out of work, Thomas." Martha laughed at her husband's befuddled face.
Thomas Wayne broke out in a grin. He loved to excite the boy's playful mind.
"Well, if you want to be like Zorro, you'd better learn how to fight. Come on, El Bruceo, show me what you've got." He took out his own invisible sword and challenged his son. Soon, they were involved in a mock battle, clashing sound effects coming from their mouths.
"I hate to break it to you swashbucklers but if we don't get home soon, Alfred will wonder where we are."
"Mom's right, kiddo. We'll call it a draw for now." He sheathed his sword and patted Bruce on the shoulder. They began walking toward their car, the perfect model of a loving family. Suddenly, a figure stepped out of the shadowy mouth of a nearby alley. His face was hidden from the light but the gun in his hand was not invisible, nor were his intentions playful.
"Give me your money."
Martha gasped, holding her hand to her chest. Thomas stood protectively in front of his son, who craned his head around his father's waist to see.
"I don't have much on me. Just take what I've got."
The mugger spat on the ground at Thomas's feet. "Don't lie to me. A rich bastard like you ought to know better than to con a conman." Thomas handed the bills to the man with the shaking gun, who snatched them from him rudely.
"60 bucks? I thought you said you didn't have much? Now let's get the jewelry off, sister. A necklace like that ought to keep me eatin' for weeks."
Thomas pushed his wife behind him. Bruce admired his father for trying to protect what was his.
"Please, I've given you plenty. Why don't you just take it and go?"
"You shouldn't have lied to me." Just then a thunderclap sounded. Bruce looked up at the sky just as the rain began to fall. A red rain. It spotted his shirt as his father fell over backwards. Bruce watched him fall. His head was leaking into the street. Bruce could not process the information as fast as it was coming in. He wondered why his father didn't just get up and clean himself off. He looked over at his mother. Her mouth was opened in a scream but no sound was coming out. Everything was moving in slow motion as the gunman reached out for her necklace, tugging on it roughly. The pearls snapped apart, falling like white tears to clink on the concrete below.
A second thunderclap sounded and his mother fell to the ground as if she was pushed, a red rose opening up over the tear in her dress.
Bruce stood silently, in shock, staring up at the man who had changed his life as his parents lay behind him, the life flowing out of them. Stepping forward, the gunman revealed his face to the light. The first thing Bruce saw was the grin which stretched ear to ear. As the face came full into the light, he saw his own face. Rather, his adult face which was still years away from the shocked boy who still had not computed this loss of innocence.
The insane eyes bugged out at him and he became lost in them. The gunman reached out a hand as if to lead him back down the alleyway. The boy broke the spell and held his hands over his ears, shouting…
"NO!"
Bruce sat up in bed as if a branding iron had been pressed against his back. He sat there for a moment, gasping in huge lungfuls of air. The sweat that covered him made his flesh break out in goose pimples. Glancing over, he saw Vicki lying next to him, writhing fitfully as though she were trapped in her own nightmare. Turning towards her, he caressed her cheek until her eyes fluttered open. She took in his disheveled appearance and started to sit up.
"Is something wrong?"
"Nothing. Everything's all right. Go back to sleep. You looked like you were having a bad dream."
"I was. Thanks. Somehow you always know how to make the dark things go away."
Bruce watched her retreat into a dream state before getting out of bed and making his way downstairs.
Alfred found him standing in front of the large picture window that looked out over Gotham from the top of the hill that Wayne Manor sat upon. He offered one of the cups of coffee he was holding.
"The dream again, Master Bruce?"
"Yes, Alfred. Worse this time. The gunman was wearing my own face. It was as though I pulled the trigger myself."
"Rubbish. You had no blame in your parent's deaths. There was nothing you could have done."
"I was wearing a Joker-like grin."
"Dreams have a way of blurring the lines between thought and reality, Master Bruce. With all that's gone on lately, I'm sure your synapses must be overflowing with ideas and emotions. Your dream just shook them up and rolled them out."
"You're right, Alfred. I shouldn't be concerned with dreams anyway. I've got too much reality to think about."
They stood for several minutes in front of the window drinking the coffee. There were no awkward silences between these two. They had become too attached for that. The bond between them went deeper than mere friendship. They were confidants, mentors to each other. They each trusted the other completely.
