My beautiful readers:
Welcome to the final chapter of You Can't Spell Slaughter Without Laughter. I hope you've enjoyed the journey. I know I have. The last four—seriously, FOUR?—years writing this story have been an insanely amazing journey. I appreciate every single person who has ever read this, and I really hope this ending does not disappoint. It was surreal writing it, actually—I've known how it ends the whole time, and I'm staying true to my original vision. I hope you get at least some kind of closure haha :P
So now this huge project, which, at times, took up an enormous chunk of my life and at other times was tucked away and forgotten, is at an end. I loved writing it. I love being on this site with you people. Thank you so much for the experience!
I told you last time about the sequel, which will hopefully be out before too long. I hope you hang on, because there's a lot more coming. As we all know, the whole point of The Dark Knight is that the Joker does not die at the end—otherwise Batman would become exactly what he vowed he never would. Instead, our clown is sent to Arkham, or so I assume. So there is a lot of potential for aggressive expansion. He's still out there, and I will still write about him :) So keep an eye out for Caligula in Red, coming soon to a browser near you.
Now, I know I've done this before, but if I get 600 reviews by the end of this story I will probably die of happiness. Please let me know what you thought of the story overall, the good and the bad! It's the first thing I've ever finished writing (EVER), so I'd REALLY appreciate some feedback!
I love and respect you all! Thank you for the great past few years!
With no more ado, the final chapter of You Can't Spell Slaughter Without Laughter.
We paint the foil with the flame
Smell of soda, taste butane
For every fear that can't be named to calm you down.
Your heart starts skipping steps,
So you're farther gone than you might expect.
If your thoughts should turn to death
Gotta stomp them out like a cigarette
-Bright Eyes, "Down in a Rabbit Hole"
Jess's eyes popped open an instant before blind pain split through her skull. Immediately reflexive, she groaned and rolled into a ball, bringing her hands weakly up to grasp at the hair falling lankly into her eyes. She felt the stringy wetness by her right ear where a fair amount of blood had seeped through her hair, fumbled shaking fingers around the painful—but certainly not grave—gash just above her temple. Her head was pounding and it hurt to move her eyes, to look around or close them, to do anything but lay there for a long moment, eyes buried in the crook of her elbow.
From what she could gather, the room she was in was dark and silent, a distinct blessing given the circumstances. The floor under her shivering body was cold granite, but someone had draped a large leather jacket over her, which smelled of cigarette smoke and men's deodorant. It smelled like Blake.
There was a horrible taste in Jess's mouth, and for a moment she thought she might have vomited in her sleep. Finding the strength to examine the floor around her head for any unsightly puke stains, and after finding none, Jess went about checking her body for injury. Her head hurt like a bitch, but otherwise she seemed unharmed. Her hands and ankles hadn't been bound, but when she glanced at her inner wrist she noticed a dark black mark marring her skin. Frowning, Jess slid her red sleeve up her forearm and gazed at the writing there, bold and black, apparently made by a Sharpie. On her arm were four cryptic numbers: 5377. Why they were there and who had written them were beyond her, and in the absence of any immediate answers, Jess raised her eyes to the rest of the large chamber.
She seemed to be in a high rise building with floor to ceiling windows along every wall, which framed a breathtaking view of the nighttime cityscape, of the millions of twinkling lights and the hulking shadows of taller buildings in the distance. Exposed iron beams crisscrossed the ceiling above her head, and she could tell from the clusters of bare wire in the walls and the empty feel of the place that this building was being newly constructed. But when it was finished, it would surely be a high class joint.
An out of service elevator shaft, its wide open doors revealing the intersecting beams of the scaffolding inside, stood across the room from its twin lift, which looked to be in service, fashionable, streamlined and efficient. Jess stared at the shiny metal doors for a long moment, inexplicably bothered by them… She'd had some kind of scary dream, something to do with an elevator or falling…
Then the working elevator dinged and the doors slid open smoothly, nearly soundless, revealing Blake, who stepped from the brightly lit interior.
Jess bolted upright into a seated position, heart pounding as hard as her aching head, and scrambled away from him as quickly as she could. He caught sight of her scooting backwards along the ground, but didn't make a move toward her. She couldn't quite make out his expression in this light; she was sure hers was clearly evident.
Shortly, the pounding in her skull forced her to stop moving. With the slightest shift, it felt like handfuls of metallic marbles were being pelted against her head. She put her hands to her temples again, groaning, dizzy with the effort of hasty movement, and hunched as tightly as she could over her knees. Perhaps, if she ignored him, he'd go away.
But no. She heard his heavy boots along the floor, closing the distance between them; heard the rustle of his clothes as he sank to his haunches a foot or two away. She longed to stretch out her leg and aim a kick or several at his groin, but she wasn't convinced that the damage she could do would be worth the splitting headache. He was much larger than her, much stronger. Jess had never been so scared of Blake before; she didn't like the feeling. Not at all.
There was silence for a long moment. Jess certainly wasn't going to be the first to speak, but Blake didn't seem to know what to say. She thought he might have expected to encounter her wrath, the way she reacted against the Joker—lashing out, blind fury compelling her actions. He was jarred by her fear and pain, not knowing how much effort it took to keep a lid on the anger bubbling under the surface. She wanted to scream at him, but her head simply hurt too much; she was simply too tired.
Jess really was exhausted.
"Glad you're up, princess," Blake said finally. She didn't meet his eye, sitting stiff and stoic, her face cast in stone. Blake sighed. "I'm sorry," he said. Jess met his gaze now, lips compressed thinly, scornful of the fact that he thought that would change anything.
"Well, thanks, Blake," she croaked, derisive, unprepared for how gravelly her voice sounded. "I really appreciate that." Her tone was blatantly venomous, the consonants sharp and aggressive. Blake cringed, looking out the windows.
"I understand if you won't forgive me," he said, and Jess could hear how hard he was trying to maintain his calm. "But I didn't do that to you for shits and giggles. You gotta know that." Jess put her hand to the wound on her head. Looking around was starting to hurt a little less, but she was going to have a serious goose-egg to deal with, not to mention all the obnoxious blood leaking into her hair.
"Oh yeah?" Jess hissed, leaning forward to look him in the eye. He was so ashamed; he suddenly couldn't meet her gaze again, the way he hadn't been able to for the last couple hours. How long had he been planning this? "Who put you up to it, then?" Blake sighed again and scratched the back of his head.
