Chapter 7: Confrontations
As he anxiously drives to Wayne Manor, Commissioner Gordon goes over Det. Bullock's file on the recent string of vigilante slayings in his mind. 'Empty cartridges found at a number of the more grisly crime scenes belong to a Tommy gun, Joker's weapon of choice. No fingerprints suggest gloves, and some shots were taken from vantage points that require agility and good climbing gear. A dark costume would also allow movement without being spotted. This seems likely since there aren't any witnesses so far. And to top it all off, there's a gun sitting on the passenger seat of my car, fired six times, that Batman was carrying! But the Batman doesn't use guns, does he?'
Pulling up to the gates of the manor the Commissioner reaches over with his left hand and turns on the comm. panel.
"Who is it?" a cheery voice answers, almost singing.
"Commissioner Gordon of the GCPD!" Gordon responds tersely.
"Goodness, come right in," the voice replies. The gates part and Gordon drives to the manor entrance. He then takes the gun on the passenger seat and slides it into one of his trench coat pockets. Soon he finds himself in front of two gargantuan oaken doors and one opens to reveal a handsome, smiling, dark haired, fair skinned man in his mid-thirties, wearing a white dress shirt and black slacks. Bruce Wayne. "Hello Commissioner! Glad to see you're feeling better! I heard about what happened on the news and was quite worried. Gotham's lucky to have you back!" Bruce says cheerfully, "Come on in! I hope I'm not under arrest or anything…am I?"
Gordon gives Bruce a perplexed look as he makes his way inside. Gordon looks about the manor and notes the dust and sheets covering the furniture.
"Sorry about the mess, Commissioner," Bruce continues, "My butler, Alfred, passed away recently, and I haven't been able to fill his shoes as admirably."
"I know, Bruce, I was at the funeral."
"Right," Bruce gives an embarrassed wince, "anyway, the den's still set for entertaining..."
Gordon enters, still looking perplexed. He sits in a chair directly opposite the fireplace, whose mantle is neatly adorned with photos of absent friends underneath the painting of Bruce's parents. To his great dismay, James Gordon is able to recognize each face in the photos. 'Ghosts,' he thinks. He then notices the lack of anything else in the room. 'What is this? Some sort of shrine?'
"So Commissioner, what can I do for you today? Another donation to the policeman's fund, maybe?"
The Commissioner continues to have a perplexed look on his face, "Cut the crap, Bruce, it's demeaning to both of us. I know who you are. The mind device Joker used may have controlled me, but it left my memories intact. You're Batman. Heck, a part of me probably always knew and just never wanted to admit it."
"I know…" Bruce's demeanour changes almost instantly. Gone is the smiling playboy, replaced with a grim demeanour and deep voice Gordon knows all too well, "…I hoped it hadn't. So, what do you want?" Batman asks.
"I want to know what happened between you and Joker that night."
Batman stays silent as he looks at Gordon. Gordon responds by tossing the bagged WWII handgun onto the floor in front of Batman, who frowns at the sight of it.
"That was Alfred's gun, wasn't it? Sentimental value was probably enough to push you into bringing it when you fought the Joker. After all, you did bring those other weapons AND you used them. So why on earth would you toss it in the trash?"
"Temptation," Batman answers.
Gordon pauses for a second to digest this before moving on, "My question is this; did you shoot AND kill the Joker?"
Batman moves to the fireplace, turning his back to the Commissioner, and looks at his parents' portrait. "I've lost something," Batman begins quietly, slowly, "and I thought bringing the ghosts of my fallen friends and family would make up for it… it didn't." He removes something from a pocket and tosses it to the Commissioner. Gordon looks at the tiny metallic device with curious fascination as Batman continues his narrative, "The Hatter's mind control chip, the one Joker used on you. I thought it could be the edge I needed, so I slid it under my mask after conditioning myself with a hypnotic message: 'Stop Joker, don't kill.' That's it. I didn't expect your continued murmuring about war and any means necessary...so…I shot at him…once in the stomach…"
There is a pause as Gordon takes it in. "Look, you didn't shoot him," he says in a whisper, "You were just the gun. I gave the command; I pulled the trigger. Don't shoulder this, okay?"
"You don't understand, I wanted to…want…" The room is filled with an electric silence for some time before Batman continues, softly, "I've been debating the question, wondering whose fault it is, or if it even matters anymore. I haven't been able to look at the costume since that night, let alone wear it."