"You're going to see him today, aren't you?"
"I have to. He may know the Joker better than any of us, even me."
"Be careful around him, sir. He uses words like weapons. If he gets inside your head, you may have more than just dreams to worry about."
"Duly noted. Watch after Vicki while I'm gone, will you?"
"Of course. I can use her help in the garden. Some of the flowers seem to be dying."
Bruce looked out over the city he had chosen to protect. "Tell me about it."
* * *
Batman approached Lecter's cell. He didn't worry about a stealthy entrance. He was almost convinced Lecter could hear the dust falling through the air. There was a chair set out for him across from the glass. Batman denied it, preferring to stand. He saw Lecter, standing in the middle of the cell with his arms clasped behind his back. He was smiling.
"Good morning."
"You're up early."
"I don't require much sleep, though I will admit this bed is much preferable to the cot I'm used to."
Suddenly, he glanced upwards as though searching for something.
"Either a herd of rogue elephants is approaching or Dr. Chilton has discovered your presence."
A few seconds later, Chilton did turn the corner and walk toward Batman with a brisk pace. Two guards followed him along with Commissioner Gordon, who looked amused. Chilton turned to Gordon and wagged his head toward Batman.
"Is this him?"
"Do you see anyone else dressed like a bat, Dr.?" Gordon rolled his eyes.
Chilton pointed a finger at Batman. "Listen, I don't care whose authorization you have, no one speaks to Hannibal unless I am present. Do you understand?"
Batman turned on Chilton, his cape billowing out impressively. It had the desired effect. Chilton stepped back a couple of steps. Batman advanced on him until Chilton's back was to the wall.
When he spoke, Batman's voice was little more than a whisper. "You're annoying me. I don't like to be annoyed."
"Y…you're overstepping your bounds. I have a right to…" Chilton's stammer broke off as Batman brought a hand up to rest it palm down on the wall next to Chilton's face.
"You want rights? Talk to him." Batman nodded toward Gordon. "You want to keep the ability to walk? Apologize to me."
"Apologize?" Sweat was beginning to form on Chilton's brow. "But I have every right to…"
"Now." Batman grabbed the collar of Chilton's sports jacket and squeezed it in his hand, pulling Chilton nose to nose with a scowl.
Chilton swallowed hard. "All right, all right. I'm sorry."
Batman released him, turning away. Chilton walked away, trying to salvage his composure.
"You'll be hearing from my lawyer. You too, Commissioner. You're letting the inmates run the asylum!"
"What else is new around here?" Gordon led the two guards out. "Stay in touch," he told Batman.
When they had gone, Lecter congratulated Batman on a fine performance.
"I'm not here for your amusement, Lecter."
"That's one point of view. Shall we begin, then?"
"Tell me what you know about the Joker."
Hannibal made a clucking noise and shook his head. "No, I'm afraid that won't do. Do you begin a novel by skipping to the middle?"
"What do you mean?"
"What word confused you, or am I talking too fast?"
"If I want riddles, Lecter, I can go around the corner to E. Nigma's cell. I came to you because I want answers."
"Quite right, and you shall have them. First, answer my question."
"I start a novel at the beginning."
"As you should. Let us begin at the beginning as well. Shall we, Mister Wayne?"
The name hit Batman as though Hannibal had reached out of the cell and slapped him.
"What are you talking…"
"Please, don't insult my intelligence with your nervous denials. I might take it personally."
Batman knew there was only one way to play this if he wanted to get anywhere with Lecter. He could hold nothing back. The risk of Lecter shutting down was too great and could prove costly.
"All right. How did you know?"
Lecter grinned. "Where to begin? If you're going to have a secret identity, make sure it is in fact secret. Your alter ego makes so many televised charity guest appearances that I recognized you the moment you introduced yourself to me last night. Your mask does nothing to hide the lines around your jaw and neckline. All of which reads like a fingerprint to me. You have an effective control of your voice but you have a faint accent. At times you swallow your b's. Probably from spending a lot of time in the Orient, where I suspect you mastered your fighting styles. Even the position of your teeth gives you away. Straight and narrow they may be, but your left incisor is shorter than the other. Capped, I'm sure, from a previous fight that went badly. Shall I go on?"
