Redemption Part 7:
Roy Harper paced through the cave, his footsteps echoing throughout the silent sanctuary. Tim watched Roy walk in circles. They hadn't been able to contact Batman since word of the Joker's death had hit the police bands. Fear of what that could mean ate at their souls. Yet, neither could speak their shared concern. Neither wanted to voice the possibility.
Finally, the Batmobile roared into the cave, coming to rest in its familiar spot. Roy and Tim watched as Batman and Dick emerged from the vehicle. Roy stormed over, "What happened? Do you know about the Joker?
Dick walked past his friend without a word. Walked past Tim without making eye contact. He headed up the stairs toward the Manor.
Bruce simply removed his cowl and started for the uniform vault. Roy stepped in front of him, stopping him from going any further. "Step aside," he warned.
Roy stood his ground.
"I said step aside," Bruce said in a low growl as he glared at the young archer standing before him.
Once, Roy would have felt his knees quake under Batman's glare, but not now. A lot had happened in the past year since Dick's death. They had grown ... closer. Yes, that was a way to put it. They had shared a profound sadness. Now, he could face THAT stare and stand his ground. "What the hell happened out there? Joker's dead. You and Dick know anything about that?"
"Yes," he replied flatly and moved around Roy.
"Well?" Roy yelled behind him as Tim moved closer to him. There were times he could throttle Bruce, and this was one of those times.
"What?"
Tim spoke up, a slight stutter in his speech, as he begged Batman's back for an answer. "Please, wh-what happened? Did Dick --"
"Yes," Batman said as he closed the door to the uniform vault.
Tim and Roy stood there unmoving for a moment. Then Roy walked over to Tim, placing his hands on the young boy's shoulders. A tear fell from Tim Drake's eye as he remembered what he had learned. Dick had killed. What would happen now -- to Dick, to Bruce, to all of them? Tim turned to Roy as a sob escaped his lips.
Roy pulled the teen into a comforting hug. "We're going to get through this Timmy. Together. Like we always do. We'll figure something out, the big guy'll figure something out. He always does."
Bruce tightly gripped his cape in his hands as he listened to Roy and Tim's voices echoing throughout the cave. They expected him to fix this problem. Dick expected him to fix this problem. He just didn't know how, didn't know if it COULD be fixed. He leaned his head against the closed door. God, his son's very soul was at stake and he couldn't do anything to help him.
_______________________________________________________________________
"Someone killed Mistah J! We're not gonna let them get away with it," Harley screeched as she paced back and forth in front of some of Joker's most loyal henchmen. "We're gonna find the guy who killed my Puddin'."
"A lovely sentiment Harl, but not necessary. I plan on killing the guy myself. After I kill a few thousand others first," Joker said as walked out from the shadows and into the light, the albino boa constrictor wrapped around his body.
"Puddin'?" Harley asked as she watched him. There was something ... strange ... about him. Strange even FOR him. The green streaks above and below his eyes, the unearthly glow to his eyes.
Placing the large snake on the floor, he asked, "Happy to see me Harl?" Joker asked as he twirled around, arms outstretched as if he were modeling a new outfit of clothes. "I'm back. The new and improved Joker -- just as funny but more lethal than ever. BWAHAHAHA."
His wicked laughter sent cold chills down the spine of everyone in the room. Tentatively, Harley approached him. "Is it really you, Mistah J.?"
"Of course it's me. Who else would I be?"
"Well, we all heard that you were killed."
"Reports of my demise have been greatly exaggerated!" Joker responded wildly as he grabbed her by the waist and started dancing around the center of the room. "Or not," he added as he stopped suddenly. "Let's just say I tried death and it wasn't any fun. No one around to appreciate my jokes, so I came back. There were just too many people to kill," he said as he walked away from her toward the desk which sat against the wall. Opening the drawer, he pulled out a gun. Turning he calmly shot Harley in the chest.
Joker's henchmen gasped as she fell backwards -- dead before she hit the floor.
"Now we wait," Joker said as he tossed the gun and took a seat. His wicked laughter resounded throughout the hideout.
