Interlude
It was a perverse game that had been going on for years between the clown and the bat.
A game that Jim Gordon could not and would not understand. To tell the truth, Batman himself did not understand either: his relationship with Joker was different from the one he had with other criminals in Gotham, because the Joker's crimes revolved mainly around Batman.
If Poison Ivy succeeded in killing Batman, she would be free to accomplish her extreme-ecological projects. If Batman was executed, it would made one enemy less for Harvey Dent. As for the Penguin, he would sleep easier if the bat was shot down, even though he would have to deal with other opponents.
But for Joker, Batman's disappearance would mean so much more: he would lost a friend.
The madman would even have spoken of a soul mate.
Of course, the Joker would still be a threat, ready to wreak havoc in Gotham, but he would be different. He would feel different. Robin? Nah, he would not want him. Batgirl? Ah, he already condemned her to a wheelchair.
Joker wanted Batman.
Without Batman, the fun would be spoiled.
Some nights, when the bullet had burned too close to his face, when the bonds had been a little tighter than usual, when acid had pierced his cape instead of his helmet, Batman thought that he owed his life only thanks to the affection Joker had for him.
"Why do you want to help him?" Gordon asked, his neck down and a cold cigarette butt between his fingers. "Wait, I already know that answer, let me ask you another question: why do you think you can help him?"
The commissioner was angry, so Batman preferred to remain silent.
"What do you see in him, Batman?!"
Gordon, for his part, saw the maniac had made his only daughter paraplegic. If there was one criminal that Batman could killed without Gordon flinching, it was the Joker.
Who would mourn him? Except that crazy Harley Quinn, of course.
Batman?
Jim Gordon suddenly looked up, scrutinizing what he could see of the vigilante's face. Unlike his daughter, he had no idea who Batman was and had come to think — in the same way that the Joker had — that Batman was simply Batman.
But underneath the armor, there was a human being with a heart.
A man with feelings.
For one absurd moment, Gordon wondered if Batman also loved men. He had heard rumors about Catwoman and Poison Ivy, beautiful women that even the Black Knight could have not resist. But what about men?
Since he apparently had a soft spot for criminals, maybe he…
"What did you find out there?" Gordon needed to get these ideas out of his head, otherwise he would end up doubting the only man who could protect Gotham from these lunatics. "Joker had talked about a bomb in a school, I thought it would be a stinker."
"There was a bomb, but it could never have exploded." Since he had the attention of the policeman, Batman went on quietly: he knew the next part would upset him… "I had several minutes left, so I analyzed the bomb and I noticed that it was fake: no trace of explosive, no chemical product. There were waves inside, but nothing more."
"It wasn't a bomb? What was it then?"
"It was some kind of a… music box."
"Say that again?"
"A radio on a precise frequency. I interrupted the countdown as a precaution, but to figure out what would have happened at the last minute, I retrieved the frequency on my computer and waited."
"And? Was there another message? Something like the location of another bomb?"
"That was I thought, but the frequency was from Gotham Radio. Around 1:00 a.m., it's Vanessa Daily's show."
"The one with the song requests?"
"Yes."
Batman did not want to explain what happened next: he had announced that all danger was over and that he had accomplished his mission, yet that was not enough for his colleague.
"And then?"
"Mr. White asked Vanessa Daily to play Because the Night for Mr. Bats."
Beyond the romantic register, the success of Patti Smith was a title of true sensuality, a message of complicity.
Gordon was not laughing. The dedication did not make Batman laugh either.
But he liked even less the worried look of the commissioner.
"One day, he's going to kill you, Batman. He'll kill you after all the opportunities he's given you, and I hope for your sake that it'll be quick, otherwise you'll realize that you never needed him and you'll regret it."
The Dark Knight retreats. If only he could be as sure as Gordon.
