Chapter 2
Bruce Wayne gently opened the door to the hospital room and stepped inside.
Rachel lay still in her bed, white gauze covering the left side of her face. Bruce's heart raced as powerful waves of fear, anger, and grief filled him. He had to look away as his eyes became moist again. Suddenly the bouquet of flowers he was carrying seemed ridiculous, almost offensive. He briefly considered stepping out to toss them, when he heard her say: "Hello?"
Quickly composing himself, he closed the door behind him and came to her side. "Hi Rachel," he said with the softest tone of voice he could manage.
Her head lolled to the right, so that her bandaged face was visible. Rachel lifted her head fractionally, her right eye rolling up to look at him. "Bruce," she said, her voice somewhat slurred, her speech distorted by the fact that she could only move half her mouth. Bruce winced. She must be drugged, because of the pain.
He bent down so he was eye-level with her. Bringing up the flowers to her, he said: "For you." Bruce hoped his smile didn't look too forced.
Rachel didn't respond at first, then the right corner of her mouth twitched up in a slight half-smile. "Thank you, that's sweet." Her voice was flat, and the smile quickly disappeared. She did roll her head back up, staring up to the ceiling and sighing.
Bruce put the flowers aside and pulled a chair up to her bedside. "Are you in any pain?" he asked, his voice now serious.
"Not physically," she said, raising her left arm; Bruce saw the IV line. "I have enough morphine to put myself away for five years on Illegal Possession Grade One." Her arm fell limply. Bruce almost laughed; as jokes go that was one of Rachel's better ones. Whatever levity he felt then died upon her next words: "Is Harvey okay?"
Bruce did not respond at first. "Bruce, if he's dead, just tell me. Please don't lie to me anymore."
Her voice was neutral, which made it all the more stinging. "The firemen found nothing but unidentifiable remains. Gordon just told the press as I was coming in. I'm sorry."
Now Rachel rolled her head to the left, so that her bandages were not visible. She stared blankly outwards, her mouth hanging open slightly. She looked alarmingly catatonic, as if she had gone into a coma.
"Rachel, I'm so—"
"—They told us only one of us would make it, that they would have to choose between us," she said. "You chose to save me." She stared at him, the line of her mouth perfectly flat, searchingly… accusingly? It made him feel most uncomfortable.
"The Joker tried to trick us," Bruce responded. "He said you were at one place, Dent at another. I went to rescue Dent, and found you."
"I see." She closed her eye. Then it opened again. "But when you came in, you called out my name, I remember. You saw through his scheme, didn't you? When you were going for Harvey, you actually thought you would save me. Am I correct?" Again her voice was even in tone, yet somehow he felt like he was being given the third degree.
She's not only brave, but really smart, Bruce reminded himself. There was no point in further trying to obfuscate. "Yes. But when the Joker told me where you both were, my first instinct was to go where he said you were. I gave it a second thought, and decided he might be lying, so instead I went where he said Dent was." Having confessed, he felt a little better, but Rachel's gaze made him uneasy again. "It was more a desperate gamble than clever deduction."
"I see," she said again. "So you were going to rescue me regardless."
"Dent knew the risks when we decided to act, him, me, and Gordon," Bruce said, his voice suddenly strong with conviction.
"Did he know the risk when you told him to pretend he was you?"
Bruce's response was immediate: "We didn't plan that. I told him I was going to turn myself in, he objected. The next day, when I was about to step forward, he said he was the Batman before I could do so. Then I realized what he was up to: he was going to use himself as bait for the Joker."
"Yet somehow the Joker managed to kidnap both of us."
To his dismay, Rachel's grilling was starting to anger him. Tightly Bruce said: "The mob must have men on the inside. I don't know who." He paused; Rachel looked away, not saying anything. Suddenly he remembered the worst part of the whole thing. Bracing himself, he said: "Rachel, the Joker managed to escape from MCU."
Her head snapped back to stare at him, a look of horror on her face. "So now you're finally telling me Harvey died for nothing?" Bruce did not respond. Rachel tightly shut her eye and turned away, her jaw tightly clenched as if she were trying to keep herself from screaming. He wanted to say something, but was certain it would come out wrong, so he refrained.
