CHAPTER 21 – A COLD, DARK PLACE
Batman couldn't move.
He wanted to, he needed to. He couldn't let him escape again. Hell, letting The Joker escape was probably the least of his worries right now. Thinking of all the horrors that lay in wait for him, he willed his body to move, but it couldn't. He would curse and scream and yell but his mouth had been frozen from the paralysis as well.How could he have been so blind? How could the Joker have been able to stab through the kevlar of the suit? Why didn't he protect Alfred? Why couldn't he save him? Why did The Joker ever have to do this? Why does he feel the need to kill the people Bruce Wayne loves? Why did the damn monster even exist?
All these questions running through his head, and he couldn't even open his mouth to ask one of them. For the first time in many years, he was helpless.
…
The Penguin held his arm. It had a rotted ache after The Joker had popped it back in. His head throbbed, his nose was bleeding and Batman had smashed his favourite umbrella and trashed his nice cosy private office. Not a pleasant evening so far. He saw Batman slumped on the floor incapacitated. The Penguin limped over and kicked him in the stomach.
"Lousy bat vermin!" he snarled as he went to his desk and pressed a buzzer. A minute later two muscled thugs came to the door.
"Did you meatheads not hear the commotion in here?" the Penguin shouted as he dipped his handkerchief into the jug of water on the mantelpiece, wiping the blood off his mouth.
"Sorry, Mr. Cobblepot, but we were out back making sure..." one of them started.
"Spare me," snapped The Penguin, cutting them off, "Just pick up the bat and tie him securely to that chair."
The two thugs did as they were told, hoisting Batman off the ground and tying him securely to the chair.
"Now wait outside," The Penguin said, "And make sure we're not disturbed. Private meeting."
The henchmen nodded, exiting the office and closing the door behind them. The Penguin wiped the last of the blood from his face and put another cigarette in his cigarette holder, carefully lighting it. He walked over to his umbrella rack, his white gloved hand hovering over the many umbrella handles before he carefully selected one.
He swung it merrily in his hand as he walked over and stood in front of Batman. He put the tip of the umbrella on Batman's chest and suddenly a wave of electricity seared through Batman's body, the voltage surging through his prone body. His armor absorbed some of the shock, but the agony was unbearable. All that energy coursing through his veins, it felt like he was being set on fire from the inside.
"You know, I've always had a fondness for flying creatures," said The Penguin, "But the winged rat is not among them."
The Penguin sent another jolt of electricity through Batman's body. The current created some artificial motion in Batman's body, making him jerk and spasm, but as soon as he withdrew the umbrella, he once again went completely still. A trail of saliva ran down the side of his mouth. Looking at him, you wouldn't guess the world of pain he was in. The Penguin looked back at Joker and Two-Face, smirking as he puffed smoke from his cigarette holder.
"Gentlemen, there's enough bat for everyone to take a turn."
"Well said, midget," growled Two-Face, pulling out his gun.
Two-Face crouched in front of Batman, pointing the gun at his head.
"You really thought you'd seen the last of me, chump? And I thought you were supposed to be smart. Dent is nothin' without me! I'm the only one who'll always be there for him, who won't abandon him. You let Dent down again, Batman! Again! Even though he was supposed to be your FRIEND! You deserve to die for that. And maybe you will. Maybe you won't. Life is cruel that way. It can change…end…on the flip of a coin…"
Two-Face flipped his coin. It landed with the unscarred side facing up.
"Luck must be on your side, Batman. You get to live…for now!"
Two-Face pistol-whipped Batman, sending a splash of blood flying from his mouth. He then proceeded to batter Batman across the face with the gun, wanting traitor-Bruce to feel a little of his pain. Again and again he brought the gun smashing down, counting the rhythms of his strikes in his tortured mind.
1-2….
1-2….
1-2…
"Harv, that's enough," said The Joker, "Leave some for me."
Two-Face stopped beating Batman with the gun, leaving the lower half of his face a crimson mask of blood. As The Joker approached, dragging another chair along with him, Batman tried to focus his mind through the delirium of pain. His body may be useless, but he had to keep his mind active, alert for some kind of way out. He couldn't afford to black out. Whatever he did, he couldn't black out. The Joker put the chair down in front of Batman, straddling it and sitting down face-to-face with his nemesis.
"Well, Batman, I think it's time we had a little chat."
The Joker chuckled softly, giving Batman a wink.