"No. The point is made."
"No need to feel glum. I have no intention of revealing anything and none of the things I've mentioned would be recognizable to any but the most observant of beings, a lonely club of one. The entire roster stands before you."
Batman decided he would take the chair offered him after all. He sat down heavily.
"I would compliment your analysis but I'm sure you would find such a statement a repetition of fact. So, like you, I won't waste words. Where do we go from here?"
"Where it all began. When your parents were senselessly murdered before your eyes, you didn't try to run. That's what the papers reported. Is that true?"
"It is."
"I've always found that a little curious. Was it just shock or was it something more?"
"Is there a point to this?"
"Come on, Batman. You have to play the game before you can win the prize. What was the reason you didn't run?"
"I was stunned. My whole life changed in just under a minute. Nothing since then has been the same."
"That's true," said Hannibal. "But it was more than that, wasn't it? What was the process in your mind at the time? What was the hamster's name who was spinning your wheels?"
Batman considered this train of thought. Alfred's warning came back to him, about letting Lecter into his head. Taking a gamble, Batman plunged ahead.
"Revenge."
Lecter smiled his wicked smile. He began to pace the cell.
"Right. You wanted revenge. You wanted to teach the world a lesson for taking from you what was rightfully yours. That's how it all started, isn't it?"
"Maybe. That didn't last long. A friend of my father's raised me and helped me to cope with my loss. I was able to vent my frustration in other ways. I chose to fight the evil back rather than create more. I threw myself into my work, my training."
"At what cost?"
"How is this getting us any closer to the Joker?" Batman could not believe how much he was saying to this madman. He had to get control of the situation again.
"You have no idea how close you are to finding him. Before you can catch the man, you must understand the mind which empowers him. Do you think the Joker is insane?"
"Really, Dr. Lecter. Such a question is hardly worthy of a man of your intelligence."
"Wrong. Entire essays could be written on the subject, though I doubt they would be correct. The modern definition of insanity is actions without motives. Do you think the Joker's actions have motives?"
"No. These murders are random, the victims have no connection to each other. Four have been female, two male. Different ages, backgrounds, religions, even races."
"You're beginning to disappoint me, Batman. I had thought you were a fellow student of the human condition. Perhaps I was wrong."
Damn, I'm losing him.
"Are you saying he has a motive for these killings?"
"Of course. The same one he's always had, to get back at you."
* * *
Axis Chemicals. The robbery gone bad because of the introduction of a chaotic element in an otherwise foolproof plan. Jack Napier had gone with Charlie Sol's gang because he thought he finally found a place to belong. He had styled a new outfit for the occasion. He called it the Red Hood. The helmet was a little loose but that made it easier to breathe. They were heading through the plant when a shadow dropped down from the sky. Charlie fired first. The bullets hit the wall where the man had been. There was the sound of something flying through the air and Charlie's gun fell from his hand and rattled down the railings to hit the bottom three floors below.
* * *
"I know what he blames me for, Lecter."
"I'm sure you do. I'm afraid though, that time may have diluted your perception of the man. He not only blames you for his creation, he probably thanks you for it as well."
Batman raised his head, lost in the memories of that day.
* * *
One of Charlie's backup men raised his machine gun and started spraying bullets at the winged demon swinging on a tethered line in an arc toward them. Batman jerked hard on the line and amazingly flipped three times in the air to come crashing down amongst the robbers. He backhanded the man with the machine gun, sending him sprawling unconscious on the catwalk they were standing on. He heard Charlie coming up behind him with a knife in his hand. He dropped to one knee as the knife swooshed harmlessly overhead. He pulled his elbow back hard, feeling it sink with a crunch into Charlie's groin. The air whooshed out of the man as he doubled over, nearly paralyzed with pain. Then, Batman turned to the last of the would-be assailants.
* * *
"I've never known the Joker to be particularly appreciative of anything I've done."