"Jess…" he said, like he was pleading with her. She simply kept staring. Honestly, she had no idea why he'd done it. She was furious with him, but she wanted to know.
"Huh, Blake?"
"Jessica…" He didn't want to say?
"Yes?" Silence from the blond man. Jess was starting to let her fury register on her face. Her hands clenched as she kept watching his pathetic, shamed expression; it pissed her off even more. She couldn't stand to even look at him, but he was the only one with the answers. "Huh, Blake? I'd really like to know your motives. It's the least you could do." At this, Blake reared up off his haunches, standing swiftly to tower over her; she'd struck some kind of nerve.
"You know who put me up to this," he snapped, frustrated and irritated that she was approaching him with such a "fuck you" attitude.
"No!" Jess said, also trying to stand. She got onto a knee, with one foot planted on the ground, before a rush of pain and dizziness hit and she had to settle back on her calves with a groan, holding her head. "I don't know," she said, voice muffled between her fingers. "I never though you would betray me like this." Blake scoffed, his derisive laugh echoing through the room. Jess dropped her hands and stared at him for a moment, before her anger gave her the strength to try to stand again. This time, she managed to get all the way to her feet. "Don't fucking laugh at me, asshole," she exclaimed. "You should be on your knees, begging my forgiveness!"
Blake stepped towards her, fighting anger with anger, pointing at her.
"You're not stupid, right?" he growled. "Who do you think had me do this?"
"I don't know!" Jess repeated. "Who? Alex? Sid? Some other Russian guy?" She scoffed. "Of all of the Twenty to betray us, I didn't think you would be…"
"God, you really are blind," Blake cut her off. "I mean, I always knew you didn't exactly run on logic, but you let your little fantasies control your life!" He paused, maintaining intense eye contact, and took a breath. "You really don't think he'd ever betray you? You don't think he'd use you if it suited him? You're lucky he hasn't asked us to get rid of you, yet. Because, Jess, no matter how much some of us might like you…" he shook his head. "One word. That's all it'd take from him, and you'd be dead. One fuckin' word." Jess was silent this time, not quite sure what he was telling her. He read the confusion on her face. "I'm just trying to get you to understand: you're in this way over your head. Do not underestimate him."
"Are you talking about J?" Jess asked fiercely. "What the fuck are you saying?"
"The Joker had me do this!" Blake exclaimed, and Jess felt as though she'd been punched in the gut. "Okay? Get it? He came up to me when we got back from the docks and told me to knock you out when we had to move." He laughed, a little desperately, and shook his head. "And you know what? I did it without even questioning him. I don't even fucking know why he wanted me to, Jess. I still don't! But I knocked you the fuck out, didn't I?"
Jess didn't know how to react to this. She stood there, mouth agape, trying to think of venomous words to spit at him but not finding any. J had put him up to this? Why? There had to be a good reason, but what was it? What reason could possibly be good enough?
Anger was overriding her ability to reason and negotiate, to even try to ask Blake to explain. Jess felt betrayed, hurt, aching and furious, and the man before her had caused it, at least in part. Not to mention the man she'd recently had sex with. Christ, on a bus, as though her dignity was worth nothing! She'd even saved his life today, forgiven him after everything that had happened, and this was how he repaid her?
She wanted to lash out, hit something, kill something. For an instant, the thought rushed through Jess's mind that she wasn't well, that she needed help; she needed a timeout, a moment to collect herself and think, to prevent herself from going absolutely insane. Being knocked out, especially as she had been for at least twenty minutes, was incredibly bad for you; maybe she was damaged. Her brain felt splintered and unstable and so, so, so tired. God she was so tired…
And rage was all that spurred her on.
"Where is he?" she finally got out, her tone low and flat. Blake's expression of anger morphed suddenly into one of wariness when he got a better look at her face in the moonlight. She wondered how severe her snarl was, how animal she looked. She certainly felt animal, as though her forebrain had completely shut down and she was operating only with the reactive, aggressive brainstem.
"Upstairs, top floor," he said, regarding her cagily. Jess nodded and started towards the elevator, head pounding with every step. Blake caught her arm as she passed him and pulled her roughly and abruptly to a halt. "Don't go up there," he ordered. Jess wrenched away from him.
"Why the fuck not?"
"He's got shit to do, Jess! I don't think he wants you distracting him, and you're only gonna piss him off…"
"You know what, Blake?" Jess interrupted. "I'd love to stay and listen to your bullshit, but I want answers." She started marching for the lift again, only to be seized forcefully by the shoulders from behind and pulled away from it, headed instead for the opposite corner of the room.
She ripped out of Blake's grasp and turned to face him, hysteric wrath sprinting through her almost giddily. Jess raised her fists and started pounding on his chest, whaling on him, pushing as hard as she could against his solid form as he grunted and his fingers continued to dig into her shoulders. Finally, Jess sent a flying punch at his mouth, which only grazed on contact but served as the straw that broke the camel's back. Blake sent her sprawling to the floor, her head screaming.
"Fine!" he roared, throwing up his arms. He was terrifying above her, huge and furious. "I've been trying to protect you, you crazy bitch, but I'm done! I fucking give up! Go up to your psychotic clown, I don't give a shit." Jess had regained her feet by now, and she took his advice silently and willfully, heading for the elevator. "When he kills you," Blake said from behind her, "I hope you'll remember I told you so. It may not be today, Jesster, but that man is gonna be the death of you. I hope you're not too stupid to fucking see that."
Jess jabbed her finger into the control button and the lift's doors immediately slid open. She stepped into the bright light, turning to face Blake again.
"Go fuck yourself," she told him. The doors slid closed.
That was the last time she'd see him for months.
The ride from floor eleven to floor twenty eight was silent and uncomfortable, and Jess thought bizarrely that her own company was unbearable. There was simply too much to think about, too much to go through. Too much had happened today, too much had changed. She felt unfocused and overwhelmed and so, so small against all of the factors her life had gained.
But her anger was steady. As long as she didn't think too much, she could hold on to that steadfast feeling, to the ambitions driven by it. It was all she could do to stay together. Otherwise, Jess thought she might simply give up, sit in a corner, slip away into darkness and stay there, silent and alone. She was exhausted emotionally and mentally, wanted nothing more than to sink down on the floor and sleep, but adrenaline was keeping her body going.