Chapter 3 – Tea time
"'Cause I was once just like you
And how it grew and how it grew
All these dreams of human beings
And all these wells, all these springs
I just don't know what to do, what to do
What to do
Mama don't leave, mama don't stay
We don't know what game to play"
Emily Jane White - Stairs
« Les vices des hommes
Sont mon domaine
Leurs plaies mes doux gâteaux
J'aime mâcher leurs viles pensées
Car leur laideur fait ma beauté. »
Joyce Mansour [1]
The blade was still clenched in the Hatter's fist. The pikes formed by the Joker's forefingers reminded him of the silhouette of Batman rather than the ears of a hare.
"Joker?!"
"Yes, Jervis: Joker! Come on, you're not going to tell me you don't remember me! We used to meet in the corridors of Arkham, don't you remember? Orange uniform, green hair!" He leaned over and tapped him on the shoulder. "As for me, I remember you. You may be the smallest inmate, if you don't count Scarface. And you're so redheaded that we could redo the flag of Mexico with our hair, provided that we could catch an eagle, of course."
Joker had grabbed his own mop with a loud laugh.
Jervis looked at him with exorbitant eyes: if he had feared the arrival of Batman, he was certainly no happier about meeting this madman again. He tightened his grip on the knife and showed it to the Joker. Jervis Tetch was crazy enough to threaten the Joker when he was free.
"You're not supposed to be here."
"You're talking nonsense! A Mad Hatter without a March Hare? Come on, Jervis, did you even read the book?!"
"You're more like the Cheshire Cat! You try to confuse Alice and make her doubt! You mustn't do that! No, you mustn't!"
Without listening to him, Joker approached the table where the girl was sitting, effectively adopting the gait of a confident and wicked cat, then, panic-stricken, Jervis hit the floor with his foot.
"You're not supposed to be there!" he repeated. "Batman was following Alice, he followed her like a shadow, and you're the one who appears!"
"Fine! So you expected to see Batman, right?"
"Yes, I did!"
"But I killed him, Jervis."
The Hatter jumped. The arm that held the weapon lost its strength and fell back against his thigh. He approached his former asylum companion, the tip of his skull barely reaching the elbow of a man as tall as the Joker.
"You… You did? No, you didn't. You didn't killed him… or you did? Really? How? How?"
Joker interpreted these mumbled questions as an invitation, so he sat down at the other end of the table, facing the schoolgirl, still under the influence of hypnosis, and the host.
Because of his height, surpassing both of them, he almost looked like a teacher interrupting a meeting of students. Yet, as if if was not enough, Joker looked up at the damp ceiling, looking beyond this Lewis Carroll setting.
The ceiling was in a really poor state: if the mayor of Gotham continued to only restore the privileged neighborhoods, the building in the poor ones would eventually collapse right in the middle of the street. The tired bricks would fall into the sea and onto the road, surely hitting passers-by in the decline.
"Bats was totally focused on your kidnapping, Jervis, and the sewer trick did me a favor. The gargoyles, the ledges, the roofs… all these things were Batman's strong points, but cramped corridors? Ah! Cutting off his wings was easy."
With his jaw hanging down, Jervis served black tea in three cups. It was obvious now that he counted Joker among his guests at his tea time.
"But what have you done of the body? Did you… ?"
"I left him there since I can't make up my mind… You know, I'm a bit disappointed… I've always thought everyone in Gotham would see our final confrontation. For God's sake! He was Batman! And I'm the Joker! Everybody knows us, everybody wanted to know who was going to win! But the beloved citizens of Gotham missed it… Can you believe it?! Now I think about it, even he didn't see me coming!"
Joker put his elbows on the table and looked unhappy. In fact, it was like he has started to sulk.
"What should I do, Hatter? Burn Batsy's body? Throw him into the sea? Dissolve him in acid and keep at least one bone as a souvenir? Resurrect him and kill him again so that he knows I won for good?"
"You know who Batman was, then!"
"Oh, excuse me, Jervis, I'm thirsty, I can't bear it anymore! Give me that cup."
Even though he was not really a tea lover, especially at the Hatter's table, Joker took advantage of the moment to raise his cup and drink — sip —, taking his time.
The seconds weighed like hours during this silence.
"Tell me!"
Joker rested the cup violently.
