Chapter 13: Events Predicted II
His ancestral home is burning to the ground, and he's responsible. The flames flickering across the roof and into the night sky; the smoke pouring out of windows and doorways; the crashing sounds of tumbling beams and walls. All of it, ignited by his own hand. He should be on his knees, marking the occasion with a solemn oath, or to ask for forgiveness. He should be begging for his own salvation after what he's wrought, only his thoughts are elsewhere, to the two men he had left behind.
"Jim!" he screams into the blaze. There's no answer. He had to end the madness, he had to try, and he nearly succeeded. A single miscalculation at the most crucial moment forced him outside, and now...now the flames beckon him to come back inside. He cannot. He promised his only remaining ally and friend that he would save the fallen female beauty who is lying still on the grass beside him, her wounds only recently tended to with his limited first aid expertise. Ivy sought to destroy the Batman to avenge her only true friend, the Harlequin. Instead she found more than she bargained for when the Joker revealed himself as Harley's true attacker. She nearly paid the ultimate price for her mistake; much like Batman wants to do for his own transgressions.
"Jim!" he yells even louder. There's still no answer. The Batman shouldn't have tipped Gordon to his ultimate plan so quickly, but Ivy's involvement made it necessary. She would have killed Gordon just to get to the Batman. Bruce doesn't blame her though, how can he? How can he condemn anyone who seeks revenge?
Then he hears it. A faint call from the grounds on the other side of the burning mansion, like a distant whimper at first, it grows into a complete plea for help. He doesn't hesitate for an instant before running to its aid.
Ivy hears the call as well, and even in her weakened state she isn't blinded by it. She hears it for what it is and manages a faint whisper, "Don't...trap..." too late.
Running across the green landscape, keeping his distance from outstretched flames, he soon reaches the source of the cries. Standing before him is a scorched and smoldering Joker, wearing tattered black and gray that once was a copy of Batman's costume. On the ground, lying face first and unmoving, and also heavily burnt is Commissioner James W. Gordon. The Joker's boot heel is deeply pressed upon the back of Gordon's neck as he points Gordon's own gun at the base of his skull. With Batman's arrival Joker pulls back on the gun's hammer and gives his oldest and dearest enemy a most frightful grin.
"Help!" Joker cries, "Sorry, I just couldn't resist. Jimbo here, he really could use some help, though if not for me he'd be much more well done. As it stands he's only rare...medium rare at the most. He's still breathing too, if you can believe it. He always did make a better hostage than corpse."
The Batman slowly slides one arm behind his utility belt, reaching for his own gun. While doing so he tries to stall the Joker, "What do you want?"
"Feel free to take out your gun, Batman," Joker sneers, his chalk white face now painted black with soot and smoke, "You just may shoot me before I pull the trigger on Gordo. Of course, my gun would probably go off anyway, and at this range..."
Batman unhooks his gun from his belt and aims it at the Joker. He doesn't pull the trigger and repeats his query, "WHAT do you want?"
"The truth, Bruce, that's all. That night in my warehouse, I thought my little ploy had brought you back to your old self. You were a grim and gritty, down and dirty, unstoppable juggernaut! It was just like old times, until I caught the look in your eye. A most familiar glare that I'm certain I've seen before. In fact I see it every time I glance at a mirror. If I hadn't had Gordon in my sway that night, if it was just you and me in there...well, we wouldn't be having this pleasant conversation, would we?"
"Get on with it."
The Joker giggles, "Obviously I survived. Seeing how you wanted to up the ante so badly, to turn our fun and games into an all out war, I decided a little propaganda campaign was in order. With the aid of the Hatter's magic chip" the Joker taps on his head, "and Ivy's misguided rage, I had you in a two pronged attack. You ain't the only strategist in these here parts, hombre!" His expression then becomes stern, a level of sane attention rarely seen in the mad clown, "But that murderous gleam in your eye...what, oh what, could cause such a drastic change in my wonderfully stone-faced straight-man? It couldn't have been the bridge, I've killed kid sidekicks before and you never went this far. You're going to tell me what did it, Batman, or..." he wiggles the gun behind the Commissioner's head.