_______________________________________________________________________
Jim Gordon walked to his front door to answer the ringing bell. Opening the door he saw Commissioner Aiken and Harvey Bullock standing on his stoop. "A little late to be coming over for coffee," Jim said as he held the door open for the two men to enter. Jim walked back to his green recliner and sat down. He picked up the remote and turned off the TV. "I've heard about the Joker. It's all over the news."
Aiken sat down on the sofa and looked at the man who had been his inspiration, "There's more than just the Joker's death. The man -- Deacon Cast -- who was working with Joker -- he's made some statements."
"Now Commish," Bullock said addressing Gordon, "Cast is nutty as fruitcake, but he keeps drawing and mumbling. From what we've pieced together, he and Joker were the ones who --" Bullock turned from facing his long time friend, "murdered Barbara." His eyes drifted on a photograph of Jim, Sarah and Barbara. Bullock remembered when that photo sat on Jim Gordon's desk in police headquarters.
Jim's eyes stared blankly at the men before him. Joker had killed his daughter. Joker had raped his daughter. All of this AFTER Joker had crippled his daughter and murdered his wife. Yet, now the Joker was dead. Should he feel anger or glee, relief or rage? Whatever he should have felt he didn't. Jim Gordon was numb inside. "How?" he asked hoarsely.
"Someone snapped his neck," Aiken replied as he leaned against the sofa back. "Can't say any of us are too choked up over it. At the same time --"
"Who murdered him?" Jim laced his fingers together as he thought. "Give him a medal from me if you find him, which I hope you don't."
"They didn't do enough to him, if ya ask me," Bullock added. "They should'a mutilated his body. Torn him limb from limb and dumped him in the garbage where he belongs."
The shrill ring of Commissioner Aiken's cell phone sounded in the room. Aiken pulled the phone from his overcoat pocket. "What?" Bullock and Gordon watched Aiken's face as it turned ashen. "It's ... gone. ... Murdered? ... I see. We'll be right there." He sighed as he looked back up. "Jim, be glad you're retired. Someone killed the night attendant at the morgue and stole Joker's body."
"What freak would do that?" Bullock asked as he rose from his chair.
"In this town, take your pick," Jim replied.
_______________________________________________________________________
Dick leaned against the cool marble of the tombstone as he looked up into the black sky and watched the clouds float past the moon. He would cry if there were any tears left in him. His hand clutched at the damp green grass. He had seen her -- Barbara -- standing in the glowing light. Her arms were outstretched to him, waiting for him. Yet, he couldn't go to her. He was stopped from going to her, repelled by the sin he had committed. Dick's mind floated back to when he was a child ... when he had passed all the tests and training Bruce had given him, the very last thing before he was granted the Robin suit was taking the oath. The oath to do good, to fight for justice and to never EVER kill.
Dick had betrayed that oath tonight and in doing so, he betrayed himself, his father and his love.
Redemption.
Redemption?
It was too late for him now. He committed the cardinal sin. There was no turning back, no changing what he had done. He had taken a life, he couldn't give it back. And he didn't want too. He didn't want the Joker to be alive. Dick was happy Joker was dead. No, not happy, he could never be happy again. He was ... satisfied. Yet, that satisfaction was cold comfort to his lost soul. A soul that couldn't die. Couldn't rest.
The ebony crow flew past him and perched on the large tombstone cawing into the night.
"Go away. There's nothing for you to show me anymore," Dick said as he pulled his legs up to his chest and laid his head upon his knees with a low moan.
"Are you sad Unca Dick?" the small voice asked.
Dick turned to see the small five year old standing in the grass in her long nightgown and bunny slippers. "Lian, what are you doing here?"
"Daddy brunged me for the night cause the sitter couldn't stay. He does that since we moved to the 'Haven."
"It's cold out here, you should go in and go to bed," Dick replied dryly.
Undeterred, Lian walked closer to Dick and pushed his legs down so she could sit in his lap. "What's wrong?"
"Lian, I don't want to talk, ok. Please just go in."
"Daddy says you shouldn't hold stuff in when you're sad."
Dick looked into her wide brown eyes. Innocent eyes. His eyes had been innocent once, long, long ago. Never again. Why couldn't he just melt into the ground and return to his grave? Nothingness was better than the torment he was in.
