Author's Note: I would like to take this opportunity to point something out. If my writing seems to be based on dialog, with most of the description at the beginning of a scene...here's the reason. While I'm writing this, I'm visualizing it as a graphic novel. Nerdy as hell, I know.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman franchise or any related characters. I do not own Poulenc or his waltzes, though I do play them. I do not own the playing card franchise. I do own the two verses that the Joker sings. I also own "I Dunno" Jack Downs and "Murmuring" Max Bracks.
The man smiled as he played the piano; his audience was riveted by his rendition of one of Poulenc's waltzes. An entire concert hall was focused on him alone, so why not grin?
As he finished the first ending and began the repetition, the smiling man thought that he heard footsteps. Probably one of the other performers moving around backstage, he thought to himself. Ignoring the sound, he started on the second ending. Then he heard another noise, a grinding and creaking that was disconcertingly nearby. The pianist surreptitiously looked up, wondering if some machinery was being prepared for a following performer. It's nothing, he told himself. As soon as I'm finished, I'll find out that it was some small maintenance task.
Then the door opened. A huge, steel monstrosity, it swung slowly inwards, creaking and screeching the entire time. The leading edge swept through the end of the grand piano and the illusion was destroyed. The smiling man was no longer seated at a piano in a massive concert hall; instead, he was seated at a steel table that was bolted to the floor in a cramped and dingy cell. He was in the Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane.
His visitor looked around the cell distastefully. It was grimy and unorganized, true, but many of the inmates' cells could be described as such. What made this cell different from the thousands of other cells with rumbled beds and rats was the visible nature of its inhabitant's madness. Nearly every flat surface was decorated. The walls were covered in deranged scrawl that appeared to a song about being "loo-ooo-oony." The table was covered in drawings and doodles except for the side at which the inmate sat, where piano keys had been gouged into the surface. Even the rats were not normal. The visitor peered at them, trying to figure out what seemed wrong about them, as he sat down opposite the denizen of the cell.
"I came to talk," he stated bluntly. This explanation seemed somehow funny to the madman, who began to laugh madly. As he waited for his companion to regain his composure, the visitor continued to analyze the rats. Finally, he realized what was unusual about them: each rat's mouth had been cut at the edges, giving it the appearance of a mad, cackling grin. Noticing a lengthening pause between chuckles, he looked up at the cell's occupant.
"Heh…that's all I ever hear from you, isn't it?" the smiling man asked, barely able to contain his mirth. "That's all you ever say to me…that we need to talk. Well, what about my end of the relationship? Eh? You always need to talk to me, but do I ever get the chance to talk? No! You never even consider my needs…and there are two people in this relationship!"
"What…what are you talking about?"
"I'm not just here to cook and clean for you! I am my own person and I will not let you just walk all over me! I'm not just here to cook and clean for you! I'm not your slave, Bats!"
"What in the…" But Batman would not be receiving an answer. The last utterance had been too much, and his companion once again collapsed into paroxysms of mirthful cackling. The crime fighter waited impatiently as the white-faced criminal whooped and giggled for all that he was worth.
"Are you quite finished?" Batman growled, gritting his teeth. The Joker waggled his hand from side to side.
"Eh. For now."
"Good. I came to…" he paused. "No, I'm not going through that again. Something important is going down…something concerning you."
"Me? I'm touched!" The Joker began to laugh again. "Did you buy me a cake? I believe that it's my six-month anniversary with Barbara Gordon!" Batman leapt out of his chair and pounded his fist against the table. The comment about Barbara had driven him over the edge.
"This isn't ajoke, you twisted bastard! This is something truly important, a matter of life or death!" The threat, if anything, only heightened the Joker's mirth.
"Life or death, eh?" the clown asked flippantly. "Well, I'm quite tired of life at this point. It isn't always funny enough for my taste. So, I don't like that option. On the other hand, death is hardly more attractive. I've seen plenty of corpses and only the ones that I make seem to be enjoying themselves. Besides, there aren't any comedy clubs that host cadavers. So, what's your third option?" The Joker gestured at the cell door. "What's behind door number three?" His game-show host demeanor cracked on the word three and he erupted in a fit of giggles.
"There is no third option, Joker. Either you help me or you die." The Joker paused in his laughter and closely scrutinized Batman's face.
"Help you? Are you…you must be! Oh, I feel so alive! I've finally gotten the granite-faced Batman to make a joke!" His laughter this time was truly mad, surpassing his previous outbursts in both volume and intensity. The wild whoops and maddening screeches echoed through Arkham's halls as the Joker fell out of his seat in Batman-inspired mirth. Batman walked over to the prostrate clown and pulled him up by his orange jumpsuit.