Batman swallows long and hard. He could feel what was about to happen and needed time. Joker's a master trickster and could smell a lie, so the truth was his only recourse, "Do you know how Dick Grayson, Nightwing, died?"
"I haven't the foggiest, but we've got an expert here, let's ask him." Joker gives a warm smile to the dark knight before prodding Gordon with a light tap to the side of the head, "Yo, Smokey! You hear that? Answer the man!"
Despite his predicament Gordon wants to hear Batman say it. He needs Batman to say it. Twisting his head sideways the Commissioner coughs and then manages an answer with smoke filled lungs, "He inhaled a large amount of gas, fell out a window and landed on his back, hitting his head on the gas cylinder. After that it was touch and go." Batman grits his teeth, "No, it wasn't." and his tale begins...
...
A full moon can mean many things, none of which are good. An omen of ill will, of madness and death, it hung low that fateful night, its glow dimly lighting the hospital room. To the solitary patient within the room rest was impossible, and his eyes darted about as if in anticipation. Everything appeared different and otherworldly when they were given a hue of black and darkened blue, the chairs, the plants, and the windowsill. Among these accoutrements he managed to spot two narrow slits of white that betrayed a sinister presence. The eyes focused intently on their target as the dark demon stepped closer, its pointed horns almost scraping the ceiling. The demon flashed a friendly, although very worried smile. In its powerful hand the patient's file rested gently.
"Dick," the demon whispered in a familiar voice. It was the Batman. His voice rarely ever wavered, but that night it shook uncontrollably as his left hand touched his bedridden ward's shoulder, "I'm sorry I didn't come earlier. I was looking for Tim...and Helena...and...I'm sorry."
Dick Grayson didn't answer, nor did his shoulder spasm at the gesture. His still mask covered eyes continued to stare back at the Batman.
"Jim was there, he made sure no one took your mask, that your identity stayed a secret. There's a guard outside too, although it's not necessary. We stopped the Joker, you saved those children..." the Batman paused then, and stared down at the file he had read through earlier. Batman swallows, unsure how to continue, "Cassandra visited earlier. I saw her leave; she's become quite a woman. When you're well enough..." Again he paused. Each time he opened his mouth he remembered Dick Grayson as he was, not as he is, and not as his future would be. 'Damn it Joker, you never make it easy!' The words echo in his head as he turns away.
Trying to compose himself he searches for tears and finds none. They were used long ago, leaving only a raging fire inside. His protégé, his son lies next to him, unmoving and unable to feel his touch, and all he can gather is rage. He turns towards Dick once more, "I'm sorry," is all he could muster. He then stood beside his son in silence as Dick's eyes continued their stare.
Batman, finally having gained enough courage, peers confusingly into the eyes of his son, "Dick, do you want something?"
Like tiny orbs of light the eyes moved their attention to Batman's right, and guided the dark knight to do the same. He was aghast at the sight of the tiny green line traveling across a screen, bounding up and down every so often. The machine's tubes and wires were connected to Dick, feeding him life.
"No," Batman whispered, shaking his head in disbelief, "You can't ask me to. Please."
But the eyes were fixed upon him and stared with an unyielding conviction.
"You'll get better. You'll fight and you'll beat this...you always do...please, hasn't there been enough death, enough pain?" There was no change. Dick knew the truth. Even in that state he was too good a detective not to know. The gas...he ingested too much of the neurotoxin.
"What about Cassandra? She..." and he silenced himself mid-sentence. He knew the answer. Cassandra...wasn't Barbara.
"I...can't. You know I can't," only the eyes, the eyes that looked up to Batman as a father, wouldn't halt their stare. They glistened and throbbed as they stared. They begged and pleaded with tiny beads of moisture that sparkled dully as they rolled down Dick's cheek. They wept for the pain he felt and the pain he wished he could feel, and for the earthly delights which had lost all meaning for him. There would be no tortuous tomorrow, not for them. Those tiny orbs seemed to will the Batman into un-chartered waters that night. They moved his hands to the machine, and they softly...turned...it...off.