The elevator doors dinged and slid open, revealing to Jess a startlingly beautiful view of the city far below. Up here the recent construction was easier to see. A few panes of glass along the floor to ceiling windows were absent, and she could see work tools scattered on the scaffolding platform inside the other elevator. The enormous room, some kind of penthouse studio perhaps, seemed vacant; only the high whistling of wind could be heard.
Jess stepped from the elevator to look around, disappointed by the anticlimax of not immediately finding the Joker here. It was silent for a long moment, and Jess watched the nighttime cityscape outside, eyes taking in the distant beauty of twinkling lights. It called to mind none of the suffering or evil of the city below, disguised itself as a tranquil midnight metropolis. It was kind of it. From here, disassociated, you could almost be comforted by it. As long as you kept your distance, Gotham was heaven.
A low growl caught her attention.
Jess spun around to find two Rottweilers about five yards away, stances guarded, glaring at her. Another one trotted up beside them after a moment, falling flawlessly into line, and Jess backed up a step.
"Hi, puppies…" she cooed pathetically, at a loss for what to do. The dogs continued to watch her silently, hostilely, and Jess had enough time to begin to panic. She couldn't race three territorial animals to the elevator, but nor could she simply stand there forever. She was hesitant to back up any farther; canines could sense fear, right? The word fuck kept echoing in her head, growing steadily louder, an anxious stomach ache building until someone whistled from somewhere behind them.
Jess turned towards the noise as the dogs did, their tails wagging. Letting out little whines of contentment, they all started for the figure emerging from the shadows, tall and thin and absolutely bad. She couldn't look at him without some kind of admiration marring her hatred, without some part of her wanting to be part of him. She resented him for that.
The animals gathered around him, nosing his hands excitedly, and he carelessly patted their heads, never taking his eyes off Jess. He had a real gift with dogs, she thought. He'd only known them since meeting up with the Russians earlier, though she hadn't seen them, but they were clearly enamored of him already, and very defensive.
The Joker didn't say anything. He simply looked at her for a long moment, noting the state she was in, the dried blood in her hair, the raised hackles, the blatant lack of a smile. Finally, Jess grinned sarcastically, venomously, clearly showing him how silent and shaking her rage was, and she shrugged at him.
"I'm up!" she declared, ironically bright, reaching the pinnacle of passive-aggressiveness. "Thanks for that; that was nice. Well needed rest." Her tone was biting.
"Glad you enjoyed it," the Joker said lowly, not smiling. "I thought you might."
"What the fuck, J?" Jess hissed, fed up with the sarcasm. She gestured to the injury behind her ear. "Your fucking goon put a gash in my head. And, it's funny, he told me you asked him to. Which means, I assume, you also asked him to bring me here with you. So I guess I'm just confused, J. I guess I'm just curious." She was openly snarling at him now, and he wasn't deflecting it with threats or humor. She didn't know what that meant. She doubted very much that he cared enough to be fair to her, but it certainly seemed like he was allowing her to express herself. As though he wanted to hear what she had to say.
That was too much to hope for. Stop thinking like that.
"Ah…" the Joker cleared his throat, raising his eyebrows, his face casual but his body tense. He was watching her, she realized. Like she was a fucking show. "I needed you… out of the way for a while. This is a delicate operation here, Jesster."
"So you'd opt to lug my unconscious body around, as opposed to having to deal with me when I'm awake?"
The Joker opened his mouth, a small smile spreading the corners, and raised a hand to point at her.
"You've been extremely volatile today. Causing distractions. I mean, I couldn't have that. Not at this point." He tilted his chin down and gave her a significant look. "Consider it lucky you're even here." Jess opened her mouth to respond, but the Joker had one last comment: "After that little stunt you pulled with Alex, it was good for the Russians to see your unconscious body. One little lie about punishing you and they fall right back into line."
"I saved your life," Jess hissed, and the Joker giggled at the back of his throat.
"Ooh, that's right," his tone was ironic, "you sure did, Jesster. Thanks for the reminder." Jess stared at him for a long time, silent, and his lidded eyes flicked quickly to the window. Then, slowly, he withdrew a silver pocket-watch from an inner compartment of that purple trench coat. Jess had never seen it before, though it did kind of complete the picture, oddly enough. He opened it with a dexterous twitch of the fingers and checked the time, lips settling in a satisfied way. It was still early. They still had a while.
"Uh…" he began again, glancing back up at her, noting her discontented expression. "You want some kind of reward?" He snorted, turned to the window. "What is it with you people and your prizes? You're always looking for more from me—some kind of… thirst for approval. Let me ask you something. What else do you want?"
"God," Jess said, disgusted by this line of reasoning. "That's not what this is about. I'm fine with what you give me for my trouble. I'm just reminding you: I'm not all burden." In fact, she was a little affronted by what he'd said. The Joker rarely read her wrong; indeed, she couldn't remember the last time he had. Was he distracted, or was she simply thinking differently?
"If you were 'all burden,' you wouldn't be here…"
"So why can't you treat me like one of the team, keep me informed?" Jess asked, a note of desperation creeping into her voice, no matter how hard she tried to keep it away. "I try as hard as I can, J! I murdered a man for you today…" As she said it, the horrible truth of those words hit her for what felt like the first time, a sweeping, dizzying punch in the gut.
She had. She was a killer, a murderer.
Jess had stopped speaking mid-stream, her mouth gaping, still caught on those last few syllables. She couldn't breathe. Why was this happening now? Why here? Had she simply been in shock before? It hadn't felt that way…
Tears pricked her eyes (oh goddammit) and she watched the Joker's face fall into deadpan confusion, then bemusement, then, as her trigger clicked in head, disgust.
Despite all the words he'd said, all the justifications, all the knowledge she'd gained about the way the universe worked, about the truth of reality—Jess was and would always be a murderer. She felt… stained, in a way being close to killers, befriending them, fucking one, had never made her feel. It would come back to haunt her, she had a feeling, for the rest of her life—at night, in bed, when her mind was at rest and she was allowed to ponder. Or perhaps simply at odd times during the day—while grocery shopping, watching a movie, laughing with friends. Her first kill would always stay with her. She hoped its shadow wouldn't always bring this hideous sinking to her gut.