After a while she finally opened her eye. "How… convenient for you, Brucie," she said in a sarcastic tone of voice, speaking slowly to emphasize each word. "I'm alive, Harvey's dead, and now we can have a normal life together just like you wanted."
Bruce was shocked by the accusation—and its implications. "That's not it! I mean, yes, I admit, I—care about you. I couldn't let him hurt you, even if it meant sacrificing Harvey. I hoped the police could get there in time, but they didn't. It happens. If I had decided otherwise, what then?"
"I'd be dead, and Harvey would be alive." This time her voice was not accusatory, but matter-of-fact. Maybe it's good for her to ponder the significance of that.
His anger at her was dismaying; again he forced himself to remain silent. She was quiet for a long time. When she spoke, her voice was disarmingly gentle: "Bruce, I have to tell you something. I loved Harvey." Bruce did not react. "Just before you came in, I told him… that… I agreed to marry him. If we made it…" She winced; a tear rolled down her cheek.
To his great surprise, Bruce did not feel hurt by the statement. A deathbed confession—why not, if you think you're going to die—
"—Don't misunderstand me," she said, her voice heavy with unmistakable grief. "At the party, he had proposed to me, but I told him I couldn't make up my mind then." She stopped, her mouth quivering. Her head thrashed from side to side as she tried to stop it.
Bruce came up to her and gently stroked Rachel's hair; she did not pull away. "I'm so sorry," he whispered.
"No, Bruce, you don't understand; just ask Alfred, I told him. Just ask him—" She could no longer hold back; Rachel broke down completely and openly wept. He cradled her head against his chest, and with unexpected vehemence she grabbed his jacket with her right hand. There was nothing to say, nothing to do but just be there for her.
After her cries came to an end, Bruce released her. "I know why you rescued me instead of Harvey," she said in a hoarse voice. "I can't say you were wrong, but I can't say you were right." She paused, then looked straight into his eyes. "Bruce, I still… care for you, deeply, but you have to give me space. I need time to grieve for Harvey. And there's no guarantees."
Despite her words, his heart soared. "I understand."
"Get him," she said, her voice cold again, but this time Bruce was in full agreement with the sentiment. "Stop him, don't let him hurt anyone else, ruin any more lives. Promise me, Bruce. Promise me!"
"The Joker won't hurt anyone else, I swear it."
Rachel smiled a bit, then lay back and closed her eye. He quickly left.
Bruce sat in the back of his car, lost in thought, silent, as Alfred drove back to the apartment.
"Alfred, your story with the bandit, did you ever catch him?"
"Yes, sir," he responded immediately.
"How?"
"We burned the forest down."
We had to destroy the village in order to save it. "Did you burn him as well?"
"No, Master Wayne, but it was very chancy; a lot of civilians lost their property, some almost lost their lives. If I had to do it again, I'm not sure I would."
"That doesn't help." Before Alfred could respond, Bruce said, "No offense, Alfred, it's just that… to stop the Joker, I might have to do some burning myself."
"And what would that be, sir?" Bruce did not respond; his thoughts were locked onto a very secret room, where very secret (and very illegal) things were happening. Do the ends justify the means? Never before had that dilemma been starker.
Alfred made a noncommittal noise, obviously taking the hint. He turned on the radio. "—Gotham officials have ordered a complete evacuation of all hospitals due to the Joker's threat."
"What?" Bruce snapped to attention. "Repeating the breaking news, the Joker has issued a threat to blow up a hospital if Coleman Reese, a Gotham attorney who claims to know the identity of the Batman, is not killed within the hour."
"Oh, crap," Bruce said. The facts quickly came back to him: Lucius had warned him than Reese had claimed to know that Bruce Wayne was the Batman. He had managed to subtly dissuade him, but there was no denying he was onto the secret, and something had to be done. With the Joker running loose, he had had no time to deal with it. Now, both problems had merged into a new and terrible one.
"Get us back to the hideaway ASAP," Bruce ordered. He began to think it through: The Joker doesn't want my identity revealed… because he wants me around, to continue to 'play' his little games. It became clear that putting people in a hopeless dilemma, where someone would have to make the awful choice of kill or be killed, was his modus operandi. Something that he gets a kick out of, he thought disgustedly.
"Why would anyone kill Mr. Reese just because this madman—" Alfred would not dignify calling the Joker by his nickname, "—threatens to blow up a hospital?"
