THROWAWAY CARD
Chapter 5
Disclaimer: Batman and related characters are the property of DC Comics.
Author's Note: Thankyou for all your support and suggestions! You guys are great. Proper review responses at the end of the chapter as before.
Extract from the diary of Ari Kelly, 32 years old, doctor of this parish:
I hadn't dared leave the room for more than ten minutes since Batman left.
Although I really, truly, didn't want to be stuck in there with him, my brain couldn't help but show me all the horrific possibilities if he somehow got loose. So I stayed, watching him lie there and occasionally twitch, wishing every second for Batman's return.
But then I got beeped: it happens all the time on the night shift, and I had to go.
Coma ward. My least favourite. At least in the crazy ward the people look vital and alive and…well, they still look like people, or at least living things. In the vegetable zone the people just look like corpses already. Breathing corpses, warm corpses, with wan, tired relatives clasping their lifeless fingers and telling them about little Tommy's first junior high sports day while little Tommy himself screams loudly because Daddy looks so scary with those tubes all over him…
It makes me depressed, so I do all I can to avoid going there. But tonight Mr Sampson (RTA, almost eighteen months ago) was finally giving up the ghost, so I had to be there. Had to say I tried.
And of course, Mrs Wright was there. Again.
She's always there, it seems, Mrs Wright. She's only young, but even younger is her little daughter, Josephine, who's been here for just a little over three years. She was here in the veg ward before I got here, and at this rate she'll be here when I leave. The hospital let her stay out of visiting hours, simply I guess because they know full well we're very unlikely to be able to offer any hope to the woman. Josephine is nine, now, but somewhere inside that skinny body is still locked the mind of a six-year-old. I'm not too sure what happened to her: some kind of accident. It was in the papers, I think, just when I was moving into my first apartment, the first one I bought for myself. From that time when I wondered what the hell I was getting myself into, staying in Gotham, because the Joker was on the loose again…
So Mrs Wright doesn't even seem to notice as Mr Sampson slips away under the hands of me and the crash team, and she keeps her eyes on her child as I hurry back out to return to the poky little private room where Gotham's finest mass murderer is lying on the bed -
- and now he's got his eyes on me.
Oh shit. Oh god help me. He's awake.
Not the vague, fading consciousness of before, either: he's watching me, intently, and I can almost hear him thinking. I stand with my back to the closed door, unable to move, and I can't think of a thing to say except, damn, you must have the constitution of a horse.
I don't say that. So he, apparently quite calmly, clears his throat and says: "Since when have you started using these tacky old restraints again, hmmm? You know it's useless."
His voice is cracking and deceptively soft because of the condition of his throat. I swallow, hard - answer the patient, Ari - and say:
"I - Batman gave those -"
He interrupts with a snort and an eye roll of pure contempt. "Batman. I must have smacked my poor old brainpan on something really critical this time." He cranes his long neck, looking around with interest. "Hold the phone! This isn't Arkham. I'm not getting any of those welcome-back-thou-good-and-trusted-servant vibes. I feel quite unloved."
I'm trying really hard to put together the words in my head, but I can't seem to get them out. He continues to rattle off nineteen to the dozen, effortlessly, despite his sore throat.
"Say, is this an ordinary hospital? Hey Doc, I think they pulled a fast one on you. I'm not supposed to be here, I'm supposed -"
He stops, abruptly. The chalky brow creases in thought. For a moment the heavy lines that stretch around his permanent grin relax, until he is almost pouting.
"What am I doing here?"
I find my voice as he sits up with a grunt of effort, the metal of the cuff clanking against the bed, and thank god, I sound calm and I'm not stammering like a seventh-grader.
"You're ill. Please lie down."
"Lie down? Oh, all right. I'm good at lying."
To my huge relief he lies back obediently against the pillows. He raises the cuffed wrist with a wink and says, "These things are great. Comfortable, practical, come in a variety of colours to suit every occasion, and best of all, I'm sure you'll agree, extremely secure. Practically unpick-able."
I watch him with the same horrible fascination with which people watch road accidents - you know it's going to distress and upset you, but you still can't look away - as he follows that up with:
"Of course, you could just save me the trouble and gimmie the keys."
He smiles. The road accident I'm reluctantly watching just got a whole lot more bloody and full of dismemberment. That smile is so damn freaky it makes me feel like a five-year-old again, scared of things that might be lurking outside the safety of the duvet in the darkness.
It's then of course that I realise I don't have any keys for these cuffs. Batman never gave them to me. Perhaps he figured it was safer that way - I couldn't be bribed or begged to let him go if I physically didn't have the ability to do so.
Right now, backed against the door, I personally think Batman was wrong. The Joker does something improbable with a flick of his wrist and his long fingers, and the cuff rattles emptily against the bed frame.
"Doc," says the Joker to me, massaging his liberated wrist, "about the 'practically unpick-able' thing I was saying?"
When my utter horror refuses to allow me to respond with any more than a strangled gasp, he grins, hugely. "Told ya I was good at lying."
Gotham General Hospital, Intensive Care Ward, 3.03 am.
From beside the woman's bed, Batman looked down at her, the spill of greying hair over the pillow and the tangle of life-supporting tubes spread out like the tentacles of a squid from her face.
I'm so sorry, Leslie. But I promise you I will bring whoever did this to the justice they deserve.
He reached out with one gauntlet and carefully tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. As always, he felt the detachment the armour gave him. He couldn't feel if her skin was warm or cold: nor the simple animal comfort that comes with being able to feel the touch of human skin against your own.