'Now that,' thinks Gordon, 'is too pat an answer, considering what's going on with the vigilante slayings.' This thought shames him since he is Batman's friend, yet he's also a cop… "Joker was a psycho and would've killed both of us, Gotham, and anything else that walks or crawls. Lord knows he's killed enough already. I wouldn't lose any sleep over it, okay? Knowing his tactics it was probably self-defence, so calm down," Gordon says, trying to give Batman a way out of murder.
Batman doesn't answer.
"Is he dead?" Gordon asks.
"I don't know. The only entrance was nearby, but he was weak, and with the explosions, and roof collapsing, I'm not sure he got out in time. I suppose we'll know when they clear out the rubble."
"He liked to use a Tommy gun, didn't he? I remember him using one that night. What happened to it?" Gordon asks.
"I don't know," Batman pauses and sighs heavily, "Jim, I keep up to date. There's someone out there killing people and you actually believe it's me, don't you?"
Gordon removes his new pipe and lights it. He takes several long puffs before holding it in front of his eyes to look at the many wood grains that combine to make up the one piece of wood. He turns to Batman, who is still brooding by the fireplace, "I doubt your state of mind right now, Batman. Let's face it, you've always been a little crazy. To dress up in a costume and beat up criminals, you have to be. Considering what you've been through, it's understandable, and the fact you've always tried to serve justice is commendable, but you're still crazy."
Batman continues to brood.
"You also take on all the blame for anything that goes wrong, and that does nothing except drive you closer to the edge. So you go out and try to do some more good, only to screw up and blame yourself again, and inch even closer to the edge. You've been doing this for 15 years, building blame for 15 years, and it was only a matter of time until you snapped. I've been keeping an eye out for signs all this time, you know, and this is the first, THE FIRST time I've ever really been worried."
Batman stays unmoved.
"The bridge wasn't your fault, the Joker wasn't your fault, what happened to me wasn't your fault, Barbara wasn't your fault. Hell, what happened to your parents wasn't your fault. You've saved many, many lives, and it would be a terrible shame if you gave in now, not only to you, but to the Wayne name. What I need from you, for my own piece of mind, is for you to look me in my eyes and tell me you aren't responsible for the vigilante killings."
Batman stays.
"Look at me, damn it!" Gordon yells.
The Batman remains still and silent.
"What's my name, Bruce?" Gordon barks trying to get a response.
"James Gordon," Bruce replies, very quiet.
"FULL NAME!" Gordon demands.
"James W. Gordon."
"Do you know what the W stands for?"
Bruce shakes his head.
"Wayne."
Bruce turns his head and looks at Gordon, puzzled as to what he's trying to pull. For a long and very tense moment he just stands there, eyes fixed. He then smiles coyly at the Commissioner, ready to laugh. "We're not really related, are we?" Bruce asks.
"Nah," Gordon replies, "My parents were big John Wayne fans. I just wanted your attention. Now, what's your answer?"
"I didn't do it, Jim," Bruce says with round, soulful eyes. Gordon believes him, but he has to wonder about the Batman, who seems strangely absent.
"Alright, alright," Gordon answers. He rises from his seat and scratches his head. "Bullock's still investigating. Maybe we'll turn up something. Until then, you're under house arrest…"
…
'Finally,' thinks Harley as she arrives to a poorly lit alley. A single, ragged poster is standing up on one wall and it takes her a moment before she recognizes the familiar image of a grinning Cheshire cat promoting cat food. Walking up to the poster she could feel a breeze pierce through the asylum issued clothing. 'No wonder they make us where these ugly uniforms at the nuthouse,' she thinks, 'you'd just die of embarrassment walking the streets in such flimsy stuff. And those catcalls!' "Yeesh!" she says, contorting her body and face in disgust and sticking out her tongue. 'Well, I made it,' she thinks as she presses the nose of the poster's grinning feline. Gears turn and the poster bends inwards, revealing a passage into a hidden Joker stronghold. 'Home, sweet home,' thinks Harley as she waltzes in before the poster closes the entrance.