"This isn't a joke!" the Caped Crusader yelled at the Clown Prince of Crime. "You will help me."
"My God, you're serious?" gasped the Joker through his remaining giggles. "Help you? Why would I help you? Is something being stolen? Are people dying?"
"Yes. People are dying." The manic look faded from the Joker's eyes.
"Well, that…that changes everything. People dying…" The Joker hunched over and his shoulders began to shake.
"Joker, are you…?" Then Batman realized that the Joker was not crying, but laughing.
"You are a laugh riot today, Bats! So what if people are dying? Hell, if I wasn't locked in here, I would probably be killing them myself, not helping you! And you say that this isn't a joke…how many times do I have to drill it into your head that everything is a joke? I thought that I had reached you at my fairground six months ago…but apparently not! It's all a joke, you furry bird…and you and I are the punch line!"
"It's not a joke…and you will help me, even if it means that I have to deal with your sick humor." The Joker shook his head at this declaration.
"Putting aside how wrong you are about the jocular nature of the world, what makes you think that I'm going to help you? You have foiled my plots before, so why would I feel inclined to aid your cause?" Batman glared at the slender figure before him and tightened his fists.
"If you don't help me…I'll kill you. God knows that Gordon would be happy to see you go. He'd hide it away in the paperwork and call your death a suicide."
"Oh, come now," the Joker admonished, patting Batman's hand, "you wouldn't kill me. You can't. You need me. You need me as a reminder." The Joker adopted a scholarly look. "You see, my finely furred friend, you are just as crazy as I am. You just refuse to admit it to yourself, even though you know it in your heart of hearts. So you need me to remind you of what not to be. You need me to remind you of the extremes of madness to prevent you from completely disintegrating." As the Joker spoke, Batman felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. He knew that it was true. Every word that this madman was saying was completely and utterly true.
"And most importantly," the Joker declared as he stood and pointed his finger into the air dramatically, "you need me…to make you laugh!" With those last words, he collapsed back into one of his characteristic laughing fits. After a few minutes, he stopped and composed himself.
"Excuse me for a moment, Bats. My audience is getting restless." With that enigmatic statement, the Joker began to play the "keys" gouged into the table. A faraway look came into his eyes as he began to hum a bouncy tune. Batman watched in puzzlement as the Joker burst into song.
"If you find yourself gone mad,
And it truly is not that bad,
Look around and recognize the show!
From when you drew your first breath
To your dull and pointless death,
Just keep them laughing as you go!
Like me, you're—"
Batman pounded the table once more. "Damn it, Joker, this is no time for a song and dance!"
"But Bats…I wasn't dancing. I was just singing!"
"Forget your songs, you twisted maniac! You can help me! This new guy…he's as crazy as you are! He's copying your style and leaving smiling corpses…"
"Oooh, a fan! Where would I be without the adoring masses? Why, I still remember my first meeting with Harley…speaking of that girl, I wonder how she is? I miss beating her to a pulp. Maybe after my next escape…"
"You won't escape, Joker. Not again…not after the last time. You're under maximum security now. Every exit is guarded…even the ventilation shafts are guarded. It's foolproof."
"Oh, Bats," the Joker sighed, "you do tend to underestimate fools. Haven't you ever seen any of Shakespeare's plays? The fools are the only ones who know what's going on. They're the only ones who can get away with anything. Fools are clever, Batman, and they always get the last laugh." The Joker paused, reconsidering his last point. "Well, no. Fools don't always get the last laugh. For example, in Shakespeare's funniest play, the fool just disappears after a while."
Despite his frustration, Batman was curious. "What do you think his funniest play is?"
"King Lear."
"You're insane, Joker."
"Yet you're the one dressed like a flying rat. I only look like this because of you, dear Bats." Batman sighed, then walked towards the door.
"I guess that you're not going to help, are you? There's no way that I can convince you to have some human decency."
"Nope," said the Joker, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes, "there isn't. Toodles."
Batman paused at the door. "You know, though, he has done amazing things with…your venom formula.
One of the Joker's eyes shot open. "…my formula?"
"Oh, yes. He has improved it quite thoroughly…it's superior to anything you ever used."
Both of the Joker's eyes were now wide open. "Improved? Superior?"
"Oh, undoubtedly. And the things he does with the bodies…the man's completely hysterical. He's much funnier that you have ever been.
The Joker shot out of his chair. "WHAT?" The Clown Prince of Crime darted to the door, slammed it, and then turned to face Batman. "Oh, no. You're not leaving. Nobody is funnier than the Joker, do you hear me? Nobody! And nobody uses MY venom but me!" The Joker marched Batman back to the table and threw him down into a chair. "I'm going to catch this…this bastard, and you're going to help me, whether you want to or not! So tell me all about this imposter, you blasted avian mammal!"