As usual, all of this raced through her head in the space of around seven seconds, just long enough for the Joker to get frustrated with her distraction.
"Hey," he snapped his fingers at her, "wake up, Crazy. Y'know, if you wanna be part of the team, you can't get hung up on little things like that." Oh God, he was right of course. That was probably the worst part. Here she was, arguing for equal treatment and then starting to cry as soon as she even thought about killing the Russian. She wiped her eyes, furious with herself.
"I'm really trying," Jess mumbled, sounding pathetic even to her. The Joker thought so, too, as evidenced by the sneer.
"Listen," he said, moving towards the windows, with her right behind, "I already told you, you learn quick for a regular person. But, uh… in my humble opinion, you're not ready to be part of… anything. Not yet, at least." The smile he flashed her was vicious, but it gave Jess hope. Oh do I have plans for you, it said. "So, for now, I let you watch. Learn. I even let you do a little. And, uh, sometimes I utilize you. I mean, I have to get something out of it. Alex needed to die," his tone was sing-song, "whether or not he threatened me personally. He was just too…" his hands swept out, toying with the imaginary word in the air as he searched for it, "influential. You were my pretty little scapegoat."
"That's so shitty of you."
"That's business, sweets," he looked at her over his shoulder, tone vicious and eyes dark. "Like I said, this is a delicate operation. You took one for the team. And, uh, if you're calm about it, I won't forget."
Jess heard him—really heard him—and took a deep breath. The fact was, if she fucked this up now, she might never get another chance. This was her big break. He'd been watching her reactions, and now she had to live up to any faith he had in her.
"Okay," she said, nodding to show she understood. The Joker pursed his lips and surveyed her for a long, silent moment, before turning back to the window, eyes skittering over the lights and buildings below. How had he managed to diffuse that pulsing fury? All he had to do was say the right words, and Jess was back in line. She knew that, but the truth of what he was saying was too great to ignore for a little thing like anger.
"C'mere," he said lowly, reaching out to grab her none-too-gently around the shoulders, pulling her against him and gesturing to a building across the block, smaller than the one they occupied. Jess strained her eyes and saw, through the darkness, a smattering of little dots on its rooftop. Men. Quite a few of them; maybe a dozen. All gathered at the ledge that looked across to this building.
"They're watching us," Jess said softly, frowning at them. Police, surely. It was amazing how calm she felt with the Joker's arm around her, even though they were planning to swarm in and arrest or kill them all. Somehow she knew he wouldn't let that happen. He couldn't. "Wonder what they're planning…"
"It's all comin' down to the wire, Jesster," the Joker replied, eyes trained on the building. "And maybe some people won't survive." There was gravity in his tone. Jess frowned and turned to look at him.
"What are you saying?"
His lips pursed, as though she was supposed to know exactly what his every cryptic statement meant, and his arm dropped away, distancing himself from her.
"Nothing." The gruff, uncharacteristic answer jarred Jess, and she narrowed her eyes at him. He was staring out the window, hands behind his back, eyebrows furrowed. The restlessness with which he worked his jaw, the way his tongue endlessly explored the scars on the insides of his cheeks, told her that he was consumed with thought, maybe even anxious over it.
At that moment, that prickling feeling came back to her, the one she'd felt while kissing him earlier, the snapping and crackling in the air as though the energy in the room had reached a tangible peak. It was strange in its apparent randomness – she wasn't feeling overwhelmed with emotion, yet suddenly her hair was standing on end. The sudden tension was unmistakable, like violin strings stretched tight, straining to snap. She felt goose bumps break out all over her body as she looked at him, suddenly understanding something she hadn't known she was missing.
"This is it, isn't it?"
Comprehending that the movie was reaching its climax was an extremely strange sensation, though she supposed she had half expected it the whole time. Nothing was less real, of course—reality was subjective, she'd already come to terms with that—but there was something in the air, some indefinable feeling, that told her the situation was out of everyone's hands and gaining speed.
Like a natural disaster, a lightning storm, it would strike their world in a beautifully devastating moment. Their actions up to this point had paved their path, decided their fate, and now it was all coming to a head.
There was something odd about being reminded of the fictitiousness of Gotham, though of course she'd known it at the back of her mind the entire time. She supposed they all did—the Twenty, the Joker, the Batman. Why else would they fight so hard to bend it? Jess had to wonder if everyone didn't suspect.
"This is it," the Joker whispered, intense eyes fixed on the cityscape.
"So what's going to happen?" The Joker glanced over at her quickly, his lip curling before returning pointedly to the view. Jess watched the response swell in him, however, and he almost immediately turned back to her, hands raised irritably.
"You ask too many questions," he said, like he just couldn't contain himself. "And I don't wanna talk. Youwon't get the answers you wish you could hear… And I know how you take disappointment."
"You never give me the answers I want to hear," Jess said seriously.
"Oh," he broke into a phony frown, "So cynical for a little clown." Jess opened her mouth to snap back, but he spoke first. "Tell me something, Jesster, because I really wanna know…Have I ever let you down?" The tone was sing-song, lilting, mocking. His sarcasm was getting cruel, which meant he was feeling angry. Jess didn't have to guess why. She was feeling on edge. The atmosphere demanded it. She felt the need to do something drastic, a burst of passion begging to come out. She felt it. Everyone did.
And the Joker was paranoid, anxious, and very, very determined to win this game.
"No," Jess said, her tone a little cold. "No, I've always gotten exactly what I expect from you. I think you like playing the role I cast for you, actually. Villain, boss, Devil, genius… I guess you're right. I don't need to know what will happen. I've learned a lot about myself here, J…"
"Good for you…" It was said absolutely sardonically, through gritted teeth, and Jess smacked his arm, then stepped away as he turned towards her with a murderous expression.
"Let me finish, for once," she snapped. "I know my motives, and I know why I'm here. But in all this time, there's this one question you haven't really answered… and I don't even know if you can." It was a challenge, one she was sure he usually wouldn't rise to (he wasn't exactly the most forthcoming with answers), but for whatever reason his eyebrows raised. He still looked pissed, but he wanted to hear this. "Why?" Jess asked. "What's your excuse? You know why I'm doing this. But for you… is this all about possession of Gotham? Or is it more about spreading anarchy? Or are you just trying to change this city? It's not the money or even the control over people, I can see that. So what? I just don't get it, J, even though I try to."