"I was wondering myself—wait, of course, anyone with relatives in a hospital." Fear, truly the most powerful impulse of all. As they pulled up to the fence surrounding the underground lair, Bruce heard on the radio: "—Commissioner Gordon and several Gotham City police officers have just arrived at the station to take Mr. Reese into protective custody. There's a huge mob out here, I don't know if the police can keep them back—"
A terrible image came to mind: hundreds of ordinary citizens with loved ones in the hospital, people driven mad by the fear the Joker had spawned, desperately trying to kill a man in the forlorn hope that their loved ones would not be hurt—
—Bruce was hit by a thunderbolt. Loved ones—RACHEL! "Oh God, Alfred, what if this is another attempt on Rachel's life? She's at Gotham General, the Joker might be trying to kill her again!"
Alfred's face drained of color. "Let's go back to the hospital," Bruce said, "we have to protect her—"
"—Master Wayne, that may not be a good idea," Alfred interrupted.
"What do you mean? We have to go back!" Bruce said, anger—panic?—flooding him.
"Sir, he already suspects your alter ego is unusually involved with Miss Dawes. What if he sees you there, hovering over Rachel? Mister Reese would be the least of our problems."
The truth of what Alfred said froze Bruce with horror. If I go back, I endanger everyone—Alfred, Lucius. But if I don't go back, Rachel may be attacked. But he wasn't completely convinced: "You're right, Alfred, but the police will protect Mr. Reese. We have to—" Again he stopped, as yet another horrible thought occurred to him. "Alfred, we need to find out if any Gotham police officers have relatives in hospitals."
Alfred was horrified. "Surely a policeman would not commit murder—"
"—Alfred, this is Gotham City," Bruce muttered. "The police sold Dent and Rachel out. What do you think?" Alfred did not respond. "Right, you go and look up the information, then send it to Gordon. I'm going back to Gotham General to look out after Rachel—in costume, so you need not worry."
"What of Mister Reese, sir?"
Bruce froze. Can Gordon and his men protect Reese? Especially if some of his cops decide to take matters in his own hands? Given how bent so many in the force were, he had serious doubts. But protecting Rachel was the most important thing. The only thing that mattered now, he would admit to himself and to no one else.
"Gordon can deal with them." I hope. "You just get the information to them. Let's go." The two men raced inside.
Rachel Dawes awoke to pain.
It was searing, agonizing—she was burning again! She managed to stifle a scream. Clumsily, she slammed on the intercom button to call for a nurse. It didn't light up. Sweating, she gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the pain.
"Good afternoon, my dear."
Rachel suddenly realized there was someone else in the room. It was a red-haired nurse wearing a facemask. Behind it, her face was pasty white; it looked like she had placed the mask over a facial. She said quickly: "Nurse, my pain medication isn't working—"
"—I know, I cut it off for your own good." She tugged at her hair; it came off, like a wig, revealing strands of scraggly blond-green underneath. "Take it from me—" she removed her facemask, her voice suddenly husky "—it's good scratch dealing it, but never get hooked on the junk."
The Joker was standing there, dressed absurdly in a nurse's outfit, grinning at her. Rachel screamed.
"Pleasure to make your acquaintance again, Miss Dawes," he said pleasantly. As he approached her, Rachel desperately thrashed about, trying to get out of bed. She couldn't; she was restrained. "Don't worry, I'm not going to harm you—not too much, anyway!"
She jerked violently away as he stroked her right chin. "Let's see how you're doing." He ripped off her bandages; Rachel cried out in pain. He was beaming: "Wonderful! I love your new look!" He grabbed a pocket mirror and held it before her face.
She almost vomited at the sight of herself: her right side was unblemished, but the left side of her face was a shredded, blackened horror. Her eyelid had been removed, so a naked eyeball, terrifyingly white, stared back at her. Most of her cheek was gone, as was the lips; her teeth were showing, all the way to the gums.
"It's like a makeover from hell," the Joker said admiringly. He pulled up a chair and sat on her left side. "We need to talk."
Rachel spat at him and turned away. Shrugging, he grabbed what was left of her hair and tugged; painfully her head was jerked to the left side. "It's not polite to look way when conversing with someone else," he said reproachfully, wagging a finger. He had pulled out a revolver, idly holding it with his left hand. He released her; she kept her head where it was.