Batman allowed himself a small grin at the Joker's expense. Seeing the clown in such a wild-eyed frenzy was, the crime fighter had to admit, quite funny. Usually, the Joker kept his composure even in the middle of mass murder. "Well, the only thing that he's given us is a jester cap that he left at the last scene. The police have started calling him 'The Jester.'"
The Joker snorted. "At least he has enough common sense not to call himself by my name."
"Er, yes. The first crime that we've attributed to him was last month. Three bodies were found in a car. He hadn't started using Joker venom by that point. Instead," and here Batman found himself looking at the rats, "he cut their faces into smiles."
"Ah, Chelsea grins."
"Yes. The next case was a few weeks later. Five bodies were in a movie theatre, watching Paul Leni's adaptation of The Man Who Laughs. This time, he used a Joker venom to cause the bodies to grin."
"You know," the Joker said thoughtfully, "no matter how many times I watch that movie, it never fails to bring a smile to my face."
"I, uh, I see. At about four o'clock this morning, the police and I found four bodies having a tea party. The venom this time was more potent and the smiles were, to say the least, disturbingly advanced. It was at this scene that we found the jester hat."
"I see." The Joker appeared to lose himself in thought. After five minutes of waiting, Batman cleared his throat.
"Well, uh…can you tell me anything?"
"Yes, I certainly can!" the Joker exclaimed triumphantly. "Pardon my enthusiasm, but I just figured it out!"
"Yes?" Batman leaned forward, eagerly. This was amazing.
"Well, you see…" the Joker smiled slyly, "it all makes sense. It's the only explanation, really." He took a deep breath. "The phrase 'punch line' obviously comes from the 'Punch' character in 'Punch and Judy' shows," the clown cried joyously.
Batman blinked. Had that just happened? "No, Joker. I meant…can you tell me anything about the Jester?"
"Oh, that's simple," the Joker said, waving his hand, "and much less interesting than my 'punch line' revelation. The Jester," the clown spat, "is just starting out. These first three crimes were his way of developing and testing his—my venom. They're experiments. I'm willing to bet that the victims were pulled off of the street, yes?"
"They were."
"Well, that just goes to prove my theory. Now that his formula is perfected—though, of course, it's not as good as mine—he'll start taking people from their homes." The Joker paused. "Or he might keep taking them off of the street. It depends on what kind of mood he's in. Either way, he'll definitely start taking people more frequently. The deaths may lead up to something big…" The clown's eyes began to blaze. "Maybe…of course! I'll escape, kill the bastard, and take his place! Then I'll commit his big caper—after creating the necessary improvements—and prove myself to be his better!"
"Um…"
"Of course! What other way is there to prove my superiority?"
Batman thought quickly. Two crazed clowns on his streets, battling for dominance? The thought was not a pleasant one. "I have a better idea, Joker. You see, if you tried that, you might defeat him through luck, not superior skill. If you help me take him down, you'll prove that you have a better mind. Think of it as a chess game. Gotham City is the board and I am your most powerful piece."
The Joker cackled. "Does that mean that you're my queen?"
Batman groaned. He had walked right into that one. "Well…for the purposes of the metaphor, yes. Now, is there any pattern that the Jester is likely to follow?"
Shrugging his shoulders, the Joker reached to the middle of his table and picked up a deck of cards. "Well," he drawled as he set up a complicated-looking game, "that depends on what he does." As the Joker started to play, Batman noticed that the deck was a custom one. He would have to have a word with the guards about not letting a psychotic madman bring in his own sources of entertainment. "If this…Jester is taking people from his homes, he'll start small and work his way up to the big guns. People like Bruce Wayne and Lucius Fox won't be in trouble for quite a while." Flip. "However, if he's pulling people off of the street, he'll start wherever the hell he feels like." Flip. "But I have nothing else for you now, Bats." Flip. "Bring me more information as soon as you have it." Flip. "I want to beat this bastard." Flip. As Batman began to walk out of the cell, the Joker looked up from his cards and called after him. "Oh, and Bats? Check on Harley. Make sure that she isn't getting too lazy without her regular beatings."
"All right, Joker. I'll come back as soon as I have anything." Batman left the cell.
The Joker continued with his game. Flip. The King of Hearts, complete with Batman's face, came up on one of the piles. With barely suppressed glee, the Joker removed it from the pile and the game with a Joker card. "You should always remember," he laughed to himself, "that, no matter what game you are playing…no mater who your opponent is…Jokers are always wild!"