"That's because you've never known him the way I did. I saw the man before he was cursed to wear his sin. He told me he was going to move to Gotham to become a comedian. He wanted to make people laugh. He felt out of place in life. He had a wife, Jeannie, with a baby on the way. His insecurity would never let him stand in front of a crowd, a point which I tried to tell him. His timing was terrible and his punch lines were contrived, none of which he wanted to hear. I guess my idea of positive reinforcement didn't coincide with his. At length he stopped coming to our sessions. I kept up on his career out of morbid curiosity. Of course it fell as flat as his jokes. He saw the Charlie Sol gang as a way of making quick cash to feed another mouth and took it. The beast was still slumbering in him though, waiting to awaken. The Joker you saw on the outside was always visible to me every time I looked through Jack Napier's eyes. It was just waiting for someone to push it over the edge. I believe you performed that task admirably." Hannibal said this last part with a twinkle in his eye.
* * *
The Red Hood pulled the gun out of his pocket and turned to fire but the sight of the man in the blue cloak and cowl purposely advancing on him down the catwalk sent a shiver of fear down his arm and he dropped the gun and ran. He ran in a blind panic, turning to see how far away the man was. He felt the railing of the catwalk dig into his back as he instinctively jerked back when he saw Batman closing on him. The hood was fogging his eyes, his breathing became uneven as he turned into the railing and fell over the side. A line of high-tensile wire dug into his legs, wrapping tight around them, stopping his fall. He was dangling over a huge vat of chemicals, bubbling green in a violent circle as the machinery mixed up its potent solution. He looked up and saw Batman pulling him up with the wire. He struggled violently, causing Batman to lose his balance and pitch over the railing, which groaned now with the strain. Batman desperately clung to the railing with one free hand while the Red Hood dangled below. Batman felt his shoulder pop with the force of holding up the line. "Stop struggling! I'm losing you!" The Hood began moving quicker, flailing now with his arms. It was too much for Batman's limbs to bear. He dropped the line and managed, painfully, to clamber onto the catwalk. He heard the tortured screams of the Hood as he thrashed around in the chemicals for a long minute before the liquid finally settled.
* * *
"I knew he had a wife."
"Did you know she had died shortly before that break-in took place? I wonder if even he knew but no matter, he had chosen his path by that time anyway."
"Yes, it was a freak accident."
"I don't believe in accidents. He was destined to wear his suit, just as you were destined to wear yours."
"Now we've covered the past and the present. How about telling me the future, Lecter? Where will he strike next?"
Lecter sighed. "Shall I draw you a map and hold your hand while we walk there?"
"I mean it, Lecter! We're out of time!"
"You haven't heard what I've been telling you. Time never runs out. It just carries on in a different way. Were you out of time when the man who murdered your parents held a gun to your face? Was Jack Napier out of time when you dropped him from a third-story catwalk into a vat of waiting chemicals below? You'll never be out of time because you'll never let yourself be out of time. You're stuck in time. The past, to be precise. Your parents' legacy is a lifetime of obsessive behavior aimed at keeping things firmly in check. You don't want anybody to have to lose what you lost, but you also are firmly ensconced in the desire to not lose what you still have. Your actions have motives, Batman, and so…,"at this he walked over to the wall and grabbed the painting of the green circle, bubbling in silence, "…do his." Lecter flipped the painting over and showed Batman what was on the other side. It brought Batman to his feet in a second.
It was the face of Vicki Vale.
Batman kicked the chair over in his haste to stand up. He walked over to Lecter.
"Damn you, Lecter. If she gets hurt because of the time you spent dragging me down Memory Lane, I will hold it against you and then you will never feel safe in your world again."
Hannibal watched as Batman sped off. "You're welcome," he said to the empty hallway. He turned and walked back to the bed. He pulled out the item he had placed there earlier and tied it tightly to his wrist. He sat and waited. He knew it wouldn't be long now.
Chapter 5
ENDINGS
Tires squealing, the Batmobile roared into life. The dashboard was beeping. Alfred had recorded a message over an hour ago.
"Sorry to report, Master Bruce, that Miss Vale has gone back to her house against my wishes to pack a suitcase for a more extended stay here. I told her to wait until you got back but then you know how headstrong she is. My apologies."
Cursing under his breath, Batman called Vicki's house. No answer. He buried his foot into the pedal as the miles raced by.