"We don't have much time, so I came here because I wanted to clear things up between us." He licked his lips.
"Go ahead and kill me, I don't care anymore." She hoped it sounded like she meant it.
The Joker rolled his eyes. "Why does everyone always say that to me?" He shook his head, then giggled. "Oh, right, uh, never mind that. The point is, it wasn't personal with Harvey Dent, it was strictly business. You can't hate somebody for trying to make a living, times are tough all over as you know. Besides, I didn't actually kill him, the Batman did!"
Her fury became as great as her pain. "Harvey died because you left them no choice but for one of us to die," Rachel said with all the hatred she could muster.
"Exactly, the Batman chose to save Harvey Dent, and as a result he died. Sounds like murder to me!" The Joker went on: "Actually, I think things worked out for the best, don't you? After all, you're alive, and now you and the Bat can be together. Isn't that swell?"
Rachel was horrified and disgusted at his words, for the right and wrong reasons. The pain from the ruined part of her face was such that she could hardly concentrate, but somehow she found the strength to marshal her thoughts. "There's nothing going on between us." Rachel knew otherwise, but would never admit it to this creature, not even at the cost of her own life.
The Joker smiled, a hideous double-grin. "You can lie better than that, dear. I know the Caped Cuckholder has a thing for you." He rubbed his own cheeks, grimacing. "He gave me a workover, but I hit him where he lived. No guy loses it over a chick like that unless the feeling's mutual. It's why I always say: women, if you can't live with them, you can always kill them." Rachel almost spat at him again, but the gun waving about in his hand deterred her.
He approached her. "You're so pretty, so prim and proper. That's good for girls, but not guys. Dent was just a pretty boy, anyway. You really think he would keep you around 'forever'?" He said the last word with a mock-dreamy tone. "No, like all men, he's a pig, and the best you could hope from him was to have a nice little two-story house in BoringTown, USA, with a couple of brats to show off to the press. While he climbs the ladder of power, who knows how many other chicks he'd have climbed along the way, just to forget about coming back to you, when you're no longer so pretty." He gestured like he was cradling a baby, swinging his arms madly back and forth. "After bearing his spawn, he'd have dumped you in no time flat for the newest cookie-cutter blond out of Hollywood, or someone with real money and connections. Remember, they never show the first wife at political rallies."
The Joker was leering at her like nothing she had ever seen or experienced. "No, far better to embrace the bad boys from the start! A guy like Batman, for example, a man after my own heart—sure, he's not exactly Mister Dad-material, but you know he'll give you a good time when you want it, when you need it. Let me guess, he's fugly under that mask, right? No problem, while he's doin' his thang he wears the mask—or maybe the whole costume, eh?" He laughed. "I guess it is a shame Dent's dead, because then you could have had two for the price of one. Ah, no matter, Harvey Dents are dime a dozen, trust me. The next one you find—let's call him Harvey Two—he'll probably be a sick freak like me, only with better makeup. Betcha Harvey Two would get off on seeing you and the Batman—in costume, of course. Or even better: Harvey Two might be willing to dress up too, and then you could be the meat in a BatSandwich! HA! HAHAHAHAHA!"
As much as she tried to stall for time until Bruce could get here, she could no longer take his verbal violations. "When you killed Harvey Dent, you didn't just slay Gotham's District Attorney, you murdered my fiancée, my only hope for a family. Only a delusional nut who dresses like a clown and mutilates himself could think there's something between me and Batman." Rachel fully expected to die in the next ten seconds; it no longer mattered to her.
The Joker pulled back and began scratching his chin, a puzzled look on his face. Rachel was trying to process his reaction when suddenly he hurled himself at her. Inches form her face, close enough for her to see every bump and scar on his face, his yellowed teeth, tongue flicking like a snake with spittle hitting her. Lasciviously he said: "Well, then, how about a little you and me?"
Rachel took a deep breath and closed her eye, trying to prepare herself for a fate worse than death, then death itself. But the Joker stepped away. "You're sending out mixed signals, Rachel," he sniffed. "Batman and I, we're peas in a pod. Why won't you give me a chance?" He was pouting.
Rachel tried not to say anything, but couldn't restrain herself: "Batman and you are day and night. You have nothing in common with him."