As he sat in front of his supercomputer, running the last chemical test on the venom sample, Batman removed his cowl. Bruce Wayne, bored millionaire of Gotham City, gazed at the screen. The results showed the normal Joker venom formula, mixed in with high levels of nitrous oxide, low levels of cyanide, and a trace amount of…fear toxin? Bruce scowled. Is the Scarecrow involved in this? he wondered. This doesn't seem like his style, though…
His ruminations were cut short by a ringing from the telephone line linked to Wayne Manor. He stalked to the phone and answered it.
"Alfred."
"Master Bruce," his retainer replied, "Miss Kyle has called and requests to speak with you immediately. When I told her that you were busy, she informed me that she has information regarding your current investigation. Shall I connect you?"
"Yes. Thank you, Alfred." The elderly butler was replaced by the slightly worried-sounding Selina Kyle.
"Bruce…it's Selina."
"You called about…"
"Yes. I opened my ears for you…and it seems that you were right."
"Thanks. What have you learned?"
"Well, more than I expected to." On the other end of the line, Selina took a deep breath. Bruce noticed an odd tone to her voice. Had she been crying about something? "I started small, with 'I Dunno' Jack Downs and 'Murmuring' Max Bracks. I know that you've used them before, so I'm fine with telling you their names. Neither Downs nor Bracks had any news. I worked my way up the grapevine, asking fairly innocent questions. Nobody had anything. As you said, the Joker's still in Arkham. People thought that I was crazy to be asking about him. However, I finally got something. From a crooked shipper in the chemical industry, I learned that somebody—he didn't know who—has been buying all kinds of chemicals. Strange and unusual compounds. Stuff like…"
"Stuff like the Joker uses?"
"Oh, yeah. And more. According to the shipper, he basically got the combined grocery list of the Joker and Scarecrow. There were a few other things, like nitrous oxide and cyanide, but most of the list was stuff that he's used to smuggling. Hang on, I have a call on the other line."
Selina switched lines, giving Bruce time to think. If the Scarecrow was involved in this, it might be more dangerous than he had thought. But…the Scarecrow had worked with the Joker before. He knew how crazy the clown could be, so why risk provoking him with imitation? Bruce grunted to himself. This was more complicated than he would have liked it to be.
Once again, his theorizing was interrupted by the phone. On the other end, Selina Kyle came back on, breathing deeply. "Oh, shit, Bruce. This just got very, very big."
"What? What happened?"
"The other call…it was one of my contacts. He apologized for not calling sooner, but he had been…detained. Harley Quinn was kidnapped earlier today. The guy who did it…he calls himself 'The Jester' and claims to be the Joker's replacement." Bruce cursed to himself. That settled it…Gotham had a new madman. As usual, he reflected, the villain had as much originality when it came to naming himself as the Gotham Police Force. "He killed some undercover cops who were watching Harley…he used some form of Joker venom. But…something was different about it."
"What was different?"
"I don't know…my contact couldn't say."
"Give me his name. I'll find out."
Selina laughed. "Give you…? Do you really want me to tell you? Do you think that I'll be of any more use to you if you do? If I told you his name, I would have no reputation in this town. 'Catwoman,' they would say, 'is a low-down traitor. She works for the Bat!' Hell, do you think that I'll have a life expectancy of over a week if I tell you?"
"You're right," Bruce conceded, "as usual. But…what do you make of this kidnapping? Do you think that the Joker is in on this…from behind bars? He mentioned something about Harley when I visited him earlier."
"No," Selina asserted, "it's not the Joker. If it were the Joker, we would know. He would broadcast his involvement up and down the underworld. The Joker wants everyone to know when he's involved…he wants you to know when he's involved. He likes matching himself against you."
"Oh, well," Bruce sighed, "I guess that's just wishful thinking. It would be so much simpler if he was the one behind this. Do you have anything else?"
"Not yet, but I'll tell you once I learn anything new."
"Thank you." He began to hang up the phone.
"Bruce?" Selina called.
"Yes?" On the other end, there was a pause.
"…never mind. Good night." Click.
Bruce hung up the phone. Turning back to his computer, he began a full-system scan for files pertaining to the Scarecrow or to Harley Quinn. While the files were being retrieved, he opened a list of chemical shippers in the Gotham area.
It's going to be a long day, he thought to himself.
Yeah, so...this one only takes place in two locations, not counting the concert hall that the Joker hallucinates. The conversations are longer and more involved. After reading Chapter I: Murder in Chiaroscuro, I felt that it was...not exactly rushed, but too fast. So I attempted to slow it down a bit.
Live long and prosper.
Dracheheim