"Unca Dick, why're you sitting out here?"
"I ... I need to be ... here. Close to ... her. I'll never be close to her again."
"Why?" Lian asked as she looked up at him. She had never seen her Uncle Dick so sad before.
"Because I," killed, "did something bad." Committed murder. "Very bad. So bad I can't be forgiven for it."
"Yes you can," she said with childlike authority.
Dick shook his head, "No. I can't."
"All you haf to do is say you're sorry," she continued as the crow cawed into the night.
_______________________________________________________________________
Joker looked at the clock on the wall and then back down at Harley's lifeless body. Her limbs were hard and stiff with rigor. He steepled his fingers as he stood and walked around her body. His henchmen remained against the wall hoping they were a safe distance away. Slowly, Joker crouched down and poked at the dead body.
"Harley! Harrrllleeeeeeyyyyy! Hmm," he mused as he looked up at his henchmen. Obviously, Harley wasn't coming back as he had. "Oh well," Joker said with a shrug, "you win some you lose some. Let's see who's next."
He looked up and saw the fear in the eyes of his aides. He reveled in their fear. It was the most addictive drug of all. He would kill them all right now if he didn't think he'd have use for them. Oh the price he paid for having high aspirations.
Joker stood and walked toward his men. "There's murder and mayhem to be had in Gotham. I'm back with a vengeance, and the city's going to celebrate ... whether they want to or not."
Turning around, he spied his snake coiling around the body. "Yes my pet, you're right," he said as he seemed to communicate with the snake. Reaching down he grabbed Harley's body, slinging it over his shoulder, and headed off. "Time to feed the babies."
His henchmen watched as he marched off toward the hyenas' room. Joker opened the door and tossed Harley's body in. "There you go, Mommy's here for dinner." He shut the door and headed back toward the front room. "Whoever said the meek would inherit the earth hadn't met me," Joker said as his sadistic laughter filled the hideout. _______________________________________________________________________
Morning sun beamed brightly into Bruce Wayne's bedroom window. However, the cheerful morning light could not lift Bruce's spirits as he stood looking out on the back grounds. All of his attention was focused on Dick who still sat at the grave. He had remained there all night, refusing even Alfred's entreaties to come inside.
It tore at his soul to see his son in such pain. As hard as losing Dick had been, seeing Dick in this kind of agony was much worse. He felt helpless. He had no idea how to help his boy, if there was any help to be had. Killing, even in a normal situation would be hard for them to deal with. But there was NOTHING normal about their situation.
"Master Bruce," Alfred began. Silently, Bruce turned from the window. "You may wish to turn on the news, Sir. The Joker's body has been stolen." Alfred closed the door to leave his eldest charge to digest that bit of news as he saw fit. Everyone's nerves were on edge. Alfred knew that sometimes, solitude was beneficial, and he felt this was one of those times.
Bruce walked to his bed and reached for the television remote on the bedside table. His hand wavered and instead, picked up the photograph of the smiling young boy with raven's black hair and the bluest eyes he had ever seen. Dick's eyes were even bluer than his own. Dick was so happy in that photograph. Dick had always been a happy child, a good child. He grew into a good man. Dick never deserved the tragedies that life imposed upon him. Yet, Dick had always been able to persevere and to carry on -- stronger and better than ever.
Not this time, Bruce feared. Of course, Dick had always been alive too. Death and resurrection would change one's perspective on life. He sat the photograph back on the night stand and returned to his vigil at the window. He didn't care about the Joker's body. It could be thrown to the wolves for all he cared. He cared about Dick. Dick was hurting and more ... what HAD this murder done to the state of Dick's soul? What would happen to him now?
Bruce bit his bottom lip as his stomach knotted at the thoughts swirling in his mind. He wasn't a man who enjoyed being in the dark, but in this situation he had absolutely no clue. His heart ached as he saw the despondent young man tracing Barbara's name on the tombstone. He closed his eyes. "God, why did you do this to him? Why?"
"The Lord does work in mysterious ways Bruce."
Bruce whirled around, his reddened eyes glaring at the intruder. "What the hell are you doing here Hal?"
