CHAPTER 2 – IN DREAMS…
With a groan, Batman lurched back into consciousness. He could here ticking all around him.
"They say if you stay in here long enough, you go mad."
Batman's eyes opened, and the first sight that greeted him was the frightening visage of The Joker. Everything was falling into place now. He remembered chasing him into the clocktower, losing him. Then everything went… blank. But now, here he was, handcuffed to a wooden panel. But something wasn't right. What was eating at the back of his mind?
"And I'm going to drive you mad," The Joker continued, "Then I'm going to put a bullet in your head, set the madness free. How would you like that…Brucie?"
Batman's blood turned to ice. That was it. His mask was gone. Now, the secret of his true identity was in the hands of the worst possible person. This madman, this monster, The Joker. He felt rage boiling within him, almost uncontrollable. Batman was a myth, a symbol, a hero. Bruce Wayne was just a man, a man with people he loved and cared about, and now he had exposed them to this cackling, hate-filled monstrosity, the ultimate embodiment of evil as madness. Bruce Wayne's life was now corrupted forever by this creature of malice, and there was only one way to rip the cancer out before it spread and consumed all aspects of his life. With a roar, he snapped the handcuffs and lunged at his grinning tormentor. He hit him with a wave of vicious punches and kicks, not even stopping when he hit the ground. He'd gone too far. This time he was going to kill him.
The Joker raised a hand to shield himself from the flurry of blows. Batman grabbed his arm and smashed it into the ground, breaking it in two places. The next punch landed square in Joker's face. He felt the cartilage and bone crush under his fist. And deep within him, somewhere dark and primal and terrifying, Batman loved the feeling.
The Joker was now a bloody pulp, but Batman continued his assault. Never relenting. Never stopping. He wanted to beat the evil right out of him, and leave only an empty shell behind.
But then, somehow, he stopped himself. He looked down at the bloody mess lying before him. This would be his chance. Kill this monster once and for all. Just snap his neck and leave the cops to find him. Then all the pain, all the suffering, all the fear would finally end. No. He wouldn't bring himself to murder, not even for The Joker. Spitting blood, The Joker finally spoke.
"You…you…can't kill me, Brucie, you… heh heh… don't have the grapes."
Batman picked him up by the collar, holding him up in front of him.
"I'm taking you to Arkham…" he snarled.
But before he could finish, it started. Low and guttural at first, but gradually getting louder, more brazen. That hideous, heartless laugh.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…"
…
"Master Bruce?"
Bruce Wayne woke with a start. He felt the sweat lashing off of him. For a moment, there was that disorientation that comes from being lurched out of the dream-world, with the dreaded clocktower replaced with the luxurious master bedroom of Wayne Manor. He instinctively looked down at his hands, to see if The Joker's blood was still smeared all over them. It wasn't. But in the back of his head, like a tingling in his ears, he could still hear the laughter.
"Bad dream, sir?" asked Alfred, holding a tray with breakfast.
"Yes, Alfred," sighed Bruce, "About The Joker again."
"Well, sir, he now knows the truth about your identity," replied Alfred, "That is reason for concern…"
"No, Alfred, it's not that," Bruce continued, "It's the fact that I was going to kill him. The one thing that separates me from The Joker, and all those like him, is that I don't kill. Batman is supposed to help save lives, no matter whose life it is. If…if I'd killed him, what would that make me?"
"Well you didn't kill him: he's safely incarcerated in Arkham Asylum," said Alfred reassuringly, "Though if he had died, I think you'd have been forgiven."
That dry, sardonic wit, typical Alfred. He cast an anxious glance at the man that guided him through childhood, faced with the impossible task of substituting for parents cruelly stolen away from the young Bruce. And just like when he was 8 years old, and sobbing in his arms, Alfred was still here to tell him everything was going to be okay.
"Thanks, Alfred," he laughed half-heartedly, "Maybe I need some of your optimism."
"Just remember I won't be around forever, Master Bruce," said Alfred, leaving the tray by the bed and walking out of the bedroom.
Bruce sat up out of bed. He sighed, holding his head in his hands. The Joker may be in Arkham now, but he never stayed there long. Batman couldn't kill him, but while The Joker was alive, Bruce Wayne would not be able to sleep easy.