Who's Laughing Now?
Chapter Fourteen
**
He turned a man into a fool, and a game into a nightmare –To Kill A Clown
~*~
The gurgling, drowning cry of the Joker, and the wet cracking of bones was what woke Jim Gordon. Sitting up, he rubbed the terrible, painful spot on his neck, where his head had come into contact with the brass planter.
Attempting to orient himself in the darkness, he grabbed hold of the cold edge of the planter with one hand, and the thick stock of the plant, which resided in it, getting from his knees to his feet. He glanced up the remainder of the steps, then down again, gauging the situation from his location on the landing. His first instinct was to go down the steps, and into the mêlée of whatever was transpiring below. Instead, he grabbed hold of the railing and dragged his shaking body upward, towards the two lifeless figures lying just within his sight.
* * *
The library was lit by the moon and little else. In the chilly darkness, Batman continued his assault. Slamming the Joker's body against the edge of the desk, Batman felt sick and satisfied as the left humerus broke. His heart was heavy and dying, and his only intelligible thought was that he wanted the Joker to die too. He tossed the wiry, broken body onto the floor.
A thousand partial thoughts passed through his head, none of them able to bring themselves to his lips. Images flashed in his head, but nothing he could grasp hold of. Just the aching concept of loss. The sight of their blood.
He picked up the Joker by the shirt, crushing him up against the mantel over the cold and silent fireplace. A guttural cry of anguish escaped the Batman as his hand reached once again for the Joker's throat.
Desperately, the Joker groped along the wall with his good hand, searching for something—anything to aid his plight. His hand wrapped around the brass poker, and he leveled it at the Dark Knight. The K shaped hook on the end caught the Bat square in the neck, and he took a step backwards, releasing his victim's throat.
"I knew I could do it," the Joker rasped when he could finally draw in breath to speak again. Both staggered for a moment as the Joker swung again. Caught off guard and partially dazed, Batman barely missed being hooked by the poker again. "I knew I could get you to kill me. If the brat could, YOU could."
Remembering the great sport Jason had been, he swung one more time at the Bat's head. Batman caught the poker, tearing it out the Joker's hand, tossing it away. It hit the floor and skidded until it hit the opposing wall, leaving a dent in the hard wood running board.
"This is it," the Joker said as Batman tackled him again, crushing him against the hard wood. "The punch line. The end of the world's greatest stand-up act…"
Batman's hands wrapped around the Joker's throat, but he paused, failing to deliver the crushing blow.
"Go ahead."
Locking his jaw, Batman didn't move.
* * *
Hearing the continuing altercation above, Barbara typed faster, trying to rewrite the subroutine that had been hacked to cause the power outage on every grid along the coast.
"I'm very nearly into the house," Alfred informed her.
"Good."
There was the sound of great strain as Alfred attempted to pull back the panel that would give him access to the second floor of the house. "Whatever is transpiring, it is occurring in the library. I will conduct myself there immediately, unless you request otherwise."
There was another crash, and Barbara winced. That idiot boyfriend of hers had just better be all right. It was her job to put him in his place. How dare he try to be thoughtful of her emotions? How dare he—
As quickly as she could, she finished her modifications, praying it was enough, and in time.
It suddenly grew very quiet up stairs. Alfred flew out of one of the spare bedrooms, where the shaft had deposited him, then to the hall that lead to the service stairs, and then the library. Very nearly to the top of the steps, he stopped, having almost tripped over two of his charges.
Hearing sounds of finality below and knowing he could do nothing there, he dropped to his knees, and the two boys before him.
* * *
"If you don't," the Joker rasped, "I'll just keep coming. I don't think I got all I wanted out of this Batgirl—yet."
Picking the Joker up by the throat, Batman threw him several feet, into the desk again. The Joker's stomach hit the edge of the wood top, and the air rushed out of his lungs with painful release.
Before Batman could do more, there was an explosion in the doorway. Fire flashed across the room like a bolt of golden lightening cutting through the darkness in a trail of silver smoke. There was a moan and a spray of blood as the bullet passed clean through, and the Joker hit the carpet with a protracted thud.
Stunned, Batman stared at James Gordon and his smoking firearm, not daring to breathe. His own heartbeat felt like the clapping of a hammer in his chest.
"He's not worth it," Gordon said finally; then the world seemed to speed up again. "If you kill him—he wins. If you let him live—everybody loses." Jim stepped into the library, inspecting his handiwork just as the lights ignited once more in the house, illuminating the reality of their situation with fiery clarity. "So who wins if /I/ kill him?"
Slowly, the Joker's head lifted from the carpet that resided beneath the desk. "He has a point, you know," he said slowly, and then his head met with the Oriental rug with a soft yet finalizing thud.