Harley begins singing to herself as she tosses aside items in one corner of the room. Guns, knives, smoke bombs, acid, Joker venom, joke book, and the item she was looking for, a red and black bundle. Harley quickly unwraps the bundle and unfolds the garment inside. Mr. J always liked to hide her costumes, so much so that you would almost think he didn't want her to find them.
Removing the asylum issued pants and shirt she quickly slips into the tight one piece, half red and half black, diamond decorated garment, complete with a Jester's cap. 'Well, well, that's much better,' she thinks looking at a mirror, 'but we're not quite ready for the big time yet, are we?' Removing a small tube of white make-up (don't ask where she kept it hidden on such an 'ahem' revealing costume) Harley proceeds to apply it on her face in ample doses, turning it powder white. With the addition of black lipstick and matching gloves the Harlequin was complete and ready to paint the town!
"Hang on baby, momma's coming!"
…
Dr. Marcus has had a very rough day. First he had to go through yet another session of deprogramming to remove the Joker's hypnotic suggestions. Next he finds out that the asylum wasn't paying him for his leave of absence when he was near comatose under the Joker's spell. And finally, one of his charges, Harleen Quinzel, has escaped from the asylum and is nowhere to be found. No one is sure how it happened, and no one is sure what to do about it other than to alert the authorities. At least now he's home and he can forget his troubles for the night and get some rest.
Fumbling for his apartment keys he finally manages to slide one into the keyhole and opens the door. He can't help noticing a cool draft as he enters and wonders if he left a window open.
He flips the light switch after shutting the door behind him and stops in his tracks when he sees a black garbed figure before him, surrounded by a billowing cape.
"You!" Dr. Marcus yelps as three silenced shots are fired from a small handgun in the dark clad figure's gloved hand. All three bullets strike their target and Dr. Marcus' rotund figure lands with a thud, staining his plush carpeting with blood. The dark figure then moves to the satchel which contained Dr. Marcus' files. Removing several papers he reads on and smiles. Moving to the shattered open window the figure jumps out and onto the ground three stories below…
TO BE CONTINUED…
FYI: Harley escaped from Arkham in Chapter 6, with some assistance. Dr. Marcus met up with the Joker in Chapter 1. Batman and Gordon are discussing events from Chapters 4 and 5, with Gordon finding Alfred's gun in Chapter 6.
As he anxiously drives to Wayne Manor, Commissioner Gordon goes over Det. Bullock's file on the recent string of vigilante slayings in his mind. 'Empty cartridges found at a number of the more grisly crime scenes belong to a Tommy gun, Joker's weapon of choice. No fingerprints suggest gloves, and some shots were taken from vantage points that require agility and good climbing gear. A dark costume would also allow movement without being spotted. This seems likely since there aren't any witnesses so far. And to top it all off, there's a gun sitting on the passenger seat of my car, fired six times, that Batman was carrying! But the Batman doesn't use guns, does he?'
Pulling up to the gates of the manor the Commissioner reaches over with his left hand and turns on the comm. panel.
"Who is it?" a cheery voice answers, almost singing.
"Commissioner Gordon of the GCPD!" Gordon responds tersely.
"Goodness, come right in," the voice replies. The gates part and Gordon drives to the manor entrance. He then takes the gun on the passenger seat and slides it into one of his trench coat pockets. Soon he finds himself in front of two gargantuan oaken doors and one opens to reveal a handsome, smiling, dark haired, fair skinned man in his mid-thirties, wearing a white dress shirt and black slacks. Bruce Wayne. "Hello Commissioner! Glad to see you're feeling better! I heard about what happened on the news and was quite worried. Gotham's lucky to have you back!" Bruce says cheerfully, "Come on in! I hope I'm not under arrest or anything…am I?"
Gordon gives Bruce a perplexed look as he makes his way inside. Gordon looks about the manor and notes the dust and sheets covering the furniture.
"Sorry about the mess, Commissioner," Bruce continues, "My butler, Alfred, passed away recently, and I haven't been able to fill his shoes as admirably."
"I know, Bruce, I was at the funeral."
"Right," Bruce gives an embarrassed wince, "anyway, the den's still set for entertaining..."
Gordon enters, still looking perplexed. He sits in a chair directly opposite the fireplace, whose mantle is neatly adorned with photos of absent friends underneath the painting of Bruce's parents. To his great dismay, James Gordon is able to recognize each face in the photos. 'Ghosts,' he thinks. He then notices the lack of anything else in the room. 'What is this? Some sort of shrine?'