* * *
Silence greets me as I pry the window open with my knife. It responds stiffly but quietly, without the loud squeak that I had feared. Holding the knife in my teeth, I climb in the bedroom. A packed suitcase is lying on the bed, some fresh clothes laid out. I step lightly to the door and open it a crack. No movement or sound from the other side. I enter the hallway beyond. Two doors down, I hear the sound of water running. The bathroom. I make my way down the hall.
Alfred was in the garden at Wayne Manor. He was investigating the rose bushes that had been slowly dying. Since all the other bushes on this side of the garden were vibrant, he could not fathom a reason for this. Leaning down to investigate, he saw the ground was particularly moist on this side. There had been a good rain last night. Still, he looked closer. There was something odd about the ground. It appeared to be moving. He went to the garage to get the shovel.
Holding tight to the knife and hugging the hallway, I reach up and twist the knob with two gloved fingers. Slowly, I open the door, the sound of running water loud now. The bathtub is filling up, about to overflow. No one in it. Puzzled, I look around the room. Empty. I turn the water off to give myself the advantage of hearing. It works all too well. The click of a gun barrel tells me I have company.
"Don't move, asshole, or I swear I'll blow your fucking head off."
Ah, I just love it when they talk dirty.
Returning with the shovel, Alfred began digging up the bushes. Immediately his senses were assaulted by a pungent smell. One he recognized from his days in the Korean War. He kept digging. Soon the movement of the ground became apparent. Worms. Dozens of them. They had come up from the ground as if running from something. Alfred began to get more and more worried. The shovel bit into the earth several more times before it hit something soft. Prying under the object with the shovel, Alfred propped part of it up out of the ground. What he saw nearly stopped his heart. He got up and ran for the Manor to call Commissioner Gordon.
I turn slowly toward the delightful prey. None of the others had made him work this hard and he was glad for the chance to play at this game. Now she'll threaten me again, tell me to drop the knife or something. It's all a delightful dance we play. Except in this dance, the two players fight for the chance to lead. Her reaction is completely unexpected. Instead of firing the gun or yelling at him, she starts shaking her head violently back and forth, as if a fly were in her hair. Her mouth crinkles up as she starts weeping, her shoulders sagging. The gun sags down and I strike out with the knife, slicing the nerves in her hand. The dead extremity drops the gun to the floor. She screams in fear and pain.
With a sweeping kick, I knock the legs out from under her. Not knowing what made her give up the game so quickly but not questioning it either, I hold the gleaming knife up to her tremulous throat. My only regret is that such beauty had to die to undo him. My hated Savior. Then again, the prophets were right.
Life's a bitch and then you die.
Raising the knife up over my head, I plunge down and down and down again until the wetness of her screams can be heard no more.
Getting to my feet, I move to the towel rack to clean the knife. I spot movement out of the corner of my eye. Whipping around, knife at the ready, my muscles tense for the confrontation to come. Nothing. Just a medicine cabinet door that had swung open. I laugh hysterically thinking how close I had come to smashing my own reflection. Then, I notice something about the mirror or rather my reflection in it. And then in a horrible moment of clarity, my life changed forever.
* * *
At Wayne Manor, Commissioner Gordon had arrived and been shown to the garden where a team of detectives were roping off the scene. It didn't take him long to see why he had been brought here.
"My God…," he whispered.
Sticking up from the ground was the partially-decayed face of the Joker, his mouth open now in that demonic grin for all time.
* * *
In the Batmobile, Batman switched on the video monitor and put in a call to Alfred. It took a minute for him to answer. When he did, Alfred looked like he had aged ten years.
"Sir…Commissioner Gordon is here. There's been…a terrible discovery."
Batman bit his lip before replying.
"Alfred, I need you to do something for me. Something I've never asked you to do before."
"What's that?"
"Talk to Jim." Alfred waited for Batman to elaborate. When he didn't, Alfred responded.
"What shall I tell him, sir?"
There was a long pause before Batman said, "Everything."
"Everything, sir?"
"Yes, Alfred. Tell him to meet me tonight at 9. He'll know where."
"Yes sir but, what are you going to do?"
Batman worked his jaw as his hands gripped the wheel tighter. "I'm going to make the dark things go away."