Is this what makes me a superhero? Super…from the Latin, supra, meaning "above". I am above humanity but yet I cannot drag myself away from it…
He looked up sharply at a slight sound. A woman, looking older than she should with years of worry and loss of hope, had just walked out of the coma ward opposite. She was crying with the almost passionless intensity of one who had cried every day, every night, for as long as she could recall. There were no tears.
How can I claim to be above all this when all around me people are loving, dying, failing or succeeding? We are the same, that woman and I.
He ducked silently back into the shadows so that the weeping woman would not see him, and turned toward the window.
One more thing to do. Time to call in at Arkham and use my "super" nature to its best effect.
Extract from the diary of Ari Kelly, 32 years old, doctor of this parish:
I think I'm starting to realise why this man is the most dangerous villain in this city by a clear mile. He's recovering from what amounts to a semi-coma state, but although his body is weak, his brain is already ticking over, sharp as a tack and as focussed as a NASA telescope. He rolls his eyes again at my lack of response and examines the drip in his arm.
"Oh, jeez. C'mon, Doc, break it to me gently. Am I gonna play the piano again? What is it this time? Broken ribs? Internal bleeding? I ache all over, you're gonna have to tell me what the Batfreak busted inside of me." He gives me a conspiratorial look. "Y'know, I'm starting to think he doesn't like me."
"You don't remember?" I hear myself saying, before I can think better of it. The Joker furrows his brow and pouts at me suspiciously.
"Well…no," he says, eventually. "But I wanna guess! Come on, come on, gimmie Twenty Questions. Let me see. Batman catches me doing something very very naughty like escaping from Arkham. He tells me to mend my wicked ways and come play in the kindergarten with him and all his Care Bear chums, I tell him no, he hits me, and bam! I end up in the quack house with you."
He coughs, harshly, doubling over his thin chest as the spasm racks his body. The sharp green eyes flick up to me as the fit passes and he begins to recover.
"Am I getting close?"
I wonder briefly if it would be better to humour him. I open my mouth to speak, and -
"Except that I'm not, am I?" he cuts in again. "I can see it in your eyes. I'm waaaaaaay off the mark. Huh."
He seems honestly intrigued by this concept, and examines the cuff dangling loosely from the bed frame for a moment or so. "So what's wrong with me? Give it to me straight. I can take it." He looks up with apparently mild, plaintive eyes. "I'm…I'm having a baby, aren't I? Oh, I knew that soldier-boy was no good. Should've listened to my Momma…"
"I…I don't know…" I stammer. He heaves a dramatic sigh.
"And for this I pay my medical insurance? I must be crazy."
And then, before I can even blink or fully open the door behind me, he's off the bed with his long hands around my throat. The IV stand, still plugged into his veins, crashes to the floor as he drags it half across the room with him.
Jesus, Mary, Mother of God. I'm going to die. The grin is inches from my face, and the stink of smoke and antiseptic curls off him in dizzying waves. Terror lances through me in a clenching shudder and my hand slips from the half-opened door handle. My eyes don't have any memory of seeing him move. He's fast, even half-doped up on painkillers and anti-inflammatory drugs, he's far too fast -
"Glad to see you're feeling better, Joker," says a familiar voice dryly, directly behind me. I embarrass myself by giving a choking sob of relief. The long white fingers loosen their grip, although I can still feel the vicious intent of the squeeze in every muscle.
"So nice when people care enough to visit. I hope you brought grapes." The Joker backs off slowly towards the bed, and even through my fear I can see that his attack on me has cost him more dearly than he anticipated: he is swaying a little on his feet and his breath is catching in his throat. He sits down on the edge of the mattress and hacks like a fifty-a-day smoker.
"Better than that," says the Batman, stepping past me into the room with a hand pressed briefly to my shoulder. I don't think he's trying to comfort me: more just making sure I'm placed safely behind him. In his other hand, he's holding up a videotape.
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Review Responses
Nightmare1 - Thankyou! I'm glad you like dthat little piece of Gordon introspection. I was happy with the way it turned out.
Robster72 - heh, I'm evil with cliffhangers like that. This chapter isn't so cliffhangery. And I always think of that car as being an extension of its owner, so it's a real joy to describe. As for who brought Joker down? next chapter should start going into it...
Spectral Sereda - :KJ hugs with real affection: Y'know, you didn't have to come and read this story. Honest. But thankyou for the pre-chapter beta-ing and for all the encouragement you've given me, now and always.
Whisk - Thankyou! Very glad to hear it.
Meow - :KJ chuckles: He certainly is! I hope you enjoyed the chapter and that I updated quickly enough.
Chewie-2006 - Thankyou! I always felt sorry for Gordon in the comics - Gotham is a lot to deal with.
Hades' Phoenix - :KJ whoops with laughter: If you like my Jim Gordon, you'll love my Renee Montoya too, baby...you're right, it does sound twisted and wrong. Generally, it's not the sweet nothings that are my downfall, it's the trying-not-to-throw-up-while-typing-slush thang...
JediKacee - Thankyou very much! The best compliment anyone can give me about this story is that it feels, even in any small way, like reading a comic book. That way I know I'm doing at least one thing right!
Natasha Compagnon - :KJ squeaks and pounces: You and Sereda both followed me over to my alter ego at FFnet...you brave, foolish people. Thankyou for being so nice. And there was plenty more Joker in this last chapetr, I hope. Thankyou, very glad to hear it!
Cyn Wraith - Thankyou for such a detailed, honest and kind review! I too love watching Batman and the Joker interact, simply because they are utterly opposed but utterly similar in so many ways. I'm far more used to writing oneshots and purely suspense stories, and having to set up a plot like this is kind of difficult for me. I hope it'll get more and more exciting, specially now our green-haired friend is awake.