"I will call you Batman, since your...other half was recently killed by me when I murdered that old man. I think it's only fair. I'm only The Joker, so naturally you should only be Batman. Why should you be allowed an out, a safe, secure little world that I'm not a part of? I don't have that luxury. What makes you so special!? Heh heh, this way, the way it is now…heh…it makes our little war far more pure, don't you think?"
The Joker's smile began to fade.
"All my recent pranks, they've all been about irony. The depressed losers laughing to death. The doctor being killed by an ambulance. Those peons blowing up outside a firehouse. The little brat of a famous child saviour being murdered. Me turning Harvey into Two-Face. And, of course, Alfred being killed on Father's Day. He was like a father to you, wasn't he?"
The Joker suddenly lunged forward, giving Batman a stiff backhand slap across the face.
"Everything I've done, it's all been about this one moment, right here, this one ironic punchline. Thanks to you, only The Joker is left. And now, thanks to me, only Batman is left. And one of us is going to die tonight. And I'm not kidding around, not this time!"
And he wasn't. For once, his face was deadly serious.
"I am going to kill you, Batman, and it's going to be no laughing matter."
But then that cruel, devious smile returned.
"I have a special surprise for you, Batsy," continued The Joker, "A fitting end, I'd say."
The Joker turned to The Penguin.
"Ozzie, I think it would be best if you stayed here at The Iceberg Lounge. Harv and I have some business to take care of. Help me lift our friend, will you Harv?"
The Joker and Two-Face lifted the chair Batman was tied to into the back of one of The Penguin's cargo vans. The Joker had a duffel bag already dumped in there. He got into the driver's seat, and Two-Face got into the passenger's seat. They drove off, leaving The Iceberg Lounge behind.
The Penguin watched them leave, shaking his head in disgust. He didn't know what was going to cost more – the repairs for this place, or his extensive medical bills! But he took comfort in the knowledge that Batman would not survive the night. Only a miracle could save him now…
…
"Oh, you're going to love this, Brucie," cackled The Joker, "You see, I've made some calls, and had some of my associates do a little...digging. I'm not just going to kill you - I'm going to drive you insane first!"
The van drove through Gotham City, finally ending up at Gotham Cemetery. They drove through the pathway, finally stopping the van near the gravesite of Thomas and Martha Wayne. The Joker and Two-Face untied the paralysed Batman from the chair, carrying him past the site. The Joker stopped, allowing Batman plenty of time to see that the graves had been dug up, and that the bodies had been removed from the coffins.
"HA HA! I know what you're thinking, Brucie. Where are Mommy and Daddy? Well, I'll show you."
The Joker led Two-Face and Batman through the graveyard, soon coming to a large open grave. In the hole were the decayed skeletons of Bruce Wayne's parents. The Joker's eyes widened with euphoria as he gazed upon the macabre tableau before them. It was just like he'd imagined it, the way he'd envisioned it every minute of every day in his cell in Arkham. For so many years, The Joker had said he wouldn't kill Batman until he had found the perfect moment. Well, this was it. Perfection.
Inside, Batman was probably screaming, the floods of madness pounding at his mind's last defenses. But outside, he was perfectly still, perfectly motionless.
"Oh, I gotta say, Bruce, your folks haven't aged well. Time hasn't been kind! HA HA! But I guess you have a lot of catching up to do with them, Brucie-boy. So why don't you get a little closer?"
The Joker took great pleasure in that moment of silence, with Batman teetering over the precipice of the worst abyss he could ever imagine. Then, he shoved Batman into the grave. He landed face-down in the grave, in between the skeletons of his parents.
"Harv, go get the shovels from the back of the van."
Two-Face went and got the shovels, and they proceeded to bury Batman alive. The two psychopaths didn't even bother to exchange glances, they were so focused on the task at hand. Layer upon layer of dirt fell on the Caped Crusader, and all that time, The Joker remained fixated on the back of Batman's head. Damn it! He wished he'd let him fall face up, with the mask off. He wanted to look into his eyes as he buried him. He wanted to see the fear, see the very moment the madness consumed him. But it was a minor concern. Soon, the dirt had covered his entire body, and there was no head to stare at. Then all he needed to focus on was the burial. The funeral. Batman was gone forever.
Once the grave was complete, The Joker took a red rose out of his pocket, laying it on the burial site.
"So long, Batman. It's been a pleasure."
And he meant it. For over a decade, his life had been defined by the need to prove he was better than Batman. And finally, he'd done it. There was no laughter this time, only a triumphant smile. The Joker had beaten Batman. Game over.