"So Commissioner, what can I do for you today? Another donation to the policeman's fund, maybe?"
The Commissioner continues to have a perplexed look on his face, "Cut the crap, Bruce, it's demeaning to both of us. I know who you are. The mind device Joker used may have controlled me, but it left my memories intact. You're Batman. Heck, a part of me probably always knew and just never wanted to admit it."
"I know…" Bruce's demeanour changes almost instantly. Gone is the smiling playboy, replaced with a grim demeanour and deep voice Gordon knows all too well, "…I hoped it hadn't. So, what do you want?" Batman asks.
"I want to know what happened between you and Joker that night."
Batman stays silent as he looks at Gordon. Gordon responds by tossing the bagged WWII handgun onto the floor in front of Batman, who frowns at the sight of it.
"That was Alfred's gun, wasn't it? Sentimental value was probably enough to push you into bringing it when you fought the Joker. After all, you did bring those other weapons AND you used them. So why on earth would you toss it in the trash?"
"Temptation," Batman answers.
Gordon pauses for a second to digest this before moving on, "My question is this; did you shoot AND kill the Joker?"
Batman moves to the fireplace, turning his back to the Commissioner, and looks at his parents' portrait. "I've lost something," Batman begins quietly, slowly, "and I thought bringing the ghosts of my fallen friends and family would make up for it… it didn't." He removes something from a pocket and tosses it to the Commissioner. Gordon looks at the tiny metallic device with curious fascination as Batman continues his narrative, "The Hatter's mind control chip, the one Joker used on you. I thought it could be the edge I needed, so I slid it under my mask after conditioning myself with a hypnotic message: 'Stop Joker, don't kill.' That's it. I didn't expect your continued murmuring about war and any means necessary...so…I shot at him…once in the stomach…"
There is a pause as Gordon takes it in. "Look, you didn't shoot him," he says in a whisper, "You were just the gun. I gave the command; I pulled the trigger. Don't shoulder this, okay?"
"You don't understand, I wanted to…want…" The room is filled with an electric silence for some time before Batman continues, softly, "I've been debating the question, wondering whose fault it is, or if it even matters anymore. I haven't been able to look at the costume since that night, let alone wear it."
'Now that,' thinks Gordon, 'is too pat an answer, considering what's going on with the vigilante slayings.' This thought shames him since he is Batman's friend, yet he's also a cop… "Joker was a psycho and would've killed both of us, Gotham, and anything else that walks or crawls. Lord knows he's killed enough already. I wouldn't lose any sleep over it, okay? Knowing his tactics it was probably self-defence, so calm down," Gordon says, trying to give Batman a way out of murder.
Batman doesn't answer.
"Is he dead?" Gordon asks.
"I don't know. The only entrance was nearby, but he was weak, and with the explosions, and roof collapsing, I'm not sure he got out in time. I suppose we'll know when they clear out the rubble."
"He liked to use a Tommy gun, didn't he? I remember him using one that night. What happened to it?" Gordon asks.
"I don't know," Batman pauses and sighs heavily, "Jim, I keep up to date. There's someone out there killing people and you actually believe it's me, don't you?"
Gordon removes his new pipe and lights it. He takes several long puffs before holding it in front of his eyes to look at the many wood grains that combine to make up the one piece of wood. He turns to Batman, who is still brooding by the fireplace, "I doubt your state of mind right now, Batman. Let's face it, you've always been a little crazy. To dress up in a costume and beat up criminals, you have to be. Considering what you've been through, it's understandable, and the fact you've always tried to serve justice is commendable, but you're still crazy."
Batman continues to brood.
"You also take on all the blame for anything that goes wrong, and that does nothing except drive you closer to the edge. So you go out and try to do some more good, only to screw up and blame yourself again, and inch even closer to the edge. You've been doing this for 15 years, building blame for 15 years, and it was only a matter of time until you snapped. I've been keeping an eye out for signs all this time, you know, and this is the first, THE FIRST time I've ever really been worried."
Batman stays unmoved.
"The bridge wasn't your fault, the Joker wasn't your fault, what happened to me wasn't your fault, Barbara wasn't your fault. Hell, what happened to your parents wasn't your fault. You've saved many, many lives, and it would be a terrible shame if you gave in now, not only to you, but to the Wayne name. What I need from you, for my own piece of mind, is for you to look me in my eyes and tell me you aren't responsible for the vigilante killings."