"What a tetchy Tetch you are! I've just told you that Batman is no longer a danger and you're still getting nervous!" The alleged hare pushed the teapot towards the hatter. "If you're too sensitive for black tea, Jervis, have some chamomile instead. You lost your Xanax pills again, didn't you?"
Even without being directly threatened, annoying the Joker was still a dangerous game and the Hatter apologized, bowing his head so low that the brim of his hat hid his face.
"I am in pain, Jervis. Can you empathize for at least five minutes?! I'm telling you that I killed my best enemy without any witnesses to admire my victory, that I don't know what to do with his body! Make an effort for me!"
The Hatter crumpled up a cotton towel before using it to grab the burning teapot: if he was busy, he would be more patient.
"But… maybe if you tell me Batman's identity… maybe it would give me an idea?"
"You think so? Oh, maybe… Yes, it's even probable, in fact!" Joker raised his cup one last time before refilling it. "Oh no, I don't know… I'm not even sure you're going to believe me, Jervis."
"Why? Why?"
"I was quite surprised myself. But I guess there's no typical profile when it comes to wearing a bat armor and persecuting criminals after dark. Whatever the answer is, it'll be surprising. And even a little disappointing."
The Hatter was stomping around almost like a dog, ready to pounce on the table. If he had been able to wrest the long-awaited answer from a hand movement, he would not have hesitated to dig into the Joker's throat, even if it meant loosing a few fingers in the process.
"I'm sure I can hear it!"
"Sure! But no, really, you're going to think I'm making fun of you! I mean, he's such a famous person, you'll tell me I've seen wrong or that it was a fake Batman."
After looking at Alice, as if he was suspicious of her presence, Joker stood up and bent down to confide what he had seen. A vision so surprising that it had imprinted itself on his retina, making his gaze almost vague, in contrast to Alice's gaze which seemed to come alive from second to second.
Joker took a breath and finally shook his head.
"I felt like I knew everything about him, Jervis." He complained as he stood up. "His demons, his desires, and now that I know who he is, I'm not sure of anything anymore."
The Hatter was in such a state of impatience that he did not notice the cup that Joker was holding. When the clown passed behind Alice, he brutally spilled it on her head.
Normally, Jervis' hypnosis was powerful enough to make the pain go away, yet the girl began to scream, her hands clenched on either side of her head, too frightened to touch her scalp burned by the tea.
"No! No! NO!" The Hatter screamed as he jumped on his feet. "Stupid March Hare! This is no way to treat our guests!"
The screams of pain, the anger of the Hatter and the hilarious outbursts of the Joker drowned out the hissing of the batarang that pierced the air. Its flowing whirl reminded the flight of a bat, except for one detail: its wings glowed. The tip of one of them hit the hypnotist's hat and torn it off, breaking the card with the chip that allowed the Hatter to be connected to Alice's cell phone.
Thrown against the wall, crucified against the damp wood, the delicate component of Jervis's trick broke.
The Hatter, furious, stared at Joker who was almost rolling on the table, holding his ribs.
"You lied! YOU LIED! YOU LIED!"
The poor girl looked at them one by one, crying her eyes out, not knowing where she was or if she could still be saved.
One of the windows exploded and Batman's wings spread out over the Hatter. The bat looked like an eagle, and when his hands fell on Jervis's shoulders, the small man uttered a mouse-like cry. His body tilted forward and disappeared beneath the predator's silhouette.
Joker seldom watched this scene from an outside perspective, so, still seated at the table, he applauded the performance, enjoying the moment.
The Hatter had been so frightened that he had fainted; he was lying on the floor, almost curling up.
"You didn't have to burn that girl!" Batman told Joker off. Because of that, Batman would have to keep an eye on Jervis and make sure the victim was okay.
"You were taking too long, Bats, I had to find a diversion."
That was wrong, of course. He and Batman had agreed that a handful of minutes would be enough time for the vigilante to reduce the frequency of the Hatter's chip card — and to do that, he had to be as close as possible — and sneak into the house to immobilize Jervis.