To be continued ...
Roy Harper paced through the cave, his footsteps echoing throughout the silent sanctuary. Tim watched Roy walk in circles. They hadn't been able to contact Batman since word of the Joker's death had hit the police bands. Fear of what that could mean ate at their souls. Yet, neither could speak their shared concern. Neither wanted to voice the possibility.
Finally, the Batmobile roared into the cave, coming to rest in its familiar spot. Roy and Tim watched as Batman and Dick emerged from the vehicle. Roy stormed over, "What happened? Do you know about the Joker?
Dick walked past his friend without a word. Walked past Tim without making eye contact. He headed up the stairs toward the Manor.
Bruce simply removed his cowl and started for the uniform vault. Roy stepped in front of him, stopping him from going any further. "Step aside," he warned.
Roy stood his ground.
"I said step aside," Bruce said in a low growl as he glared at the young archer standing before him.
Once, Roy would have felt his knees quake under Batman's glare, but not now. A lot had happened in the past year since Dick's death. They had grown ... closer. Yes, that was a way to put it. They had shared a profound sadness. Now, he could face THAT stare and stand his ground. "What the hell happened out there? Joker's dead. You and Dick know anything about that?"
"Yes," he replied flatly and moved around Roy.
"Well?" Roy yelled behind him as Tim moved closer to him. There were times he could throttle Bruce, and this was one of those times.
"What?"
Tim spoke up, a slight stutter in his speech, as he begged Batman's back for an answer. "Please, wh-what happened? Did Dick --"
"Yes," Batman said as he closed the door to the uniform vault.
Tim and Roy stood there unmoving for a moment. Then Roy walked over to Tim, placing his hands on the young boy's shoulders. A tear fell from Tim Drake's eye as he remembered what he had learned. Dick had killed. What would happen now -- to Dick, to Bruce, to all of them? Tim turned to Roy as a sob escaped his lips.
Roy pulled the teen into a comforting hug. "We're going to get through this Timmy. Together. Like we always do. We'll figure something out, the big guy'll figure something out. He always does."
Bruce tightly gripped his cape in his hands as he listened to Roy and Tim's voices echoing throughout the cave. They expected him to fix this problem. Dick expected him to fix this problem. He just didn't know how, didn't know if it COULD be fixed. He leaned his head against the closed door. God, his son's very soul was at stake and he couldn't do anything to help him.
_______________________________________________________________________
"Someone killed Mistah J! We're not gonna let them get away with it," Harley screeched as she paced back and forth in front of some of Joker's most loyal henchmen. "We're gonna find the guy who killed my Puddin'."
"A lovely sentiment Harl, but not necessary. I plan on killing the guy myself. After I kill a few thousand others first," Joker said as walked out from the shadows and into the light, the albino boa constrictor wrapped around his body.
"Puddin'?" Harley asked as she watched him. There was something ... strange ... about him. Strange even FOR him. The green streaks above and below his eyes, the unearthly glow to his eyes.
Placing the large snake on the floor, he asked, "Happy to see me Harl?" Joker asked as he twirled around, arms outstretched as if he were modeling a new outfit of clothes. "I'm back. The new and improved Joker -- just as funny but more lethal than ever. BWAHAHAHA."
His wicked laughter sent cold chills down the spine of everyone in the room. Tentatively, Harley approached him. "Is it really you, Mistah J.?"
"Of course it's me. Who else would I be?"
"Well, we all heard that you were killed."
"Reports of my demise have been greatly exaggerated!" Joker responded wildly as he grabbed her by the waist and started dancing around the center of the room. "Or not," he added as he stopped suddenly. "Let's just say I tried death and it wasn't any fun. No one around to appreciate my jokes, so I came back. There were just too many people to kill," he said as he walked away from her toward the desk which sat against the wall. Opening the drawer, he pulled out a gun. Turning he calmly shot Harley in the chest.
Joker's henchmen gasped as she fell backwards -- dead before she hit the floor.
"Now we wait," Joker said as he tossed the gun and took a seat. His wicked laughter resounded throughout the hideout.