Within moments there were knocks on the door as doctors and nurses tried to gain entry to no avail. Batman had thrown his massive frame against the door and barred its opening. As they pounded he looked back at his son as he lay in peaceful tranquility. He looked back and remembered a boy of six who darted through the air with a mischievous grin, who playfully tugged at the dark knight's cape as he tried to keep pace. A boy of six, who at the end of the night slumbered so well, like an angel.
"I'm sorry," and he'd gone, returned to the night.
...
He cannot recall much after that moment. He can vaguely remember witnessing the doctor and nurse bursting into the room scant seconds after his departure, and their futile attempts to resuscitate Dick's unmoving form. He remembers the shift doctor, Thaddeus Marcus, noticing the failure of the life support and Dick's misplaced file after the nurse had gone. He can barely recall the stalking of Marcus that evening, or his proposition to the doctor. He would bribe Marcus for his silence, to protect his damnable secret, and he would place the doctor in Gotham's most famous institution, a guarantee to scientific fame, Arkham. The greed filled doctor agreed on the spot.
He can vaguely recall mentioning the news of Dick's passing to Alfred, and the stout butler's heart attack soon after. He remembers Alfred's funeral however, and Tim's, and Helena's, despite the absence of their bodies. He can remember Cassandra's look of anguish and anger directed at him during each ceremony, and he can still feel that slap across his cheek before she vanished from his life, and Gotham. That event signaled to him the true weight of what he'd done, and he can remember formulating the plan as he watched Dick's body being laid into a grave under the secrecy of night. He remembers it all too well, 'the name MacMurtney...My turn came...to die.'
...
"That's it?" the Joker sneers at the shaken Batman. "That's what made you go around the bend? Unplugging someone who's already 90% corpse? Pathetic. The least you could've done was blow up a bus load of orphans or something!" The Joker shakes his head in disgust, "I had such high hopes."
The Batman continues to aim his gun at Joker, "It was enough...enough death." Batman looks down at the gun in his hand, "I never was capable of killing before, but after...I couldn't let myself...I needed to end it."
"Then you should've just put a gun to your head and pulled the trigger!" Joker screams back.
"What? Like this?" Batman quickly puts the gun to the side of his head and begins to pull the trigger. The Joker screams, "NO!" and rapidly aims at Batman and fires. The Batman's gun flies out of his hand and onto the grass behind him. He stares at Joker's smoking gun and smirks, "Nice shot." The Batman then begins walking towards the mad clown. The Joker's gun wielding hand begins to shake nervously.
As he walks Batman begins talking, "The joke, right? You can't kill me until you tell me the joke. It's why, after all these years, you still give me a way out of those death traps. It's why I wasn't on the bridge; you chose that radio frequency for me to track! It's why I wasn't roasted alive in the warehouse; you left me a full clip in the Tommy gun! You like jokes? How's this? I thought I could kill, and before I ended my own miserable life I thought of only one other human being I hated enough to join me. So I had Marcus wind you up and set you loose. ME! I gave YOU a way out, you murdering psychopath! We were going to settle up, you and I. I would've been only too happy to sit in the fire at the warehouse with your corpse, or to sit in Wayne Manor now with you burning away. If not for Jim, I would be."
"No," the Joker replies with a trembling voice, "I'm in control here, not you! You made me, Dr. Frankenstein. That ensured your place! All the others were just faces and names compared to you; methods and manners; props and players! All to give a proper thank-you for making me the man I am today, a merry chase that would goad you into the one, truly operatic ending for this mad clown! We were close before, now finish it!"
"No," Batman whispers as he stops his advance mere inches from the Joker.
"You've got to be kidding! You were so eager at the warehouse! I'm offering you a free shot! What's wrong with you, man?"
The caped crusader stands unmoving, his fists clenched, ready to strike. He can see the truth for the first time. What he wanted the Joker had wished for as well, from the very beginning. Since their very first encounter the Joker knew their paths were always intertwined for mutual destruction. Since the absolute beginning the Joker dictated the terms, set the rules, and Batman is damned if he'll let him do it yet again!
"Perhaps some incentive," Joker smirks, sensing some newly found hesitation in Batman. He jabs his gun into the back of Gordon's skull and pulls the trigger. The hammer strikes the cylinder harmlessly since the revolver's last cartridge was just spent saving Batman's life. The Joker frowns, "Wouldn't you know it?"
