Issue #11 – Letting Go
When Robin came to, the world felt like a blur. Everything hurt. His chest, his back, his face. Everything felt stiff from the bruises. The paint and blood had dried and flaked off every time he drew a breath. When the world came back into focus, he realized he was sitting in a chair. His arm was stretched out in front of him, hanging in a sling. There were metal bars on its left and right. His arm was stuck, extended. He couldn't pull his hand through the bars. Without the sling, the only place for it to go was up or down.
He looked down. Beneath his arm at the bottom of the cage was a big red button.
"You know what I just realized?"
Robin looked up. The Joker sat in a recliner next to the cage.
"I just realized that during our role-play session, you didn't scream once." Joker stood up and walked in front of the cage. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those crazies who lives to here his victims scream. I mean, it's nice, but I could take it or leave it. But I gave you quite the whoopin'. I dealt you some psychological damage. And you haven't howled in pain once. Why not?"
"I'm not going to give you the satisfaction." Robin spat. A gooey red loogie stuck in Joker's hair and dripped down his face.
Robin smirked.
Joker pulled out a handkerchief. It was tied to another, then another, until he pulled a chain of them from his pocket. Then he wiped himself down. "You really are a putz, do you know it, kid?"
Robin smirked. "Takes one to know one."
"You just don't get it!" Joker shouted. Something took over his face. Suddenly he looked angry. "Nobody gets it. Not you, and especially not Batman! None of this…" He held open his hands and spun around. "None of this—nothing is real! You think you're heroic and doing good deeds, but at the end of the day, where does all the crime fighting really get you? How long is it before another villain of the week shows up to wreak havoc in this miserable cesspool? Hell, after Batman throws me in Arkham for this how long do you really think it will be before I'm back prodding and torturing whatever fool kid he's manipulated into following him this time? You just don't get it. It's all one big game of make believe. One awful little picture book. All we do is run around and act a part so that some higher being can look down on us, smile or occasionally grimace, and then go on his merry way until he decides to see what our next wacky confrontation will be." The Joker clenched his fists. His shoulders heaved up and down as he sucked in breaths.
"You've finally lost it," Robin muttered.
"Oh no. No, my dear boy, you have it all wrong. It's you who are insane. You play the game. You jump through the hoop. But me? I know it's all a con, but rather than be hoodwinked into playing, I make up my own rules. The only sane response to an insane world, I suppose, is insanity. Heh heh! And that's what I'm trying to teach you, boy. Batman won't tell you this. But the reason you're so unhappy is you're too much of a victim, too much of a puppet in life's silly little game. Once you realize how much of a joke everything is, then you see the punch line everywhere!" He laughed, the one that turns your stomach inside out. "To realize how laughable everything is, first you need to learn how to let go."
Like a wild jackal, the Joker leapt onto the cage and plunged his hands through the bars. He had a knife, and Robin tried to pull away, but with his hand trapped, it was impossible. In a quick motion, the Joker cut the sling propping Robin's hand, then he spun to the side of the cage and kicked his leg in, knocking the chair across the floor from under Robin. Robin stood, his hand trapped, hovering over the button.
Joker pointed at it. "Do you remember the gifts I sent the eenie weenie Justice League known as the Teen Titans?"
Robin did.
"And do you remember that display of Kryptonite stolen from the Metropolis City Museum last month?"
He did. Superboy said Ma Kent had worried about it for a week.
"Well, it wasn't much, but it was more than enough to fashion a bullet." The Joker smiled. "I'd say sit down, but then you might accidentally hit that button, which as I'm about to explain, would be really bad for your dear little playmate Superboy. Using state of the art technology stolen from all over Gotham and Metropolis, and that creative flair only we super villains have, I created the perfect death trap. The glasses I sent sampled DNA, sending it to the false teeth, which were really a transmitter which relayed who the target would be. And it tells the bullet to home in on said target, wherever he is at, anywhere in the world. The horse is of course made of lead, housing the Kryptonite bullet, and will fire as soon as you hit that button. Life is really absurd, isn't it? After all the things we've been through, it's going to be you who kills your dear friend Superboy!" Joker clutched his sides and howled.
"What makes you think I'm going to hit the button?" Robin dared.
"Easy. Because you need to let go. But you have too many things holding you down. For instance, your obvious issues with your parents." The Joker reached down, and he pulled up a set of weights attached to a rope. He threw them over Robin's wrist. It drooped, but Robin held it up. "And then there's the issues with the dead girl." He produced another set of weights. Robin's hand drooped again, but he held it just as high. "And let's not forget how hard it is to deal with the Batman and how you'll never live up to his legacy!" Another set of weights. Robin struggled, but he kept his hand high. "And then there's just every day troubles like growing up, acne, school, being a costumed vigilante, and dealing with wackos who dress up as clowns and offer fake psychological advice to torture you into killing your best friend." He threw on the largest set of weights, and then his smile fell. Robin's arm still hadn't moved.
"Well," he said, biting his lip, clearly disappointed. "I guess I'll just let you think about that for a while." He walked away, turning the lights off as he went.
A cold sweat broke out across Robin's body. His arm already ached, every muscle in it tensed. His ribs hurt every time he took a breath. He closed his eyes though, and he shut it all out. He locked his knees, and he thought of something Lady Shiva had taught him. His body became rigid, stiff like a board. He would become like a tree.
And he stood like that, perfectly motionless, the arm not even moving an inch. He stood like that for an hour.
Then two.
And then another.
The Joker came down to check on him, but he became dismayed each time and stomped off. Several hours passed, and then finally, Joker exclaimed, "Oh, hell, I'll just do it myself." He leapt up, grabbed Robin's hand, and jerked it down to the button.
It flashed. Then beeped. And Robin's mouth hung open.
"I guess we'll find out if he's really faster than a speeding bullet like his old man, eh?" Joker said. Then he laughed.
Robin stared at the button, his mouth still wide. He imagined the bullet spiraling through the air. Saw it enter Conner's heart. Wonder Girl cries out, she catches him, but it's too late. He grips his chest, and he bleeds to death in her arms.
And it's all my fault, Robin thought. Then he looked up at the Joker. "And yours."
"I'll kill you!" Robin shouted. He lunged forward, grasping and groping, the Joker just an inch from his reach. "I'll kill you! I swear to God, I'm going to carve that smile right off your face! Do you hear me, clown? You're dead!"
The Joker smiled slowly. "Yes, I hear you. And I must say, we finally have a breakthrough. I'm pleased. You're finally on the road to recovery."