Continued in Chapter Fifteen: Epilogue
To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
--Hamlet
Chapter Fourteen
**
He turned a man into a fool, and a game into a nightmare –To Kill A Clown
~*~
The gurgling, drowning cry of the Joker, and the wet cracking of bones was what woke Jim Gordon. Sitting up, he rubbed the terrible, painful spot on his neck, where his head had come into contact with the brass planter.
Attempting to orient himself in the darkness, he grabbed hold of the cold edge of the planter with one hand, and the thick stock of the plant, which resided in it, getting from his knees to his feet. He glanced up the remainder of the steps, then down again, gauging the situation from his location on the landing. His first instinct was to go down the steps, and into the mêlée of whatever was transpiring below. Instead, he grabbed hold of the railing and dragged his shaking body upward, towards the two lifeless figures lying just within his sight.
* * *
The library was lit by the moon and little else. In the chilly darkness, Batman continued his assault. Slamming the Joker's body against the edge of the desk, Batman felt sick and satisfied as the left humerus broke. His heart was heavy and dying, and his only intelligible thought was that he wanted the Joker to die too. He tossed the wiry, broken body onto the floor.
A thousand partial thoughts passed through his head, none of them able to bring themselves to his lips. Images flashed in his head, but nothing he could grasp hold of. Just the aching concept of loss. The sight of their blood.
He picked up the Joker by the shirt, crushing him up against the mantel over the cold and silent fireplace. A guttural cry of anguish escaped the Batman as his hand reached once again for the Joker's throat.
Desperately, the Joker groped along the wall with his good hand, searching for something—anything to aid his plight. His hand wrapped around the brass poker, and he leveled it at the Dark Knight. The K shaped hook on the end caught the Bat square in the neck, and he took a step backwards, releasing his victim's throat.
"I knew I could do it," the Joker rasped when he could finally draw in breath to speak again. Both staggered for a moment as the Joker swung again. Caught off guard and partially dazed, Batman barely missed being hooked by the poker again. "I knew I could get you to kill me. If the brat could, YOU could."
Remembering the great sport Jason had been, he swung one more time at the Bat's head. Batman caught the poker, tearing it out the Joker's hand, tossing it away. It hit the floor and skidded until it hit the opposing wall, leaving a dent in the hard wood running board.
"This is it," the Joker said as Batman tackled him again, crushing him against the hard wood. "The punch line. The end of the world's greatest stand-up act…"
Batman's hands wrapped around the Joker's throat, but he paused, failing to deliver the crushing blow.
"Go ahead."
Locking his jaw, Batman didn't move.
* * *
Hearing the continuing altercation above, Barbara typed faster, trying to rewrite the subroutine that had been hacked to cause the power outage on every grid along the coast.
"I'm very nearly into the house," Alfred informed her.
"Good."
There was the sound of great strain as Alfred attempted to pull back the panel that would give him access to the second floor of the house. "Whatever is transpiring, it is occurring in the library. I will conduct myself there immediately, unless you request otherwise."
There was another crash, and Barbara winced. That idiot boyfriend of hers had just better be all right. It was her job to put him in his place. How dare he try to be thoughtful of her emotions? How dare he—
As quickly as she could, she finished her modifications, praying it was enough, and in time.
It suddenly grew very quiet up stairs. Alfred flew out of one of the spare bedrooms, where the shaft had deposited him, then to the hall that lead to the service stairs, and then the library. Very nearly to the top of the steps, he stopped, having almost tripped over two of his charges.
Hearing sounds of finality below and knowing he could do nothing there, he dropped to his knees, and the two boys before him.
* * *
"If you don't," the Joker rasped, "I'll just keep coming. I don't think I got all I wanted out of this Batgirl—yet."
Picking the Joker up by the throat, Batman threw him several feet, into the desk again. The Joker's stomach hit the edge of the wood top, and the air rushed out of his lungs with painful release.
Before Batman could do more, there was an explosion in the doorway. Fire flashed across the room like a bolt of golden lightening cutting through the darkness in a trail of silver smoke. There was a moan and a spray of blood as the bullet passed clean through, and the Joker hit the carpet with a protracted thud.
Stunned, Batman stared at James Gordon and his smoking firearm, not daring to breathe. His own heartbeat felt like the clapping of a hammer in his chest.
"He's not worth it," Gordon said finally; then the world seemed to speed up again. "If you kill him—he wins. If you let him live—everybody loses." Jim stepped into the library, inspecting his handiwork just as the lights ignited once more in the house, illuminating the reality of their situation with fiery clarity. "So who wins if /I/ kill him?"
Slowly, the Joker's head lifted from the carpet that resided beneath the desk. "He has a point, you know," he said slowly, and then his head met with the Oriental rug with a soft yet finalizing thud.
Continued in Chapter Fifteen: Epilogue
To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
--Hamlet