Batman grins. Even outside he could count the shots from Gordon's gun. Batman then shoves at the distracted Joker and sends him back, away from Gordon and into some newly grown foliage, courtesy of Ivy. The green branches, leaves and vines come to life and grab a hold of their enraged quarry, refusing to let go. Joker screams, "You cheated! How could you? The vixen was bad enough, but this? How could you?"
The Batman gives Joker a perplexed glance, "Vixen?"
The Joker shoots a sly grin, "Bet you thought I didn't know. She of the cape and cowl clique, good old 'whatshername'. She had that snazzy costume with my favorite hue. The one with that unmistakable glow that only a fellow mother (or a homicidal maniac whose met his share of mothers) would recognize. Just how far along was she? Two, three months?"
The Batman's face contorts into a look of unbridled agony and rage, yet the Joker continues, "Of course she had to go. After all, when you cheat there are consequences; those are the rules..."
Batman has heard enough. "I played by your rules, Joker! I was always forced to! Rule number one," he screams as he removes the Joker's cowl and reaches within it, pulling out a tiny metallic device, "there are none!"
The Joker mutters an inaudible prayer and a final barb as the Batman crushes his lifeline in his glove. The Joker had always envisioned his end with a laugh and a bang, an exit worthy of the fourth of July. Now, as he closes his eyes and feels death's embrace for the final time, he finds nothing funny, nothing dramatic, nothing at all, save for a lonely child's whimper with the stark realization that the game, for him, has come to an end.
The Batman waits for a moment, his hands trembling with emotion. Satisfied that this is not another ruse he checks for a pulse, and finding none he cuts the Joker's body free and carries it to the blaze, tossing it inside.
"You killed him?" James Gordon manages as the Batman helps him up onto wobbly knees.
"I...I'm not sure," Batman answers his friend in a low whisper, "He took enough punishment to kill any normal man. That chip in his cowl probably turned him into a walking corpse. He may have died in the warehouse, in the manor, out here or any time in-between."
Satisfied with the answer, or just too tired to care, Gordon coughs, "What happened to Dick wasn't your fault. It was his choice..."
Batman grimaces at the suggestion, "His choice? Not my fault? Not for Tim, nor Helena, nor Alfred, nor Jason, nor Barbara, nor countless others. Are you serious? I dragged them into this...this insanity, and they paid for it with their lives, each and every-one." Batman turns and stares into the flames eating away Wayne Manor, "Joker was right, this is the end..."
James Gordon knows better than to argue with Batman when his mind is made up, but he can't stand by and let him toss his life away. There's only one link left to play to try and bring him back from the edge. "What about Ivy?" Gordon asks, breaking the awkward silence, "You promised me, and you know there's nothing left for her in Arkham, not without Quinn, and she did save our lives..."
'A weak reason for Bruce not to toss his life away,' thinks Gordon, 'But it's all I have. The rest is up to him.'
Another long pause passes between the two men, until the Batman finally removes his cowl, revealing the face of Bruce Wayne, who then turns towards Gordon. "I can't stay in Gotham," Bruce answers with a deep sigh, giving Gordon a hard stare in the process, "I've got some hard questions to answer." Gordon simply nods in understanding, removes his glasses and looks about. He can't make out a thing. They then hear the faint sound of sirens wailing in the distance.
"Bruce, one last question before you go? Why wait 2 years for Marcus to talk with the Joker? Why didn't you just sneak into Arkham and kill the clown, then yourself? It would've been quicker, and nowhere near as risky to others."
Bruce smiles as he picks up the damaged piece, Alfred's gun. He checks the mechanism and finds it still in working order. "When you've spent your entire life evading death at every turn," Bruce lifts the gun to the side of his head, pulls the trigger, and the hammer smashes harmlessly upon an empty chamber, "suicide is near impossible, unless assisted...a truly operatic ending..."
Bruce then tosses the gun into the blaze. Gordon grimly smiles as his friend becomes one with the darkness. He knows Ivy will also meld with the inky blackness soon enough, long before the authorities arrive. He sits onto the grass and stares at the raging fire through soot-covered lenses.
