The Cure
Chapter Three: Terror in the Night
Elizabeth froze at the sound of shattering glass from the other room, her hand hovering over the gun. Panic swept through her, and she had suddenly forgotten why she was there or what she was doing. Where was Katie? The thought seemed to bring her back to herself, little by little, and she remembered the gun lying at the tips of her fingers. She snatched it up and, making sure the safety was on, tucked it into the back of her pants. As she made her way back into the kitchen where Katie had been, she pulled her shirt up and over the butt of the gun so it was concealed. It would be testy to get to quickly, but she didn't have any holsters, just the gun. Until now she had figured she would never need it.
Katie wasn't in the kitchen. Elizabeth's breath hitched, her heart thrumming in her throat. She put a hand on the butt of the gun, just there, not gripping it or fingering the trigger. It was acting like a safety blanket now, feeding her courage through the cold touch of metal. There was still a chance she might not need it. She just had to keep reminding herself that she would tell him whatever he wanted to know. She heard a laugh from the living room, and furrowed her brow. She had to pass into the living room to get to the kitchen, and nothing had been in there before. She returned to the room and stopped in the doorway, her hand shaking so bad she had to let go of the gun. Sitting on the couch with Katie folded in his arms was unmistakably the Joker. He looked like a nightmare right out of the circus of the damned, his face an unnatural alabaster with a red smear of lips in a perpetual nerve-twisting jeer. The suit her wore was a gaudy shade of purple that strangely enough complimented him. The green undershirt that poked out from the cuffs of his jacket brought out the highlights in his hair.
"Why hello doctor, have a seat. We were just having a chat." He had a strange lilt to his voice, like he had spent too much time trying to squeak out a comical voice to an eager crowd of kids at countless birthday parties.
Elizabeth stumbled into the chair she had thrown her jacket on, dumping it into the floor. "What have you done to her?" She asked, referring to Katie, who sat there grinning like it was the best day of her life.
"I told her a joke. It was really quite funny—would you like to hear it?"
"Leave her alone. She hasn't done anything."
"She hasn't. But you will."
Elizabeth bit her lip, her mind racing in confusion. Batman said Joker was searching for something, but so far all he'd been doing was playing games. "What do you want?"
"Straight to business? Oh you're no fun. No fun at all." He set Katie down beside him on the couch and stood up, pulling at the cuffs of his sleeves. "I have a proposition doctor. You help me and I help you."
"Help me with what?"
"Why, to cure the child, of course!"
"Just tell me what you need."
"Ooh, no hesitation. I like that in a woman. Now," he laid down on the floor, ankles crossed, and hands folded on his stomach. "It all started when I was five. My mother—are you getting this?"
Elizabeth was shaking again. She grabbed the stiff arms of the chair and swallowed audibly. "Uh- huh."
"I'm just kidding, doctor! Don't be so uptight!" He launched himself forward into a sitting position. "But since I see you are so uncomfortable, I'll give you the short version." Though his face continued to hold that awful smile, he seemed to sober slightly, as if what he was about to tell her was something even he didn't find quite so funny. "Look at me. Have you ever seen anything so hideous in all of your life?" Elizabeth continued to stare, unsure of what answer she should give to such a loose cannon. He continued without her answer, "Oh, I'm not worried about it so much, I think it sets me apart," he laughed.
"What is it you think I can help you with?" Her voice shook slightly when she ground out the words through clenched teeth.
"Well, you see," he began, taking out a deck of cards and shuffling them almost unconsciously, "a couple of months ago, I had a horrible accident, as you can clearly see. It wasn't only my body that was distorted by those chemicals. Every time I turn my head I see… things… that were never there before, and shouldn't be there." The hand shuffling the deck of cards slipped, and they flew out around him in colorful disarray.
It was a little odd hearing him tell her such a serious and horrifying story with that smile plastered on. It almost distracted her not to take what he was saying solemnly. Elizabeth sat up a little straighter, the psychiatrist part of her taking over, and calming her nerves ever so slightly. "What sort of things?"
"Horrible things. Fears… nightmares…" He looked up at her. "They're driving me mad."
"There is a medication--."
"I've been told," he interrupted, waving her words away with his hand. "I've tried it, and it didn't work. What I have didn't come to me naturally, so it can't be taken away as if it were."
"What you have is entirely new. How do I—?"
"I have faith in you, doctor." He slipped his hand into his pocket and brought out a tiny vial, "This will make the child feel better. But only for three weeks." He set it gently on the small table in front of the couch as he stood up. "Got that doctor? Three weeks. Here, my card."