"No, no, no, no, Batman and I are two sides of the same coin." The Joker pirouetted in place for emphasis. "The only difference is he hasn't taken the final step. Once he realizes the only way to get what you want in this world is to do whatever the hell you feel like, and not give a damn otherwise, he'll be free. He'll be happy! Then we can really play!"
Rachel thought she saw a chink in his armor. "Batman is about justice. All you care about is your own gratification. Who was it that screwed you over so badly to make you the freak you are? Maybe you should learn to let go."
The Joker frowned, an incongruous look considering his painted scar-smile. Then he suddenly laughed. "Justice? JUSTICE? My God, that's a terrible joke! Now, I'm no fancy-pants lawyer like you or Harvey, but, uh, isn't Batman, like, breaking the law being a vigilante, spying on and beating up people—hell, kidnapping them from other countries! Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?" There was look of mock outrage of him. "And like, aren't you his accomplices, 'cause you know about it but don't try to stop him? Doesn't that make you—like—criminals?" He cackled with mad glee.
The Joker leaned in closer. "Believe it or not, Rachel, I believe in the truth," he said unnervingly softly. "I show people the truth. And the truth is, deep down, Batman is all about revenge. Like you. Like everyone else when the chips are on the table. You let the Batman play because you know you can't get what you want playing by someone else's rules. Which is no surprise; only losers play by someone else's rules. If you want to be a winner, you either make the rules, or break them."
Rachel hoped it was the pain that was scrambling her thoughts, because what he said was starting to make an alarming bit of sense. She responded forcefully: "I'm sorry you think that way."
The Joker nodded. 'Well, no one ever said it was easy being right. The Batman, bless his black heart, didn't learn the lesson. So maybe you'll be a better student." He took out his revolver; Rachel flinched. Smiling, the Joker flipped it around and placed the handle in her right hand. Shocked, she involuntarily grabbed it. He put both of his hands over hers, forcing her to put a finger on the trigger. Then he raised the gun up and placed his head against the barrel.
"Time to see whose rules win—yours or mine." He grinned like the devil. "I killed that fat slob pretending to be Batman myself—carved him a nice new smile, yes I did. Blew up Judge Surillo, sent Commissioner Loeb to hell. More pigs than I can count—six, no, better make that an even dozen. I turned your star witness Lau into roasted Chinese pork—mmm!—on a pile of his own money. Who else, who else," he mumbled, "ah yes, a bunch of my associates, no need to bother you with those details. And for the grand finale, I killed Harvey Dent—twice! First Harvey/Dent, then Harvey Dent, who, as you said, was your fiancée and family."
Rachel was numbed by his litany of carnage. "I offer you the most precious gift in the world: revenge. All you have to do is squeeze that little finger of yours, and you'll do what the Batman couldn't, what Dent couldn't, what Gordon and the whole mob couldn't. You'll be a hero, you'll have your revenge, and all for the low low price of breaking one little rule that never made sense in the first place." He pulled back his hands, holding them above his head.
She said nothing. "Just to let you know, if you don't pull that trigger, I'm walking out of here, and a whole bunch of innocent people are going to be very sorry. When you go to their funerals, their loved ones are not going to like hearing why you didn't take the chance. Remember, I'm a man of my word." His voice was terrifyingly conversational; who could doubt he would carry out his threat?
Her index finger twitched slightly. The Joker saw it, but did not react in the slightest. He continued to smile. "If I pull this trigger," Rachel said, "it will be for justice, not revenge." Suddenly she felt dirty; it was the wrong thing to say anything, to even attempt to argue with the Devil himself.
The Joker was smiling from ear to ear. "You're getting there. In case you forgot, revenge is so much better than justice! Like they say, 'It's about crushing your enemies, seeing them driven before you, and hearing the lamentations of their women'. I speak from personal experience." He paused. "Justice is revenge by someone else's rules, not all that satisfying. Revenge is justice by your rules. Much better!" He said those words in a dreamy, almost reverential tone of voice.
Off in the distance, Rachel heard the faint whine of a siren. The Joker said: "Now or never, Rachel. You can be either the heroine or the villainess, it's your choice."
Rachel stared at the Joker. Her finger twitched again, ever so slightly pressing on the trigger. Again the Joker showed absolutely no sign of fear, instead smiling and humming the countdown music to Jeopardy. Her face curled into a rictus of hate, caused as much by the terrible pain as her righteous anger at all the crimes the Joker had committed. All I have to do is be a murderer, and it all ends.