TO BE CONTINUED...
His ancestral home is burning to the ground, and he's responsible. The flames flickering across the roof and into the night sky; the smoke pouring out of windows and doorways; the crashing sounds of tumbling beams and walls. All of it, ignited by his own hand. He should be on his knees, marking the occasion with a solemn oath, or to ask for forgiveness. He should be begging for his own salvation after what he's wrought, only his thoughts are elsewhere, to the two men he had left behind.
"Jim!" he screams into the blaze. There's no answer. He had to end the madness, he had to try, and he nearly succeeded. A single miscalculation at the most crucial moment forced him outside, and now...now the flames beckon him to come back inside. He cannot. He promised his only remaining ally and friend that he would save the fallen female beauty who is lying still on the grass beside him, her wounds only recently tended to with his limited first aid expertise. Ivy sought to destroy the Batman to avenge her only true friend, the Harlequin. Instead she found more than she bargained for when the Joker revealed himself as Harley's true attacker. She nearly paid the ultimate price for her mistake; much like Batman wants to do for his own transgressions.
"Jim!" he yells even louder. There's still no answer. The Batman shouldn't have tipped Gordon to his ultimate plan so quickly, but Ivy's involvement made it necessary. She would have killed Gordon just to get to the Batman. Bruce doesn't blame her though, how can he? How can he condemn anyone who seeks revenge?
Then he hears it. A faint call from the grounds on the other side of the burning mansion, like a distant whimper at first, it grows into a complete plea for help. He doesn't hesitate for an instant before running to its aid.
Ivy hears the call as well, and even in her weakened state she isn't blinded by it. She hears it for what it is and manages a faint whisper, "Don't...trap..." too late.
Running across the green landscape, keeping his distance from outstretched flames, he soon reaches the source of the cries. Standing before him is a scorched and smoldering Joker, wearing tattered black and gray that once was a copy of Batman's costume. On the ground, lying face first and unmoving, and also heavily burnt is Commissioner James W. Gordon. The Joker's boot heel is deeply pressed upon the back of Gordon's neck as he points Gordon's own gun at the base of his skull. With Batman's arrival Joker pulls back on the gun's hammer and gives his oldest and dearest enemy a most frightful grin.
"Help!" Joker cries, "Sorry, I just couldn't resist. Jimbo here, he really could use some help, though if not for me he'd be much more well done. As it stands he's only rare...medium rare at the most. He's still breathing too, if you can believe it. He always did make a better hostage than corpse."
The Batman slowly slides one arm behind his utility belt, reaching for his own gun. While doing so he tries to stall the Joker, "What do you want?"
"Feel free to take out your gun, Batman," Joker sneers, his chalk white face now painted black with soot and smoke, "You just may shoot me before I pull the trigger on Gordo. Of course, my gun would probably go off anyway, and at this range..."
Batman unhooks his gun from his belt and aims it at the Joker. He doesn't pull the trigger and repeats his query, "WHAT do you want?"
"The truth, Bruce, that's all. That night in my warehouse, I thought my little ploy had brought you back to your old self. You were a grim and gritty, down and dirty, unstoppable juggernaut! It was just like old times, until I caught the look in your eye. A most familiar glare that I'm certain I've seen before. In fact I see it every time I glance at a mirror. If I hadn't had Gordon in my sway that night, if it was just you and me in there...well, we wouldn't be having this pleasant conversation, would we?"
"Get on with it."
The Joker giggles, "Obviously I survived. Seeing how you wanted to up the ante so badly, to turn our fun and games into an all out war, I decided a little propaganda campaign was in order. With the aid of the Hatter's magic chip" the Joker taps on his head, "and Ivy's misguided rage, I had you in a two pronged attack. You ain't the only strategist in these here parts, hombre!" His expression then becomes stern, a level of sane attention rarely seen in the mad clown, "But that murderous gleam in your eye...what, oh what, could cause such a drastic change in my wonderfully stone-faced straight-man? It couldn't have been the bridge, I've killed kid sidekicks before and you never went this far. You're going to tell me what did it, Batman, or..." he wiggles the gun behind the Commissioner's head.