His lips curled back against his teeth and he cracked his jaw, eyes steadily trained away from her.
"You wanna know," he said softly, his voice almost cracking, "why I do what I do?" He shook his head like he just couldn't believe she was so stupid, and giggled softly. "There is no reason, Jesster. Reason is a myth… it's not real. There aren't any… universal laws. No governance. No higher power." Such scorn was attached to the words; he deeply believed in what he was saying. And Jess really couldn't help but believe him, too. "The only thing that makes any sense in this whole… crazy world is its lack of sense. Get me, Jesster? And, like any creature of reality, like anyone who really sees… I don't have goals. Reasons…" he sneered, sucking air in through his teeth. "I do what I do because… I wanna see what happens. How they react. How you react. How much you'll all… let me do." The mention of her reactions startled Jess, disappointed her.
"How can you group me with everyone else?"
"What?" the Joker laughed scornfully. "You think have, like, the inside scoop?" He wheezed a laugh. "Y'know, Jesster, maybe I'm more… comfortable around you because of our, ahem, intimacy. But I wouldn't tell you the half of it. You couldn't conceptualize it."
At that moment, the dogs started barking, sprinting to the stairwell door at the back of the room. The Joker immediately ripped his attention from her and strode to the window, looking down to the group of men standing on the rooftop across the way. Jess looked, too. They hadn't changed position, but she caught sight of a large black figure perched on the ledge, his arms spread, holding his cloak out to look unnervingly like the wings of a huge black bat. As she watched, he leaped off the roof, gliding across towards their building until he disappeared from sight below them and Jess heard the huge explosion of shattering glass.
Her heart started pounding as that tension mounted again, charging the air.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the Batman is in the building," she said. The Joker, lip twitching, turned towards her just as someone burst through the stairwell door, caught up momentarily in the mass of barking dogs before the Joker whistled and they backed off. It was Jackson, red faced and wheezing and looking panicked. He wore medical scrubs, and gripped a semi-automatic 10mm pistol.
"Boss! Batman just broke through on the seventh floor and the boys saw SWAT en route down the street. We've already disabled the main elevators, but the hostages aren't gonna fool them for long…"
"So get down there and kill 'em," the Joker replied, almost as though he was bored. "Set up that little ambush. We rendezvous at the theater in thirty minutes, with or without the Bat."
"We're trying to capture the Batman?" Jess asked, flustered, as Jackson nodded at his orders and sprinted back down the stairs. Not answering, the Joker turned to her, strode forward and roughly grabbed her arm, steering her towards the stairwell as well.
"Get out," he said. "You're just gonna get in the way…"
"No!" Jess cried, overwhelmed and starting to get terrified. She pulled away from him. "I'm staying here with you."
"Get out, Jesster," the Joker growled, fishing in his jacket to pull out a detonation device—most likely for the ferries—and tossing it from hand to hand. "I'm busy."
"Oh fuck you," she yelled. "Why'd you even bring me here?"
"Blakey was supposed to keep you downstairs," the Joker replied, tone low and eyes dark. He was furious, possibly with her, or perhaps just feeling intense. Or both.
"Let me stay," she demanded. The Joker simply rolled his eyes and grabbed her upper arm to try to thrust her towards the door again. Jess wrest out of his grip, turning on her heel to face him before backing up again toward the middle of the room, slowly, like a disobedient child. The Joker regarded her, his jaw working tersely, his lips tight, and threw fleeting glances to the window while his fists clenched and unclenched.
"Don't be stupid," he growled at her. His fingers waggled around the detonator in his left hand and, slowly, reluctantly, he slid it back into his pocket, as his other hand fished inside his chest pocket. With a little "ah…" the Joker pulled from his chest pocket a small handgun, shiny and black in his purple gloved hand, wasting no time to aim in straight at her. Jess froze in its line, unable to believe this. He was threatening to shoot her?
"Fucker!" she hissed at him, and watched him cock the weapon.
"Three," he said, gesturing with the gun towards the door. Jess didn't move, her heart pounding. At that point, dying hardly mattered. Pain—Christ she hated pain—was far less tolerable than simple nothing, but the fact was, she had a point to make. And she had to see how far he'd take this. He wouldn't really try to kill her, would he?
Maybe she was going crazy. Everyone else seemed to think so.
"Two…" She watched his finger settle against the trigger. She couldn't tell what part of her anatomy he was aiming for, but she was pretty sure it wasn't her head. All things considered, that was probably good, though she certainly didn't want a bullet to tear through her anywhere. She took a small, hesitant step back, her courage failing with every second he had that gun leveled at her.
"One," the Joker said at her movements, his tone low and decisive. His finger squeezed…
Jess closed her eyes involuntarily, a moment of dread and horror rushing through her before she heard the gun click, empty. She opened her eyes to find the Joker regarding it with irritation, smacking his lips in distaste. No bullets. Fucking God, all of this and she'd been saved by a mere fluke. There was some kind of irony there, hideous and glaring. Not to sound like the Joker or anything, but it was almost kind of funny. Or it would have been, if it didn't piss her off so badly.
Suddenly, before her brain had time to work any of this out, she was striding at him, bubbling with fury.
"You just tried to fucking shoot me?" she demanded, and his dark eyes darted to hers, his lips curling into a delighted smile at her anger. She ran the last few steps at him, jarring her aching head, and threw her fist at his jaw at the same time as he swung the handle of the gun towards her. Somehow, with some glorious burst of luck, she caught his swing right at her head level, and her other fist sailed into his chin. Using his distraction, born of pain, she fought with him until the gun clattered to the floor and he'd forced her away.
Things were suddenly very out of control, he wasn't being reasonable, and Jess could only think to lunge forward again and try to dig in his pocket for the detonator. If she had it, he'd have to let her stay…
He flung his arms out, pushing her roughly away, but she came back again, undeterred, and tried for the device. With a growl, his patience snapped and he lashed out, a powerful fist striking her across the jaw. Jess felt something pop and blood filled her mouth, which she spit out on the floor; but she hardly felt the pain. Adrenaline did that. Or maybe her head was fucked up after being knocked out for who knows how long. It was really, really bad for you.
She let out an animalistic scream and attacked for the third time, but he didn't give her a fighting chance. Easily out-stepping her clumsy swings, he balled his hand into a fist and brought it hard into her stomach. Jess wheezed, losing her air, and stumbled back against the doorframe of the out of service elevator.