Joker just had to get the Hatter's attention, without being concerned by the girl.
How could Batman have believed that Joker would have remained well-behaved…
From the screen on his forearm, he sent a request for an ambulance, specifying his coordinates.
"It was only hot water, Batst! This little dove takes many showers! It reminded her of a tea shampoo, that's all!"
"An 190°F shower?!" Batman snarled. "Don't make things worse for yourself and stay where you are, Joker, in an hour, you and Jervis will be in your respective cells."
Joker simulated chills, making his chuckle tremble; the laughter seemed to be produced by his ribs and not by his throat. His dilated pupils hid thoughts, each one crazier than the last, and Batman preferred to take away any opportunity to hurt again from him.
Grabbing him by the wrist, he forced the Joker to get up and turned him over. The dishes on the table began to tinkle.
"Batsy! There's a young girl watching us!"
"Quiet."
Batman grabbed his hand and closed the handcuff, squeezing it tighter this time, not worrying about the clown's blood circulation. Tied up behind his back, his enemy would be better hampered.
"You should invest in zip ties, Batou. And I saw black ones once, really! They will match your costume! I'll ask Harley to add it to the list for the next time I go shopping."
To give him no chance, Batman checked how tight the handcuffs were by pulling on the chain and was pleased to see that they did not slip a millimeter.
Joker waddled around, neither upset nor worried. He even tried to put his head on Batman's shoulder by tilting backwards.
"Am I still allowed to sit in the front, Batsy?"
"I'm tempted to tie you up on the roof."
"You're ungrateful: I've been well-behaved and I've helped you! Jervis had kidnapped a teenager and I'm sure that he undressed her himself, that little vicious man!"
"You killed a bank employee."
"Bats, you're exaggerating: that was almost an hour ago!" He protested, hitting the ground with his foot. "And at least, I didn't run away while your back was turned."
"What?!"
Batman spun around to see that the Hatter had gotten up and walked, more discreetly than an apparition, to the staircase. Surprised in his flight, the little man had no choice but to run.
"Help is on its way, don't move." Batman said to the schoolgirl, and he rushed down the corridor that was going up, making the stairs groan.
"Oh! Wait for me, Batsy! I don't want to miss it!"
Joker crouched down and slid his bound hands under him. Like anyone else, he had been clumsy the first time he had attempted this maneuver, but today he was a true expert. A minute later, he had his arms in front of him instead of behind him.
Before joining the high-speed pursuit, he looked at Alice and barked:
"What a minx! Playing hooky again?!"
She started crying while the clown was leaving, laughing out loud.
The building communicated with the neighboring one, forming a new maze of endless empty corridors. The only traces of life were the scratching of rats and the rustling of flies' wings. This morning, the daily life of these undesirables was disrupted by a deafening high-speed pursuit.
The footsteps on the aged parquet floor composed a disordered music: the first ones were desperate steps, as fast as those of a chased rabbit, the second ones were determined, as loud as the threat of a storm, while the third ones, farther away, were actually more of a playful leap than a race.
The Joker had had precise plans for that gloomy Thursday, and despite the failure at the bank, something electric in the air seemed to whisper that the day was not wasted. Quite the contrary, in fact! It would be better than trying to take Batman's life for the umpteenth time.
Jervis, who was much smaller than them, tried to lose his predator by sneaking through the wounds of the building: doors twisted by humidity, collapsed walls, stairs with broken teeth, everything was more reassuring than the threat of the bat's wings.
Joker, who followed the hunt, was delighted to see how easily Batman, although slowed down, was able to follow the same paths as Jervis.
Raindrops, pushed by the wind, rushed through the broken windows, enough to drown this abandoned past. The three men intruded into these ghost apartments, ignoring, in their speed, the relics of strangers. Pictures on wall or on floor, a stuffed toy, a broken plate. More recent occupants had left only syringes and condoms.
At the bend in a corridor, Joker lost sight of Batman and the Hatter. Suddenly, right in front of him, a red puddle appeared like a stop sign: an almost perfect circle — on condition of ignoring the splashes around — stained the floor.