Batman swallows long and hard. He could feel what was about to happen and needed time. Joker's a master trickster and could smell a lie, so the truth was his only recourse, "Do you know how Dick Grayson, Nightwing, died?"
"I haven't the foggiest, but we've got an expert here, let's ask him." Joker gives a warm smile to the dark knight before prodding Gordon with a light tap to the side of the head, "Yo, Smokey! You hear that? Answer the man!"
Despite his predicament Gordon wants to hear Batman say it. He needs Batman to say it. Twisting his head sideways the Commissioner coughs and then manages an answer with smoke filled lungs, "He inhaled a large amount of gas, fell out a window and landed on his back, hitting his head on the gas cylinder. After that it was touch and go." Batman grits his teeth, "No, it wasn't." and his tale begins...
...
A full moon can mean many things, none of which are good. An omen of ill will, of madness and death, it hung low that fateful night, its glow dimly lighting the hospital room. To the solitary patient within the room rest was impossible, and his eyes darted about as if in anticipation. Everything appeared different and otherworldly when they were given a hue of black and darkened blue, the chairs, the plants, and the windowsill. Among these accoutrements he managed to spot two narrow slits of white that betrayed a sinister presence. The eyes focused intently on their target as the dark demon stepped closer, its pointed horns almost scraping the ceiling. The demon flashed a friendly, although very worried smile. In its powerful hand the patient's file rested gently.
"Dick," the demon whispered in a familiar voice. It was the Batman. His voice rarely ever wavered, but that night it shook uncontrollably as his left hand touched his bedridden ward's shoulder, "I'm sorry I didn't come earlier. I was looking for Tim...and Helena...and...I'm sorry."
Dick Grayson didn't answer, nor did his shoulder spasm at the gesture. His still mask covered eyes continued to stare back at the Batman.
"Jim was there, he made sure no one took your mask, that your identity stayed a secret. There's a guard outside too, although it's not necessary. We stopped the Joker, you saved those children..." the Batman paused then, and stared down at the file he had read through earlier. Batman swallows, unsure how to continue, "Cassandra visited earlier. I saw her leave; she's become quite a woman. When you're well enough..." Again he paused. Each time he opened his mouth he remembered Dick Grayson as he was, not as he is, and not as his future would be. 'Damn it Joker, you never make it easy!' The words echo in his head as he turns away.
Trying to compose himself he searches for tears and finds none. They were used long ago, leaving only a raging fire inside. His protégé, his son lies next to him, unmoving and unable to feel his touch, and all he can gather is rage. He turns towards Dick once more, "I'm sorry," is all he could muster. He then stood beside his son in silence as Dick's eyes continued their stare.
Batman, finally having gained enough courage, peers confusingly into the eyes of his son, "Dick, do you want something?"
Like tiny orbs of light the eyes moved their attention to Batman's right, and guided the dark knight to do the same. He was aghast at the sight of the tiny green line traveling across a screen, bounding up and down every so often. The machine's tubes and wires were connected to Dick, feeding him life.
"No," Batman whispered, shaking his head in disbelief, "You can't ask me to. Please."
But the eyes were fixed upon him and stared with an unyielding conviction.
"You'll get better. You'll fight and you'll beat this...you always do...please, hasn't there been enough death, enough pain?" There was no change. Dick knew the truth. Even in that state he was too good a detective not to know. The gas...he ingested too much of the neurotoxin.
"What about Cassandra? She..." and he silenced himself mid-sentence. He knew the answer. Cassandra...wasn't Barbara.
"I...can't. You know I can't," only the eyes, the eyes that looked up to Batman as a father, wouldn't halt their stare. They glistened and throbbed as they stared. They begged and pleaded with tiny beads of moisture that sparkled dully as they rolled down Dick's cheek. They wept for the pain he felt and the pain he wished he could feel, and for the earthly delights which had lost all meaning for him. There would be no tortuous tomorrow, not for them. Those tiny orbs seemed to will the Batman into un-chartered waters that night. They moved his hands to the machine, and they softly...turned...it...off.