The Joker followed closely, not done with her yet, and grabbed a chunk of her hair, ripping some out by the roots as her eyes watered weakly. He tugged her towards him by it, pressing against her for a moment with a derisive chuckle, before he brought his mouth hard against hers. Jess wrestled against him until he slammed her head into the metallic doorframe, lips breaking away. She whimpered, vision going blurry, and brought a knee into his groin, which finally made him wheeze and back up. But she couldn't gather herself, couldn't shake the dizziness from her vision, could only stand there and sway while he came back at her for his final blow.
He punched her right in the face, right in the eye, so hard she was unconscious before hitting the floor. The last thing she was aware of before blackness overtook her was the tiny, inconsequential thought that he'd pushed her onto the platform of the shaky scaffolding in the empty elevator shaft. She fell heavily onto it, once again knocked into darkness.
Jess woke to the sound of barking dogs, her head swimming furiously, aching like mad. She was dizzy, incredibly dizzy, so much so that she couldn't make out a goddamn thing in the room beyond. She tried to sit up, but failed abysmally, her upper body landing heavily back onto the scaffolding. She heard the structure creak, heard something snap off somewhere along its legs and land with a metallic clink on the solid platform a floor below. The scaffolding swayed and Jess sat very, very still, only faintly aware of the grunts and barks from the room beyond.
When her vision cleared enough that she could make sense of the scene, Jess couldn't believe it was real for a long second. This had to be some kind of dream; it was too classic, too perfect. Here she was, a mundane young woman from a mundane point in time and space, watching the battle between two of the greatest arch-nemeses in history.
The Joker was standing over the Batman with a crowbar, throwing solid whacks at his body, quick and spry, while the dogs snarled viciously and tried to dig their teeth between the plates in his armor. Not standing it for long, the Dark Knight sent his powerful legs out and kicked the Joker away. Jess watched him fall to the ground with a strange mix of gloating and mind-numbing fear.
This is it, was all she could think. This is it. This is it. This is it.
Agile as ever, in half a moment the Joker was back on his feet, hardly giving the Batman time to throw off the dogs before he'd launched himself upon him again, crowbar sailing madly. The Caped Crusader was pushed into a spare piece of netting hanging from an exposed beam, which was enough to slow him and allow the Joker to send him to the ground again. Jess thought it was a little strange; her madman seemed to be winning this one. She stared at the back of his greasy, sweaty head for a long second, surprisingly full of pride as he delivered a solid crack with the crowbar. He was pushed off again instantly, sprawling across the ground and giggling breathlessly, and the Batman stood, shrugging off the net. The eyes of his mask gleamed electric blue in the darkness, startling Jess, but the way he moved suggested it was difficult to see.
He couldn't see at all! Jess saw that as quickly as the Joker did; the Batman was standing, blind and confused, in the center of the room, trying to regain his bearings. The Joker casually dropped the crowbar, paced a circle and picked up a slightly larger lead pipe from the ground, twirling it in his hands as he watched his enemy the way a panther might stalk its prey. He worked his jaw tersely before making a decision, and launched himself back at the super hero, the butt end of the pipe poised to deliver a dizzying blow to his face.
A dizzying blow it was. The Caped Crusader shattered a window pane and sprawled to the floor with a crash that made Jess jump, which in turn made the entire scaffolding shudder hideously. Jess reached out and put a hand on the metal wall, increasingly suspicious of the soundness of this structure. It felt like it could collapse any minute.
From this angle, it was difficult to see exactly what was going on. Straining her neck, but fearful of too much movement, Jess surmised that the Batman was laying on the ledge of a broken window—thirty stories up—with the Joker straddling him, pipe to his neck. They were… they were talking. She couldn't make out the words, but she could hear the Bat's low growl, the Joker's high pitched tone. They stilled in a moment, and the Joker turned to look back to his makeshift work bench, set up in the corner opposite her. For the first time, Jess saw the time: midnight. How did midnight happen already?
It didn't seem to be good news for the Joker. He looked back out to the city, the Batman rumbled something low, and he growled in irritation, casting his weapon back behind him before fishing that detonator from his pocket.
Midnight. Perhaps the ferries' time was up.
The Batman was growling fiercely at the Joker, whose tone suggested he was disappointed for whatever reason. Jess scooted slowly over, the structure creaking horribly with every movement, so that she could see the side of the Joker's face, his makeup gleaming with sweat and moonlight. He had Batman lodged under a metal beam, she saw now, and his words traveled back to her, easier to hear when she watched his lips form them.
"You can't rely on anyone these days," he told the Bat. "You gotta do everything yourself, don't we? That's okay." He dug in his pocket, brought out the detonator. "I came prepared." For a moment, his eyes lifted to the city beyond, ponderous. "It's a funny world we live in," he said, then looked back to the hero. "Speaking of which, you know how I got these scars?"
"No," the Batman growled back. "But I know how you got these."
The next few seconds were a blur. The Dark Knight released some kind of hidden blade from his armored forearm which flew at the Joker, striking him in the face. He let out a cry of true surprise, mouth gaping, and Jess lurched forward reflexively, reaching out for him. At this movement, the scaffolding finally gave way beneath her. With a horrible metallic clang, one of the legs broke and she felt the platform tilt at the same time as the Batman grabbed the Joker by the collar and flung him headfirst over the ledge.
In a moment, Jess was falling, the Joker's dying laugh echoing in her ears. He was falling, too, she had time to think before she hit the solid surface a story below. He was falling, laughing, but his fall was much longer. He was exhilarated, ecstatic. He'd won. His death proved that.
Then her platform crashed into what she assumed was the top of the elevator a floor below. Jess landed hard on her side, felt her shoulder give way and snap out of joint, felt her hip pound mercilessly into the ground and her ribs creak. Her head was spared by her disjointed arm, but in those few seconds of ringing silence following the crash, Jess found she had no more strength. Nothing was left, besides the pain. She couldn't even move, just laid there covered in dust and plaster and broken beams and blood in an elevator shaft and thought about the fact that the greatest man she'd ever know was now a pile of guts on the sidewalk.