_______________________________________________________________________
Jim Gordon walked to his front door to answer the ringing bell. Opening the door he saw Commissioner Aiken and Harvey Bullock standing on his stoop. "A little late to be coming over for coffee," Jim said as he held the door open for the two men to enter. Jim walked back to his green recliner and sat down. He picked up the remote and turned off the TV. "I've heard about the Joker. It's all over the news."
Aiken sat down on the sofa and looked at the man who had been his inspiration, "There's more than just the Joker's death. The man -- Deacon Cast -- who was working with Joker -- he's made some statements."
"Now Commish," Bullock said addressing Gordon, "Cast is nutty as fruitcake, but he keeps drawing and mumbling. From what we've pieced together, he and Joker were the ones who --" Bullock turned from facing his long time friend, "murdered Barbara." His eyes drifted on a photograph of Jim, Sarah and Barbara. Bullock remembered when that photo sat on Jim Gordon's desk in police headquarters.
Jim's eyes stared blankly at the men before him. Joker had killed his daughter. Joker had raped his daughter. All of this AFTER Joker had crippled his daughter and murdered his wife. Yet, now the Joker was dead. Should he feel anger or glee, relief or rage? Whatever he should have felt he didn't. Jim Gordon was numb inside. "How?" he asked hoarsely.
"Someone snapped his neck," Aiken replied as he leaned against the sofa back. "Can't say any of us are too choked up over it. At the same time --"
"Who murdered him?" Jim laced his fingers together as he thought. "Give him a medal from me if you find him, which I hope you don't."
"They didn't do enough to him, if ya ask me," Bullock added. "They should'a mutilated his body. Torn him limb from limb and dumped him in the garbage where he belongs."
The shrill ring of Commissioner Aiken's cell phone sounded in the room. Aiken pulled the phone from his overcoat pocket. "What?" Bullock and Gordon watched Aiken's face as it turned ashen. "It's ... gone. ... Murdered? ... I see. We'll be right there." He sighed as he looked back up. "Jim, be glad you're retired. Someone killed the night attendant at the morgue and stole Joker's body."
"What freak would do that?" Bullock asked as he rose from his chair.
"In this town, take your pick," Jim replied.
_______________________________________________________________________
Dick leaned against the cool marble of the tombstone as he looked up into the black sky and watched the clouds float past the moon. He would cry if there were any tears left in him. His hand clutched at the damp green grass. He had seen her -- Barbara -- standing in the glowing light. Her arms were outstretched to him, waiting for him. Yet, he couldn't go to her. He was stopped from going to her, repelled by the sin he had committed. Dick's mind floated back to when he was a child ... when he had passed all the tests and training Bruce had given him, the very last thing before he was granted the Robin suit was taking the oath. The oath to do good, to fight for justice and to never EVER kill.
Dick had betrayed that oath tonight and in doing so, he betrayed himself, his father and his love.
Redemption.
Redemption?
It was too late for him now. He committed the cardinal sin. There was no turning back, no changing what he had done. He had taken a life, he couldn't give it back. And he didn't want too. He didn't want the Joker to be alive. Dick was happy Joker was dead. No, not happy, he could never be happy again. He was ... satisfied. Yet, that satisfaction was cold comfort to his lost soul. A soul that couldn't die. Couldn't rest.
The ebony crow flew past him and perched on the large tombstone cawing into the night.
"Go away. There's nothing for you to show me anymore," Dick said as he pulled his legs up to his chest and laid his head upon his knees with a low moan.
"Are you sad Unca Dick?" the small voice asked.
Dick turned to see the small five year old standing in the grass in her long nightgown and bunny slippers. "Lian, what are you doing here?"
"Daddy brunged me for the night cause the sitter couldn't stay. He does that since we moved to the 'Haven."
"It's cold out here, you should go in and go to bed," Dick replied dryly.
Undeterred, Lian walked closer to Dick and pushed his legs down so she could sit in his lap. "What's wrong?"
"Lian, I don't want to talk, ok. Please just go in."
"Daddy says you shouldn't hold stuff in when you're sad."
Dick looked into her wide brown eyes. Innocent eyes. His eyes had been innocent once, long, long ago. Never again. Why couldn't he just melt into the ground and return to his grave? Nothingness was better than the torment he was in.