* * *
The Bat Symbol. A proud achievement among Gothamites. It represented a call to help to the hero who lived among them. When it shone its light across the sky, it meant help was on its way. Tonight help would arrive again, but it would not be Batman this time. He was the one who had activated it on this sad night. A night which Gotham would never forget. Batman stood up from his perch atop the roof of the police station. Footsteps were fast approaching.
Commissioner Gordon walked toward him. When he was 10 steps away, Batman spoke.
"That's close enough, Jim."
"Batman…Bruce…Hell, I don't even know what to call you anymore. Montoya and Bullock are up here. I told them to hang back so we could talk. I spoke to Alfred. I don't even know where to start."
"Someone told me recently it's best to start at the beginning. You want to know if I'm sane? I am. My mind has put together what's happened. I've done things…terrible things…but my actions had motives, even if they were only in my head. This is the first time the Symbol has been used since the Joker broke out. The crime rate is astonishingly low now."
"Thanks to you, Batman. I don't understand. You act like that's a bad thing."
"It isn't. I guess I just wasn't ready to give up the fight. Now that you know who I am, you know why I am. I became the Batman to see that no one had to go through what I went through. I've betrayed myself, you, and all of Gotham."
"But why, Batman?"
"Guilt, I guess. That I hadn't done enough to make up for my inaction during my parent's deaths. I needed to carry on the mission but there weren't enough villains left at large to feed my need for salvation. So…I created them."
'Part of my mind shut down. I broke the Joker out of prison. I needed to create a system-wide alert. Not wanting the real Joker to run amok, I killed him. He was still laughing as I filled him full of lead. It was the first time I had picked up a gun in years. It felt good. The sick part of my mind capitalized on that. I created another duality, this one Batman/Joker. As Two-Face would say, 'We're flip sides of the same coin.'
'I used the Batcomputer to override the system security locks and cameras. Even the alarms were deactivated. From there it was a simple matter to replicate his Joker gas. The Joker part of me grew in intensity. My rational mind retained no memory of my actions during that time. Until just a few hours ago, when I killed Vicki." He hung his head, leaning on the Symbol for support.
'That act shocked me into reality, as I'm sure Lecter knew it would."
"You can beat this thing. You're running on all cylinders again. Let's build on that, one day at a time."
"No use. I could never live with the shame of what I've become. I won't spend the rest of my days in Arkham looking at all the faces I helped put in there." He stepped closer to the edge.
Gordon didn't like what he was seeing.
"Backup, on the double!" Gordon pulled his gun out and aimed it at Batman. "I can't let you disappear on me this time, Batman. Don't make me do it. Please."
Batman smiled at his old friend. "I always admired you, Jim."
He shot his hand out with lightning-quick speed. The bolo swung around Gordon, pinning his arms to his side. Detectives Montoya and Bullock were on the scene quickly.
"Don't move, Bats!"
In one motion, Batman grabbed the gun from Commissioner Gordon's trapped hand and held it to Gordon's head.
"Back off." Batman spoke matter of factly, not raising his voice.
"Do what he says," said Gordon.
They backed away, Bullock hurriedly calling for a chopper.
In a flash, Batman aimed the gun at the Bat Symbol and fired. It shattered in a hail of sparks, plunging the rooftop into darkness.
I am the night.
I am justice.
I am the light of truth in a dark town full of lies. I seek to correct the evil things that have gone before me. Tonight I make good on a promise made to ghosts, that I would never stop avenging their deaths. I am the exactor of vengeance, and I have but one more call to make.
I have gone too far to turn back now. The mission has been tainted. I must seek to put it right again. The gun in my hand feels alien and heavy to me but somehow it is right for this task. The weapon used to kill so many victims must now be turned against its user.
"Goodbye, Jim."
I raise the gun from Gordon's head to my own. In the time the bullet takes to travel from the barrel to my brain, I see my life flash before me in a jumble.
I want to be like Zorro, Dad.
The pride I felt in watching Robin as he leapt headlong into battle with me.
Dear Alfred…
Jason Todd, who the Joker took from me.
Selina, I could never offer you what you wanted
Vicki, her eyes frozen open in a silent scream of betrayal
Mom and Dad, now I can finally tell you goodbye.