There were no windows on the wall she'd been facing on this floor, but even if there had been, she wouldn't have been able to see him fall. If she'd known… if she'd only known that glimpse of him would be her last… if she'd only known that forceful kiss he'd pressed on her would conclude the rest of them…
Jess started to sob, the heaving painful in her chest. Everything hurt, everything hurt so much. And she couldn't start to think… she couldn't even begin to accept…
"Dead." She found the word springing from her lips before she could think it, and it seemed to echo in the silence around. The world was darker… or perhaps now it had another hole in which to let that garish light. That horrible, all burning, all consuming radiance that devoured and destroyed the unknown, the chaos. The blanket of shadow was all that kept her safe, and now it had a gaping tear.
The Joker was dead. And Jess was done. She couldn't do this anymore, couldn't deal with this. She was going to die, too, and that would be far better than where she was. Perhaps her injuries were grave enough. She could only hope so.
There was this repulsive emptiness, a kind of numb shock sweeping over her, leaving her cold. Jess rolled over and vomited onto the beams beside her head, the pressure in her skull building to unspeakable volumes. And then came the anger. The Batman had done this. Didn't he care? He was supposed to be so good, so pure. Did he not care about her, about leaving her alone, about killing the man she loved? What kind of a fucking hero was he now?
The Joker had been right. He was a murderer, just like the rest of them. He had no fucking right to be doing what he was doing, with such hideous pretension, trying to show others the way. What kind of way could it possibly be if he was leading it?
She'd shoot him right in the fucking face if she ever saw him again.
But even that, she knew, wouldn't ease this loss.
Jess wished she was unconscious. She wished the fall had knocked her out. There was pain, too much pain, and it didn't distract at all from the pain in her heart, the sinking in her gut. He was gone. She'd never felt more cold, more alone. The Joker was dead.
"Jess?" It was a loud whisper, carrying from across the room, where someone had just poked his head through the stairwell door. "Holy fucking Jesus, I thought you'd been caught."
Jess didn't look up from the pile of puke on the floor, and tears kept dripping from her eyes. She could hear it was Billy, heard his footsteps rapid on the ground as he came to rescue her from the elevator shaft. Not that she needed it. She wanted to lay here forever, lost in pain and grief. That seemed like the only thing she could do. She just didn't have the strength for anything else anymore.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Billy was asking as he knelt by her. He touched her uninjured shoulder, rolled her onto his back and saw the damage she couldn't. "Holy shit! Jess, what the fuck? What happened to you?" She didn't answer, just stared blankly up the shaft to the door above. She heard shouting up there. Why was everyone always shouting?
"Come on," Billy said, forcing his arm under her back and minding the pile of vomit. "Can you stand? We have to move, fast, or they'll find us too. I don't…" he gulped and pushed against her back. Slowly, reluctantly, Jess sat up, her bones screaming in pain. "I don't know how many they got but it doesn't look too good, Jess. The boss is totally MIA and they've called off the search." He hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her to stand beside him, but her hip gave way immediately and, with a cry of pain, she fell into him. Her leg hurt more than she'd ever experienced, and every brush of Billy's arm against her side was a spike of agony. She felt like a broken ragdoll, and Billy was still fucking talking.
"Have you seen him? How about Blake? Anyone else? We have to hurry. Christ you're limping bad. Anything broken? Are you okay?"
"Billy," Jess rasped, breathless, suffering and furious as she limped towards the stairs. "Will you just shut the fuck up?"
He did it without another question, halting when they got to the steps and hoisting her into his arms. Jess hated that he was carrying her, even touching her, but there was no way she'd make it down quickly enough without him. Billy was breathing heavily three flights later, but he was moving fast. They left the building and burst into the city night without meeting anyone—not another of the Twenty, a patient or a cop. It was a glorious burst of luck at the end of the worst day of her life.
And the Joker was dead.
Three men were waiting for them when they got back to the theater. They came through the emergency exit with Billy already shouting that it was them, was anyone else here and could they please fucking help him? They'd gotten a taxi seven blocks from the building—the place the Joker had breathed his last, Jess couldn't help but remind herself—and they'd been dropped off ten blocks from the theater. Billy was tired of lugging her, and Jess was in so much pain she couldn't focus on anything else. Her arm ached like nothing she'd ever experienced before, hanging lifelessly at her side. Trying to wiggle her fingers sent unpleasant shock waves all the way up to her shoulder, and every time she put any weight on her right leg, she felt like she wanted to faint. She was so exhausted. So exhausted.
Like a dream, through the darkness trudged Jackson, Keith, and Seth, alive and greatly shaken. The men started talking in hushed voices as Keith hoisted Jess into his arms and carried her back to the rec room. She could do nothing but bury her face in his shoulder, and then stare ahead when they sat her on the couch. None of them were paying much attention to her injuries—Seth had the foresight to prop her legs on a pillow—and all of them were nearly hysterical. They shot questions her way—whether she knew what had happened to the Bat, whether she knew what happened to the boss—but she couldn't talk about it. Not yet, possibly not ever. So she simply shook her head and kept silent. Keith sent her worried glances every once in a while, anxiety born of her strange behavior, but otherwise they left her alone and discussed what was going on.
It was an hour later, when they were debating what they should do, whether the Joker would come back or not, that Jess found she finally had to say something.
"He's not coming back." They were the first words she'd spoken to them that night, and they caused all four men to turn and gaze at her. Surprise crossed their faces first, then horror. Seth looked like he might be nauseous, his young face pale in the dim light. Billy leaned forward.
"You sure?" he said. Jess found she could nod, and none of them asked how she knew. She was grateful for that.
"He's gone," she got out. Jackson pursed his lips, ran a hand over his face, and slowly stood up to pace back and forth. He checked the clock on the wall.
"Two thirty five," he mused, then shook his head, his look suggesting he'd just made a very quick, very difficult decision. "Okay, get your shit. We're leaving."
"What?" Seth croaked, his voice cracking like a little boy. "Where? How do you know where to go?"
"The boss told me," Jackson said. "He said what to do if he ever…" He stole a quick glance at Jess, one she didn't miss but found she couldn't care about. That last word, the one he wouldn't say? It was died. The Joker, the man she loved, was dead. The Batman had killed him. "If he wasn't coming back. But we have to hurry, so go." Seth, Keith and Billy immediately nodded and headed out of the room. They were good, by now, at foregoing questions and just trusting the orders they were given.
"Jess," Jackson said softly, once they were alone, "let's get your stuff, okay?"
