CHAPTER 13 - MONSTERS
6 year old Nancy Loomis had been convinced for quite some time now that there was a monster in her closet. When the light was out, she was terrified that the closet door would slowly creak open, and a pair of glowing red eyes would emerge out of the darkness. Then some dark, unimaginable beast would lurk out of that dark void, slowly crawling towards her. Nancy would want to scream, but her pleas for help would choke and die in her throat. Inside she would be screaming for her Mommy and her Daddy to come and help her but outside she'd be silently mouthing "No no no..." and there would be nothing she could do and the monster would take her away forever and she would never see Mommy and Daddy again!
But tonight, she wasn't frightened. There was a monster in her room. But he wasn't in the closet. He was sitting on the edge of her bed.
"Shhhhh..." said The Joker.
"Are you a clown?" asked Nancy.
"Well, you could say that," chuckled The Joker, "I'm here to make you laugh."
Nancy giggled.
"You see, Nancy," continued The Joker, "We're going to play a little joke on your Daddy."
"What kind of joke?" Nancy asked inquisitively.
The Joker smiled, taking a tiny little bottle out of his pocket.
"Have a drink of this and you'll find out..."
…
Stan Loomis was a popular celebrity in Gotham City. He presented a late night talk show, but was better known for his extensive charity work. Every year, he figureheaded a charity event designed to raise money to help children in need all over the world - from impoverished children in Africa to kids in Gotham who had been orphaned.
On this night, he had been at a Charity Ball with his wife, Gloria. They arrived home later than they'd planned, and found the babysitter sleeping on the sofa in the living room.
"Gloria, tell Sonia she can go home now," said Stan, "I'm going to go upstairs and check on Nancy."
Nancy was Stan's pride and joy, the most important thing in his life. His charity work for children stemmed from his own status as a father. Every night, he always had to say goodnight to little Nancy, even if she was already asleep. But when he opened her bedroom door on this night, his whole world came crashing down around him.
Nancy was dead. Her face contorted into a ghastly, horrifying grin. A small but lethal dose of Joker Venom. The Joker was long gone by this time. He left the same way he got in - through the bedroom window. The Joker loved the irony of a man famous for saving children being unable to save his own. But this irony didn't dawn on Stan Loomis.
He was too busy screaming.
…
The death of Nancy Loomis was all over the news the next day. The reports would show pictures of little Nancy, smiling sweetly "in happier times", followed by stock footage of The Joker, and then a shot of Stan Loomis. Pale, shocked, a broken man. Everyone was shocked by the news, but one person spent the whole day watching it over, and over, and over. Harvey Dent knew that he was to blame for all of this.
Why had he set The Joker free? For the greater good? What good had come of it? The Joker had gone on a killing spree, was blackmailing him, and had now murdered an innocent little girl. And it was him who had unleashed this psychopath. He was responsible. That little girl's blood was on his hands…
Dent staggered out of his living room, rushing to the bathroom and throwing up. He turned on the sink, washing the sick off his face. He looked up at the mirror on the medicine cabinet. It didn't matter if he was disfigured or not. He still despised what he saw looking back at him.
With a shaking hand, Dent picked up his shaving razor. He pressed it against his left cheek, holding it in until a trickle of blood began to run down his cheek…
"NO!"
With an angered scream, Dent tossed the razor across the room. He slid down to the ground, curling himself up in a ball. He hated himself, but he wasn't about to let him come back. Not Two-Face. Never again. He'd made a mistake, one he'd never forgive himself for, but he was not to blame for this. The Joker was. And Dent knew what had to be done…
"Are you crazy? We need The Joker right now!"
"I don't need him, or you. This is my decision. The Joker has caused enough pain and suffering. It has to stop!"
Dent got up, walking into the hallway. He picked up the phone, and dialled The Joker's number.
"Meet me at Gotham Bridge," he said when The Joker answered, "We need to talk."
Before The Joker could reply, Dent hung up. He pulled on his coat, and then opened a drawer. He took out the gun from inside, tucking it in his inside pocket.
"This ends tonight…"