I am justice, the one they call the Dark Knight.
I am Batman, and the night holds no more secrets for me.
Commissioner James Gordon, veteran of three gang wars in Chicago and the longest sitting Commissioner for Gotham City, winced as he heard the gun shot ring out. He heard the thump as his friend and silent partner hit the roof. He wriggled out of the bolo and turned around as Bullock ran up to him.
"I'm okay."
The helicopter arrived, pinning the area with its searchlight. It found the body of Batman and stayed there. Gordon ran to it and cradled his friend's head in his lap, the blood still flowing. Gordon barely noticed. He closed the sightless eyes. "Rest in peace. You've earned it." The spotlight on the body, with his cloak billowing out around him, for a moment resembled the Bat Symbol. Gordon's shoulders sagged as he wept for his fallen comrade.
EPILOGUE
Alfred took stock of his belongings. He had packed three suitcases and would come back for the rest later. As he walked out the front door to load the car, Gordon drove up the drive. He walked toward Alfred, holding a box.
"I couldn't let you leave without giving you this. He would have wanted you to have it."
Alfred looked inside. He saw the familiar suit with the bat symbol on it that he had sewn back together more times than he could count.
"Thank you, Commissioner."
"Uh…this was in the pocket. I didn't read it." He handed Alfred a note.
'You gonna be okay, Alfred?"
"I'll carry on. Like all good men of service, I'll find a way to get by."
"I'm sure of that. Godspeed, Alfred."
"Goodbye."
Alfred watched him drive off before opening the note.
Dear Alfred,
By now you know the events of the last couple months and my part in them. I can only hope you're not too disappointed. I have left my entire estate to you. My millions are yours to do with what you wish. I hope they bring you more luck than they did me. Thank you for always being there for me when I needed you. I'm sorry I can't be there for you now. Lecter told me time never runs out. It just carries on in different ways. Maybe that was his way of preparing me for this. At any rate, may you find your way in peace. My respect always, Bruce.
Alfred took one last look at Wayne Manor before he left it alone with its ghosts.
* * *
Lecter was being led out of Arkham to be loaded up for the ride back to Chesapeake when Gordon arrived. Chilton fired a dirty look at him but said nothing.
Gordon walked up to the manacled, straitjacketed Lecter.
"I came to make sure you were really leaving."
"Touched, I'm sure. I guess you'll be cleaning up the cell when I'm gone."
"Yes, funny thing about that. We went over the cell for clues before you were called in. I don't recall seeing that picture of Vicki Vale in our sweep."
"Probably because it wasn't there. I drew it myself the night I was brought in. I remembered seeing her in a picture with Mr. Wayne in Entertainment Weekly."
"Why?"
"Isn't it obvious? He needed a catalyst to make the dots connect. Just as the Joker needed one to drive him over the edge, Batman needed one to bring him back from it. An attack on someone he loved seemed to fit the bill."
"You got that girl killed, you bastard!"
"As records clearly show, I was in the cell the whole time."
"You sick son of a bitch! You could have saved a lot of time if you had just told us who it was."
"Really, Commissioner, would you have believed me?"
Gordon had to admit. He probably wouldn't have. He could barely believe it now. The thought of Batman going rogue was as alien as the sun going cold. It could never happen in our lifetime.
Gordon scowled at the smiling prisoner before him.
"Get the hell out of my town."
"Goodbye, Jim."
Gordon paused in midstep. For a second there Lecter had sounded like a complete mimicry of Bruce. He looked back over his shoulder as Lecter boarded the truck that would return him whence he came.
Lecter had already managed to loosen the object tied to his wrist enough so that it slid down to his hand. The slim handle of an exacto blade. It would cut the straitjacket like butter. A Batarang was not the only thing Lecter had managed to lift from Batman's utility belt on that first meeting. The guard finished securing the manacles to the inside of the truck and sat down across from Lecter.
"Ready, Dr. Lecter?"
"Ready when you are, Mr. Gordon."
Hannibal thought about Will Graham, the man who had captured him. He understood Will was living in seclusion now in the Florida Keys. Lecter smiled as he began to saw through the tough jacket. That suited him just fine. After all, he was a sucker for a sunny day.
The End