Jess let him lift her into his arms and carry her to her room, that tiny prop closet she'd grown quite fond of. She was losing that, too. She was losing the whole theater, this wonderful base with all its secrets and its costumes and its rats. Her home. Soon it would be as gone as everyone and everything else she loved.
Her clothes were tossed quickly into a garbage bag, which Jackson slung over his shoulder as Jess sat on her cot for the last time. Her fingers traced the pillow, darting underneath for a second and discovering soft paper. Withdrawing the object, which she'd quite forgotten about, Jess found that half-pill she'd hidden there—it seemed like ages ago. Suppressing the desire to take it and leave this world behind, Jess pocketed it. She'd need it later, she surmised. She was still going through shock, and if the real pain was worse than this torture, no drug in the world would be enough. But, by God, she could try them all.
Jackson wrapped his arm around her and helped her limp for the door. They met Billy, Seth and Keith in the hallway, all looking melancholy, with their bags and pillows piled in their arms. It looked like a group of sad children leaving summer camp, only they were burned and stained and tired. You almost had to laugh at it, it was so depressing. If Jess could ever laugh again, maybe she'd laugh at this.
They headed for the basement stairs, the door of which had been left ajar, which Jess thought, had she noticed earlier today, would have been a very bad omen. Hind-sight is 20/20, but the Joker always kept this door locked. She would have noticed. She should have.
Silently, they descended into the darkness. Jess reached out and flipped the light switch as they passed, illuminating the Joker's den, the newspapers on the walls, the desk scattered with papers and the remains of shredded blueprints. Apparently, he'd had a little forethought. All of his notes seemed to be destroyed, the pieces scattered across the ground. Honestly, it looked like he'd had fun there, tearing up the papers, tossing them around. A strong image stuck in Jess's mind, like a memory she'd never actually experienced, of the Joker twirling in his purple tails, fragments of his life's work spilling from his hands. She found she couldn't even cry anymore. This pain was more than tears.
The men stopped shortly to look at their boss's wall art, trace their fingers along the newspaper and muse about what it all meant. Jess touched the papers, too, remembering the time he'd forced her against them and whispered threats into her hair. Christ, they hadn't even been together then. They'd been enemies at one point. She'd hated him. How had she ever done that?
Shortly, Jackson ordered them to follow him deeper into the basement, winding his way around boxes and piles of junk. They stopped at a door, one Jess hadn't noticed the couple of times she'd been down here, set deep into a niche in the wall. It was metal, reinforced, with a solid steel handle. Jackson didn't even try to open it. Jess noticed a huge old keypad, clearly awaiting the code to unlock it, set into the concrete just right of the door. For a moment, everyone stood in silence.
"We have to wait until three," Jackson explained. "That's what he said. Anytime within the hour of three o'clock, am or pm, and then we can unlock it."
"Where does it go?" Billy asked.
"No idea. He just said to go through it. He said it went to a safe place."
They waited for ten minutes, anxious. Jess had to lean against the wall shortly, panting, her hip and shoulder absolutely killing her. When three o'clock rolled around, Jackson announced it with a clap of his hands.
"Okay," he said. "Jess, come here. Let's do this."
Not knowing what he expected, Jess came forward and stood shakily before the metal barrier. Everyone waiting for a few seconds for someone else to act, until Jackson cleared his throat.
"What?" Jess snapped back at him. "What do you want?"
"Well…" He said, a little sheepish. "Don't you have the code? I was told you have it."
A discombobulating sense of déjà vu overwhelmed Jess as she looked at the numbers on the pad, then, slowly, down to her arm. Hands shaking a little, she pulled back her long red sleeve to look at the writing there. It wasn't the hardest puzzle to solve. It was like he'd known he wasn't coming back.
Anxiety washed over her as Jess leaned forward and keyed in the code he'd written on her arm in Sharpie: 5377. The door clicked. Jackson pulled it open.
A gust of stale air blew through the entryway, pushing her hair back and causing a shiver to race up her spine. The room seemed to hum with a strange energy, tangible yet vague, and it took a few bracing breaths before Jess was able to step through and see what was on the other side.
The answer was disappointing. A continuation of the basement they'd just left—as dusty, dim and cluttered as the one before—awaited the five weary travelers. Jess felt vaguely nauseous on the other side, but when the door clicked close behind them and nothing else happened, the feeling passed. She hadn't known what she'd expected. It was simply more basement.
"Stairs," Keith pointed out. A light had been left on, a utility light in the corner, and it was enough to see the hulking set of steps across from them. Silently, the five of them made their way to it, Jess being helped up by Seth and Billy.
The theater beyond was much different than the one they'd known—far dustier for one thing, much more worn down. Beams of wood blocked every window, and filth and abandoned construction tools littered the lobby. The men grumbled about fucking secrets, and Jess had to wonder, too. Why would he lead them to an abandoned wing in their own base? How was this safer?
Keith saw it before anyone, crying out excitedly as he pointed to the ground. Looking now, clearly visible even through the layers of filth, was a huge green arrow in spray paint, pointing directly towards the emergency exit across the room. They headed for it immediately, somehow exhilarated by this discovery. It was like he was with them, guiding them. Seth reached the door first, waiting until they'd stopped behind him before taking a deep breath and pulling it open with a horrible squeal.
The burst of sunlight through the emergency exit startled Jess. It was three, three in the morning. What the fuck was going on?
Blinking, they filed through. It took a long moment for her eyes to adjust, and even longer to conceive of what was before her. The men stood stock still with her, mouths agape. She was sure the same feeling of horror had swept over all of them.
They stood in the dusty parking lot of an abandoned opera house, the sun high in the sky, surrounded by yards of metal fencing. Jess saw a string of traffic lights at the intersection across the way, but no cars traveled down this rarely-used road, nothing like the city they'd left behind. It was cold and crisp, late winter, and three vans were still parked there, dusty and abandoned. Before any of them had time to react, the door to the theater swung shut behind them. The handle had been ripped away. No Entry was sprawled across in black paint.
It wasn't mind-boggling, because it had happened before. At that moment, Jess was not confused. She was not scared or intrigued or excited. In fact, she'd never felt anything like the emotion ripping through her at that moment. There were no words to possibly describe it. Sinking to her knees, because she simply could not stand anymore, Jess began to cry.
She was home.
THE END