It was not blood, but wine: the debris of the broken bottle was still lying there, covered with dust.
A frightened scream then resounded and Joker resumed his run, abruptly brought back to reality.
The elbowed corridor was the broken arm of a large living room: the huge windows had grills fitted — the owners had been wealthy and vigilant enough to protect themselves from Gotham's onslaught —, so the shadows cut across the room and trapped the light.
Still running, Jervis hit the couch and raised a cloud of dust. He breathed in those gray memories and tried to cough them out, but each spit of air stirred up the ghosts that had begun to rise. In these silver reflections, the Hatter thought he saw a huge woman with white hair and eyes. Her arm raised, ready to carry out the sentence.
In the taste of dust, Jervis was certain to recognize the flavor of red wine.
He began to scream and a brutal force wounded him in the back. Batman and the Hatter passed over the sofa, landing in the middle of the living room that had been turned into an arena.
Exasperated by that night that refused to end, the Dark Knight raised his fist, getting warmed up, and threw it against Jervis's forehead.
The shouts continued, tangled and confused, guiding the Joker who arrived in turn.
The clown moved forward, but did not go beyond the couch.
In amazement, he could see the blows raining down: the rhythm was steady and each thud wrenched a burst of laughter out of him. He knew the song, but this time it was not playing for him.
Something electric in the air tickled him, made him vibrate. Inhabited or not, this tower was planted in the cursed soil of Gotham and was imbued with a morbid essence.
Out of compassion for this enemy, the Joker's body began to tremble, reacting to these brutalities that were usually intended for him. The ground groaned as well, the slats cracking like bones, but the Joker's hilarity covered the whining and Batman continued to punch.
Until the floor broke. Until the bodies of the vigilante and the kidnapper fell into the mouth that had just opened.
As a witness to an excellent joke, Joker slapped his thighs, laughing himself to death. Oh, there was no need to say, as long as Batman was here, the show was always thrilling!
Calm seemed to return little by little and, curious, Joker knelt down by the hole to sit on the ledge, letting his legs hang.
A cloud of plaster invaded the floor below, preventing the clown from seeing the rest of the fight.
Was there only a sequel when there was no more sound?
"Batsy? Hey, Batsy! Did you run away? You did?! Would you really leave me here without even having the courtesy to walk me home?!"
Fearless, Joker let himself slide; he did not mind much his handcuffed wrists and he would land as best he could. Anyway, his mental health had experienced more frightening falls than this one, more fatal ones too.
Blessed with extraordinary luck, the criminal's feet met a smooth surface: this concrete floor, at least, was not in danger of breaking.
"Batman?"
It was dark in this den where night had already returned. The windows had been obstructed by pages from a newspaper from the previous decade. The faces in the black and white photos were dark and so numerous that they formed an austere audience, blocking out the light.
When the dust fell, the light from the room above focused like a spotlight on a surprising scene, and as crazy as he was, Joker doubted for a moment what he saw: the sentry, more sinister than ever, was bent over Tetch's motionless body. The red head had hit a beam that had resisted their struggle, and his skull had cracked like a dry hazelnut. The blood was already forming a sea of guilt, blackening the concrete.
"Oh…" Joker whispered, bringing his fists to his mouth, making the handcuffs rattle. He concealed the smile that began to grow. "Is he dead?"
Batman did not answer; he was panting because of the effort, because of the fear. His forefinger and middle finger had been stuck under the Mad Hatter's jaw for several seconds already, still hoping to feel a pulse, no matter how buried it was.
Joker took the opportunity to approach, enjoying a good view of the dark wound. A piece of bone had risen like a reversed drawbridge, leaving the way clear for thoughts to leave the Hatter's corpse.
"Oh, Batsy… It's always the same problem with schizophrenics: they aren't headstrong enough."
[1] Joyce Mansour is one of my fave French poets, so I wanted to let the French version up there and write a translation only as a side-note:
"Men's flaws
are my realm
Their wounds my sweet cakes
I love to chew up their sick thoughts
for their vileness shapes my beauty"