Within moments there were knocks on the door as doctors and nurses tried to gain entry to no avail. Batman had thrown his massive frame against the door and barred its opening. As they pounded he looked back at his son as he lay in peaceful tranquility. He looked back and remembered a boy of six who darted through the air with a mischievous grin, who playfully tugged at the dark knight's cape as he tried to keep pace. A boy of six, who at the end of the night slumbered so well, like an angel.
"I'm sorry," and he'd gone, returned to the night.
...
He cannot recall much after that moment. He can vaguely remember witnessing the doctor and nurse bursting into the room scant seconds after his departure, and their futile attempts to resuscitate Dick's unmoving form. He remembers the shift doctor, Thaddeus Marcus, noticing the failure of the life support and Dick's misplaced file after the nurse had gone. He can barely recall the stalking of Marcus that evening, or his proposition to the doctor. He would bribe Marcus for his silence, to protect his damnable secret, and he would place the doctor in Gotham's most famous institution, a guarantee to scientific fame, Arkham. The greed filled doctor agreed on the spot.
He can vaguely recall mentioning the news of Dick's passing to Alfred, and the stout butler's heart attack soon after. He remembers Alfred's funeral however, and Tim's, and Helena's, despite the absence of their bodies. He can remember Cassandra's look of anguish and anger directed at him during each ceremony, and he can still feel that slap across his cheek before she vanished from his life, and Gotham. That event signaled to him the true weight of what he'd done, and he can remember formulating the plan as he watched Dick's body being laid into a grave under the secrecy of night. He remembers it all too well, 'the name MacMurtney...My turn came...to die.'
...
"That's it?" the Joker sneers at the shaken Batman. "That's what made you go around the bend? Unplugging someone who's already 90% corpse? Pathetic. The least you could've done was blow up a bus load of orphans or something!" The Joker shakes his head in disgust, "I had such high hopes."
The Batman continues to aim his gun at Joker, "It was enough...enough death." Batman looks down at the gun in his hand, "I never was capable of killing before, but after...I couldn't let myself...I needed to end it."
"Then you should've just put a gun to your head and pulled the trigger!" Joker screams back.
"What? Like this?" Batman quickly puts the gun to the side of his head and begins to pull the trigger. The Joker screams, "NO!" and rapidly aims at Batman and fires. The Batman's gun flies out of his hand and onto the grass behind him. He stares at Joker's smoking gun and smirks, "Nice shot." The Batman then begins walking towards the mad clown. The Joker's gun wielding hand begins to shake nervously.
As he walks Batman begins talking, "The joke, right? You can't kill me until you tell me the joke. It's why, after all these years, you still give me a way out of those death traps. It's why I wasn't on the bridge; you chose that radio frequency for me to track! It's why I wasn't roasted alive in the warehouse; you left me a full clip in the Tommy gun! You like jokes? How's this? I thought I could kill, and before I ended my own miserable life I thought of only one other human being I hated enough to join me. So I had Marcus wind you up and set you loose. ME! I gave YOU a way out, you murdering psychopath! We were going to settle up, you and I. I would've been only too happy to sit in the fire at the warehouse with your corpse, or to sit in Wayne Manor now with you burning away. If not for Jim, I would be."
"No," the Joker replies with a trembling voice, "I'm in control here, not you! You made me, Dr. Frankenstein. That ensured your place! All the others were just faces and names compared to you; methods and manners; props and players! All to give a proper thank-you for making me the man I am today, a merry chase that would goad you into the one, truly operatic ending for this mad clown! We were close before, now finish it!"
"No," Batman whispers as he stops his advance mere inches from the Joker.
"You've got to be kidding! You were so eager at the warehouse! I'm offering you a free shot! What's wrong with you, man?"
The caped crusader stands unmoving, his fists clenched, ready to strike. He can see the truth for the first time. What he wanted the Joker had wished for as well, from the very beginning. Since their very first encounter the Joker knew their paths were always intertwined for mutual destruction. Since the absolute beginning the Joker dictated the terms, set the rules, and Batman is damned if he'll let him do it yet again!
"Perhaps some incentive," Joker smirks, sensing some newly found hesitation in Batman. He jabs his gun into the back of Gordon's skull and pulls the trigger. The hammer strikes the cylinder harmlessly since the revolver's last cartridge was just spent saving Batman's life. The Joker frowns, "Wouldn't you know it?"