Batman stays.
"Look at me, damn it!" Gordon yells.
The Batman remains still and silent.
"What's my name, Bruce?" Gordon barks trying to get a response.
"James Gordon," Bruce replies, very quiet.
"FULL NAME!" Gordon demands.
"James W. Gordon."
"Do you know what the W stands for?"
Bruce shakes his head.
"Wayne."
Bruce turns his head and looks at Gordon, puzzled as to what he's trying to pull. For a long and very tense moment he just stands there, eyes fixed. He then smiles coyly at the Commissioner, ready to laugh. "We're not really related, are we?" Bruce asks.
"Nah," Gordon replies, "My parents were big John Wayne fans. I just wanted your attention. Now, what's your answer?"
"I didn't do it, Jim," Bruce says with round, soulful eyes. Gordon believes him, but he has to wonder about the Batman, who seems strangely absent.
"Alright, alright," Gordon answers. He rises from his seat and scratches his head. "Bullock's still investigating. Maybe we'll turn up something. Until then, you're under house arrest…"
…
'Finally,' thinks Harley as she arrives to a poorly lit alley. A single, ragged poster is standing up on one wall and it takes her a moment before she recognizes the familiar image of a grinning Cheshire cat promoting cat food. Walking up to the poster she could feel a breeze pierce through the asylum issued clothing. 'No wonder they make us where these ugly uniforms at the nuthouse,' she thinks, 'you'd just die of embarrassment walking the streets in such flimsy stuff. And those catcalls!' "Yeesh!" she says, contorting her body and face in disgust and sticking out her tongue. 'Well, I made it,' she thinks as she presses the nose of the poster's grinning feline. Gears turn and the poster bends inwards, revealing a passage into a hidden Joker stronghold. 'Home, sweet home,' thinks Harley as she waltzes in before the poster closes the entrance.
Harley begins singing to herself as she tosses aside items in one corner of the room. Guns, knives, smoke bombs, acid, Joker venom, joke book, and the item she was looking for, a red and black bundle. Harley quickly unwraps the bundle and unfolds the garment inside. Mr. J always liked to hide her costumes, so much so that you would almost think he didn't want her to find them.
Removing the asylum issued pants and shirt she quickly slips into the tight one piece, half red and half black, diamond decorated garment, complete with a Jester's cap. 'Well, well, that's much better,' she thinks looking at a mirror, 'but we're not quite ready for the big time yet, are we?' Removing a small tube of white make-up (don't ask where she kept it hidden on such an 'ahem' revealing costume) Harley proceeds to apply it on her face in ample doses, turning it powder white. With the addition of black lipstick and matching gloves the Harlequin was complete and ready to paint the town!
"Hang on baby, momma's coming!"
…
Dr. Marcus has had a very rough day. First he had to go through yet another session of deprogramming to remove the Joker's hypnotic suggestions. Next he finds out that the asylum wasn't paying him for his leave of absence when he was near comatose under the Joker's spell. And finally, one of his charges, Harleen Quinzel, has escaped from the asylum and is nowhere to be found. No one is sure how it happened, and no one is sure what to do about it other than to alert the authorities. At least now he's home and he can forget his troubles for the night and get some rest.
Fumbling for his apartment keys he finally manages to slide one into the keyhole and opens the door. He can't help noticing a cool draft as he enters and wonders if he left a window open.
He flips the light switch after shutting the door behind him and stops in his tracks when he sees a black garbed figure before him, surrounded by a billowing cape.
"You!" Dr. Marcus yelps as three silenced shots are fired from a small handgun in the dark clad figure's gloved hand. All three bullets strike their target and Dr. Marcus' rotund figure lands with a thud, staining his plush carpeting with blood. The dark figure then moves to the satchel which contained Dr. Marcus' files. Removing several papers he reads on and smiles. Moving to the shattered open window the figure jumps out and onto the ground three stories below…
TO BE CONTINUED…
FYI: Harley escaped from Arkham in Chapter 6, with some assistance. Dr. Marcus met up with the Joker in Chapter 1. Batman and Gordon are discussing events from Chapters 4 and 5, with Gordon finding Alfred's gun in Chapter 6.