With a flick of his wrist something fluttered into her lap. It was the Jester of his deck.
Bruce heard a flurry of tiny blips from his watch under the roar of laughter from the occupants of his dinner table. He pulled the material of his suit jacket away from the small screen as he used the edge of the table as cover. The tiny blips stopped suddenly, and left nothing but silence. Smiling comradely at his companions, he pressed a button on his cell phone that made it start ringing instantly. He made a show of checking the name of the caller and excused himself from the table. "You'll have to excuse me, I really must take this call." They nodded at him and continued conversing amongst themselves as Bruce slipped out of the restaurant, making his way straight to the valet, who jumped to retrieve his keys.
"You don't have to worry about driving it up here, thanks," he said as he took the keys out of the boy's hands and walked past him.
"Uh, sir, don't you need me to tell you where I parked it?"
"No thanks, I'm looking forward to the thrill of the hunt," he called over his shoulder.
"Uh…"
In the darkness of the parking garage Bruce hit a few numbers on the tiny calculator key chain. His car lit up and beeped at him from five rows away, and he jogged over to the sleek vehicle. Glancing around to make sure he was alone, he heaved a medium sized blue duffel bag out of the trunk and slid into the back seat. He pressed another button on the inside of the car door and black panels skimmed over the windows, and he was thrust into utter darkness. He reached up and punched the overhead light on, and that dim bulb of light loosened a knot he hadn't realized had accumulated between his shoulder blades. Bruce shook himself out and pulled the Bat suit out of the bag.
After he had slipped on everything but the cowl, Bruce hit the button that released the black panels and slid into the drivers seat.
Looking out into Gotham's streets weighed something heavy on his heart. Something very close to a failed parent looking down at something they had held so much hope for. Still had hope for, he reminded himself. Gotham was not beyond saving. Gotham was not beyond saving. Gotham was not beyond saving. But whom was he trying to convince? Where were these plagues of doubt erupting from? Sometimes things were so clear to him, and other times…
Something inside of him had broken that night he turned around to find Henri Ducard as the man he really was. That little bit of him that let him trust was gone, or buried very deeply. It had been clear that he would have given his life for his teacher, his… friend, but in the end he had to take it away. There are things you do that you can heal from, but sometimes pulling the trigger means killing more than your enemy. Sometimes using the shadow for cover means letting the shadow slip inside of you as well. Hope was like the passing blur of the streetlamps his car raced by. They stood tall, fighting not to flicker against the enclosing darkness of fear and hatred, counting the minutes until day broke, so their fight would be over—if only for just a little while.
But a mere hour of peace was immeasurably better than a tireless eternity of war.
Batman slipped on the mask as he neared the apartment, shoving all excuses from his mind. He wasn't striving for half- assed. He would bring Gotham out of the darkness. If he had to, he would drag the sun out of its sky to burn holes into the deepest corners of the crime ring. That would certainly make a statement.
Batman parked beside the curb and slipped out like a breath of air, flowing from one shadow to the next. He unclipped the hookshot from his belt and aimed it at the fire exit stairway banister next to Elizabeth's study window. The hook sailed to its mark with a whir, latching on and violently yanking him off his feet. He outstretched a hand and grabbed the railing as he flew up to meet it, simultaneously unhooking the hookshot as he hauled himself onto the platform. The window to the left of the study was broken, glass glittering like abandon diamonds on the rusted steel of the fire escape. Batman stepped up to the window, the shards under his feet crunching against his impenetrable boots. The room on the other side was dark, the only light leaking in from the streetlamps behind him and from underneath the door. He stepped in through the makeshift door, looking around. The room was suited for a child, younger than twelve, and had a confused mix of stuffed animals and textbooks. As he crossed the room and softly nudged the door open, he heard voices reverberating through the hallway. One was a man's voice, someone he didn't recognize, and the other was the voice of Dr. Lee. He pushed the door open a little farther so he could enter the hallway, and stalked down the short way, his angry steps making no sound on the carpeted floor. He could see them now, the clown and the doctor. He pulled one of his bat shaped darts out of his belt as Joker pulled the card out of his jacket pocket.
"Here, my card."
The card fluttered into Elizabeth's lap as the dart pierced the flesh in Joker's hand. He gave a screech and stumbled backwards, looking around in surprise. When his yellow eyes fell on Batman, he smiled menacingly.
"Ah, the Bat joins us at last."
Batman quickly closed the distance between them and grabbed Joker by the lapels of his eye-sore of a jacket, pulling him in close so he could see that cold place in his eyes that he reserved for witnessing the monster's blood spill across the floor.