"Unca Dick, why're you sitting out here?"
"I ... I need to be ... here. Close to ... her. I'll never be close to her again."
"Why?" Lian asked as she looked up at him. She had never seen her Uncle Dick so sad before.
"Because I," killed, "did something bad." Committed murder. "Very bad. So bad I can't be forgiven for it."
"Yes you can," she said with childlike authority.
Dick shook his head, "No. I can't."
"All you haf to do is say you're sorry," she continued as the crow cawed into the night.
_______________________________________________________________________
Joker looked at the clock on the wall and then back down at Harley's lifeless body. Her limbs were hard and stiff with rigor. He steepled his fingers as he stood and walked around her body. His henchmen remained against the wall hoping they were a safe distance away. Slowly, Joker crouched down and poked at the dead body.
"Harley! Harrrllleeeeeeyyyyy! Hmm," he mused as he looked up at his henchmen. Obviously, Harley wasn't coming back as he had. "Oh well," Joker said with a shrug, "you win some you lose some. Let's see who's next."
He looked up and saw the fear in the eyes of his aides. He reveled in their fear. It was the most addictive drug of all. He would kill them all right now if he didn't think he'd have use for them. Oh the price he paid for having high aspirations.
Joker stood and walked toward his men. "There's murder and mayhem to be had in Gotham. I'm back with a vengeance, and the city's going to celebrate ... whether they want to or not."
Turning around, he spied his snake coiling around the body. "Yes my pet, you're right," he said as he seemed to communicate with the snake. Reaching down he grabbed Harley's body, slinging it over his shoulder, and headed off. "Time to feed the babies."
His henchmen watched as he marched off toward the hyenas' room. Joker opened the door and tossed Harley's body in. "There you go, Mommy's here for dinner." He shut the door and headed back toward the front room. "Whoever said the meek would inherit the earth hadn't met me," Joker said as his sadistic laughter filled the hideout. _______________________________________________________________________
Morning sun beamed brightly into Bruce Wayne's bedroom window. However, the cheerful morning light could not lift Bruce's spirits as he stood looking out on the back grounds. All of his attention was focused on Dick who still sat at the grave. He had remained there all night, refusing even Alfred's entreaties to come inside.
It tore at his soul to see his son in such pain. As hard as losing Dick had been, seeing Dick in this kind of agony was much worse. He felt helpless. He had no idea how to help his boy, if there was any help to be had. Killing, even in a normal situation would be hard for them to deal with. But there was NOTHING normal about their situation.
"Master Bruce," Alfred began. Silently, Bruce turned from the window. "You may wish to turn on the news, Sir. The Joker's body has been stolen." Alfred closed the door to leave his eldest charge to digest that bit of news as he saw fit. Everyone's nerves were on edge. Alfred knew that sometimes, solitude was beneficial, and he felt this was one of those times.
Bruce walked to his bed and reached for the television remote on the bedside table. His hand wavered and instead, picked up the photograph of the smiling young boy with raven's black hair and the bluest eyes he had ever seen. Dick's eyes were even bluer than his own. Dick was so happy in that photograph. Dick had always been a happy child, a good child. He grew into a good man. Dick never deserved the tragedies that life imposed upon him. Yet, Dick had always been able to persevere and to carry on -- stronger and better than ever.
Not this time, Bruce feared. Of course, Dick had always been alive too. Death and resurrection would change one's perspective on life. He sat the photograph back on the night stand and returned to his vigil at the window. He didn't care about the Joker's body. It could be thrown to the wolves for all he cared. He cared about Dick. Dick was hurting and more ... what HAD this murder done to the state of Dick's soul? What would happen to him now?
Bruce bit his bottom lip as his stomach knotted at the thoughts swirling in his mind. He wasn't a man who enjoyed being in the dark, but in this situation he had absolutely no clue. His heart ached as he saw the despondent young man tracing Barbara's name on the tombstone. He closed his eyes. "God, why did you do this to him? Why?"
"The Lord does work in mysterious ways Bruce."
Bruce whirled around, his reddened eyes glaring at the intruder. "What the hell are you doing here Hal?"
To be continued ...