Then she looked once more into the monster's eyes. No, not a monster—a person. Disgusting, perverted, sociopathic, maybe even just plain evil… but still, in the end, a person.
Her arm trembled, then she released the pistol, which landed with a soft thud in front of her. Finally at peace, despite the pain, she said wearily: "Play your little games with someone else."
The Joker slapped his hand against his forehead, shaking his head and looking at her with exasperation. "All right, we'll have to do this the hard way." He picked up the pistol, then went behind her, unlocking the bed. He lifted it up and began wheeling it away, out the room and down the corridors, which were completely empty.
"Now what?" she asked, trying to sound bored, which she wasn't, and not frightened, which she was.
"Well, it's the bottom of the ninth inning. First the Batman struck out, then you. Time for the citizens of Gotham to step up to the plate." He paused to look at her, smiling. "And you'll be the pitcher."
Rachel was completely baffled by his words, so she said nothing in response. They passed by the visitor's lounge, where a television was blaring: "—but still, no sign yet that the Joker has carried out his threat against a hospital."
"What are they talking about?"
"Oh yeah," the Joker said as they passed out the front doors. "I phoned in and threatened to blow up a hospital unless the people of Gotham killed this man who knew Batman's identity." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cellphone. "Sounds like the people of Gotham did what I wanted. But I'm not finished playing with the Batman just yet."
Rachel was horrified. "Don't—"
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! "Too late, I just did." The Joker pushed her bed with greater urgency, as the walls of Gotham General Hospital blew out, spewing flaming debris all around them.
"But why—"
"—blow up the hospital if they did what I want? Because everyone now plays by my rules," the Joker said simply. "And my rules are no rules." Rachel was too stunned to reply. She could only hope that everyone had been evacuated before the Joker destroyed the hospital.
They were heading towards a school bus; to the side she could see the massive pile of smoldering rubble that had once been Gotham General. Someone helped lift the bed inside, and the bus sped away. As it did so, the Joker took out his pistol and fired into the roof of the bus—everyone but Rachel screamed. She did not cry out because she was more afraid than she ever imagined.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the Joker said, "there's been a change of plan."
Batman arrived to see the last bits of Gotham General Hospital explode and collapse. "NO!"
He raced over to a policeman who had been crouching behind his squad car. He screamed: "Where's Rachel Dawes?"
The policeman continued to have a stunned look on his face as he stared at the wreckage, but rapidly recovered. "I believe we wheeled her out a while ago to one of the buses."
"Where did the bus go?"
"I'm not sure—I think intensive care patients were sent to St. Mary's Sacred Heart in the Marina District, I believe."
Batman looked around. There were mostly emergency personnel about, many of them still shocked into paralysis by the destruction of the hospital. He did not see any patients around, which brought a small amount of relief.
That relief instantly turned to panicked rage when he arrived at St. Mary's and found Rachel—along with a whole bus of doctors, nurses, and patients—was missing. Cursing at the Joker was so meaningless compared to the harm he had done and might do, he didn't even bother. "Gordon," he said tersely into his communications device. There was no response. After several tries, he gave up and headed back to Alfred.
"Alfred, I can't get in touch with Gordon, do you have any information?"
"One moment," Alfred replied. "Alright, apparently not long ago the police vehicle escorting Mr. Reese downtown was attacked by several civilian vehicles."
Batman's heart sank. "What happened?"
"Just a second." There was a pause. "I'm watching the reports from the media. Apparently one of the police officers tried to shoot Reese, but was stopped. I relayed to the Commissioner the names of several officers who had family in hospitals. Perhaps they were able to timely act on the information." Another pause. "Unfortunately… the vehicle was then rammed by the civilians… Mister Reese is… hold on… okay, he's now being reported as 'dead at the scene'… and the Commissioner is being taken to a hospital for critical injuries. I'm sorry, sir."
Batman was beyond outrage—by this point, the horrors had made him almost numb to everything. "Understood," he said in a weary, almost defeated tone. "I'm coming back now." Fighting back fear for Rachel's safety, he tried to muster energy for the battles to come.
He just didn't know if there was anything left to draw on.