"Hope you had a nice session," he growled, "your time's up."
"Ah, ah, ah," Joker scolded, wagging his finger in Batman's face from his vulnerable position. "You wouldn't want to do something you'd regret immensely, now would you, buddy o' mine?"
"We'll see just how much I regret this," Batman let go with one fist and drew it back.
"Wait!" Elizabeth yelled, jumping from her chair. Batman turned his head as best he could in the stiff-necked cowl and glared at her, silently urging her to explain her outburst. "He's poisoned Katie!"
Batman turned back to Joker and spoke slowly, as if talking to fast would cause the anger that boiled just below the surface to spike and claim him. "For your own health, Joker, I urge you to undo the damage you've caused."
"Well, you see, Batman, I just can't do that. Might I add," he gave Batman his best obnoxious smile, "you're not really in the position to make the threats anymore." His smile dropped just a fraction. "Now let me go."
With a snarl Batman turned and heaved Joker across the room. He clattered against the wall and fell to a heap on the floor, leaving a large dent in the plaster.
"Hey!" Elizabeth objected.
"My insurance will cover it," Batman snapped.
"What insurance?" Joker laughed, "You're a BAT." He snapped up like a recovered marionette when he saw Batman begin to stalk back over him. "My, my, would you look at the time? I'll leave you two alone… have a ball!" He grabbed something out of his waistband and rolled it across the floor as he backed out into the hallway, finally turning to dash into Katie's room, where he had entered.
The small round object hit the side of Batman's boot. A sloppily painted on smiley face leered up at him. Something was clicking.
"Is that what I think it is?" Elizabeth murmured.
Batman gave a breathless "Yes" as he scooped it up in one fell swoop and chucked it at the window. Thank God Elizabeth had plenty of them around her apartment.
They stared out the window patiently as the ticking ball fell into the deserted alley. Except… Elizabeth gasped when she saw the movement on the ground as he did. The man looked up when the ball clacked on the pavement, scratching his head at the perplexity of its descent. Batman held his breath when he heard the ticking stop suddenly. One second passed after an eternity of tension, and then another. Suddenly the laughter erupted from the tiny container and floated up to them. It was Joker's voice; he had recorded it into the timed device. What a clown.
"Tick! Tick! Boom! Wahahahahahahaha!"
Elizabeth slumped onto the couch with a relieved sigh, and Batman felt very much like doing the same. He stood there awkwardly as he waited for his heart to stop racing. It was Elizabeth who spoke first.
"He wants a cure for his disease." She was staring down at the vial on the coffee table, a determined gleam in her eyes. He glanced down at her hands. She was rubbing circles into the fleshy part beneath the thumb. It must have been a nervous habit, because she looked down, seemed to realize what she was doing, and placed her hands to either side of her.
"What are you planning?"
She looked up at him, her face leaking slowly from determined to fatigued. "Research. A lot of research." She leaned forward and picked up the vial, unscrewing the lid and reaching for Katie. Batman grabbed her wrist.
"You don't plan on actually giving her that, do you?"
"Yes, actually, I do." She pried his fingers off her arm gently with her other hand. "Why?"
"If that's from the Joker, why would it be what he says it is? He can't be trusted."
"Call it intuition—oh hell, call it intellect. He's already poisoned her, and he wants my cooperation. He surely won't get it if she dies."
Batman stepped away from her, letting her kneel over the child. It was understandable why he should be so untrusting, but without the medicine Katie would surely die; at least with it she had a chance.
"I suppose this is when you make your dramatically quiet exit." Elizabeth looked up to find herself speaking to an empty room. She smiled, "It adds power and immortality to the legend."
Elizabeth's head slumped forward till her forehead punched the keys on the keyboard. Her exhaustion was a weight on her bones, dragging her down into the duskiness of slumber. After surrendering her research of solitude, she sent out letters to several major psychiatrists that lived in distant states, describing her plight to them. Instead of sitting around waiting for their reply, she had continued her seemingly vain search, and now it was taking its toll on her. She shook her head, listening as the keys were punched from the pressure of her head on them. My, wasn't this a familiar scene. No wonder she was always so weary.
Elizabeth really believed in the mind's ability to overcome fear. She always had—it was what pushed her to become what she was today. But where did she begin?
When the memory attacked her mind, she wanted to kill herself for not knowing sooner.
"Ugh! Of course!" She snapped her head up and blinked at the harsh light of the computer. "I'm a complete fool." He fingers started working the keyboard at the search engine, and one "Enter Search" later the page was filled with website links. "I'm feeling lucky." She smiled as she entered Arkham's research files.