Batman grins. Even outside he could count the shots from Gordon's gun. Batman then shoves at the distracted Joker and sends him back, away from Gordon and into some newly grown foliage, courtesy of Ivy. The green branches, leaves and vines come to life and grab a hold of their enraged quarry, refusing to let go. Joker screams, "You cheated! How could you? The vixen was bad enough, but this? How could you?"
The Batman gives Joker a perplexed glance, "Vixen?"
The Joker shoots a sly grin, "Bet you thought I didn't know. She of the cape and cowl clique, good old 'whatshername'. She had that snazzy costume with my favorite hue. The one with that unmistakable glow that only a fellow mother (or a homicidal maniac whose met his share of mothers) would recognize. Just how far along was she? Two, three months?"
The Batman's face contorts into a look of unbridled agony and rage, yet the Joker continues, "Of course she had to go. After all, when you cheat there are consequences; those are the rules..."
Batman has heard enough. "I played by your rules, Joker! I was always forced to! Rule number one," he screams as he removes the Joker's cowl and reaches within it, pulling out a tiny metallic device, "there are none!"
The Joker mutters an inaudible prayer and a final barb as the Batman crushes his lifeline in his glove. The Joker had always envisioned his end with a laugh and a bang, an exit worthy of the fourth of July. Now, as he closes his eyes and feels death's embrace for the final time, he finds nothing funny, nothing dramatic, nothing at all, save for a lonely child's whimper with the stark realization that the game, for him, has come to an end.
The Batman waits for a moment, his hands trembling with emotion. Satisfied that this is not another ruse he checks for a pulse, and finding none he cuts the Joker's body free and carries it to the blaze, tossing it inside.
"You killed him?" James Gordon manages as the Batman helps him up onto wobbly knees.
"I...I'm not sure," Batman answers his friend in a low whisper, "He took enough punishment to kill any normal man. That chip in his cowl probably turned him into a walking corpse. He may have died in the warehouse, in the manor, out here or any time in-between."
Satisfied with the answer, or just too tired to care, Gordon coughs, "What happened to Dick wasn't your fault. It was his choice..."
Batman grimaces at the suggestion, "His choice? Not my fault? Not for Tim, nor Helena, nor Alfred, nor Jason, nor Barbara, nor countless others. Are you serious? I dragged them into this...this insanity, and they paid for it with their lives, each and every-one." Batman turns and stares into the flames eating away Wayne Manor, "Joker was right, this is the end..."
James Gordon knows better than to argue with Batman when his mind is made up, but he can't stand by and let him toss his life away. There's only one link left to play to try and bring him back from the edge. "What about Ivy?" Gordon asks, breaking the awkward silence, "You promised me, and you know there's nothing left for her in Arkham, not without Quinn, and she did save our lives..."
'A weak reason for Bruce not to toss his life away,' thinks Gordon, 'But it's all I have. The rest is up to him.'
Another long pause passes between the two men, until the Batman finally removes his cowl, revealing the face of Bruce Wayne, who then turns towards Gordon. "I can't stay in Gotham," Bruce answers with a deep sigh, giving Gordon a hard stare in the process, "I've got some hard questions to answer." Gordon simply nods in understanding, removes his glasses and looks about. He can't make out a thing. They then hear the faint sound of sirens wailing in the distance.
"Bruce, one last question before you go? Why wait 2 years for Marcus to talk with the Joker? Why didn't you just sneak into Arkham and kill the clown, then yourself? It would've been quicker, and nowhere near as risky to others."
Bruce smiles as he picks up the damaged piece, Alfred's gun. He checks the mechanism and finds it still in working order. "When you've spent your entire life evading death at every turn," Bruce lifts the gun to the side of his head, pulls the trigger, and the hammer smashes harmlessly upon an empty chamber, "suicide is near impossible, unless assisted...a truly operatic ending..."
Bruce then tosses the gun into the blaze. Gordon grimly smiles as his friend becomes one with the darkness. He knows Ivy will also meld with the inky blackness soon enough, long before the authorities arrive. He sits onto the grass and stares at the raging fire through soot-covered lenses.
TO BE CONTINUED...