“It can be done, Batman, but I do not think it should be a matter of ‘Can it be Done?’ as much as ‘Should it be done?’”
“It’s what’s best for him.”
“How would you know that?”
“Once he knows he no longer is radically different from everyone, then it could prove to be a breakthrough for him.”
Batman stood in front of Dr. Arkham atop the police department. Arkham had called for a meeting with the crime fighter to discuss his opinion on him taking the Joker under his wing. It obviously was not a pleasant one.”
“Look, ever since you started having sessions with him, all he’s done is clam up and stare blankly into space with an angry look. That tends to concern us. Who knows what he could be plotting?”
“Perhaps he isn’t plotting anything, doctor. Perhaps he is reconsidering his station in life.”
“Not very likely, in my opinion. We’ve spent time around him, and...”
“Oh, and I haven’t? Look, I’m the one who always throws him on your doorstep by the scruff of his neck. I’m the one who spends time with him. You people inject him with sedatives, and shove meals through the slot of his door, and even then, it seems like you people can’t keep him within your four walls for a matter of a few weeks. Don’t tell me who spends time with him.”
Arkham gave him a look of disapproval. He didn’t like being shown up.
“That man has destroyed my building. He shut down my life’s work. I had been guiding the mentally ill in that building since probably before you were born. Forty years of my life, he’s taken. All I want is justice.”
“And justice is all I’m asking. For you. For me. For him. For everyone. We all need a moment of reckoning, Dr. Arkham. Now is the time.”
Arkham furrowed his brow, and then sighed.
“You have my approval. Our operating room is at your disposal.”
--
Batman and Joker looked at each other through the three-inch glass.
“Hello, Jack.”
Joker didn’t respond.
“How are you feeling?”
“Peachy.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Have you done anything of interest lately?” Batman struggled to sound like he wanted to carry on a conversation with him.
“Well, yesterday I sat in my cell all day, and today isn’t shaping up to be too much different, you idiot.”
“I see.”
“Do you?”
“I have big plans today, Jack.”
Joker didn’t respond.
“We don’t have an actual session planned today. We’re just going to help you out a bit.”
“What the hell are you babbling about, and stop speaking to me like I’m sort of retarded child.”
Batman pressed the button on the com on his table and then spoke into it. “You can come in now.”
Three guards came in and took hold of the Joker’s stretcher.
“What the hell is going on, Batman. Who the hell do you think you are?!? If these monkeys lay one finger on me, so help me God, you will pay dearly.”
With that, Joker was gone.
--
Joker was injected with a powerful sedative, something he was used to. They unfastened the restraints, and lowered him onto an operating table. His senses were beginning to become hazy. He saw the doctor’s going about their business above him.
“Is the patient sedated?
“Yes.”
“Nurse, the melanin prompters. We’re going to need a whole hell of alot of them.”
Then he fell asleep.
--
Bruce Wayne kneeled by his bed in his room. He was praying. He had made a big decision. It would either cure the situation, or worsen it completely. It was in God’s hands now.
--
Joker awoke in his cell. His head pounded. What had they done to him. He sat up in bed. Rubbing his forehead, he looked over to his sink. He caught a glimpse in the mirror. He felt his blood run cold. Slowly, he got up and walked across the dark room.
His reflection became more and more clearly visible. His lips trembled.
Gone, was the shocking bright white complexion, replaced by a healthy tanned skin tone.
Gone, was the lime green hair, replaced by light brown strands.
Gone, were the ruby red lips, replaced by a perfectly normal pinkish hue.
Gone, were the intense eyes of the mentally lost, replaced by the warmth of the streaming tears of sanity.
--
IX.
He sat in a chair in his cell, clutching his cup of coffee. His hands were shaking uncontrollably, and he had huge bags under his eyes. He shook his head very slightly back very slightly while he rocked in his seat.
Last evening, he was ‘The Joker: Evil Cunning Extraordinaire.’
This afternoon, he was ‘Jack Napier: Nervous Wreck.’
Commissioner Gordon had spent all morning mustering the courage to go in the room with him, and then finally he entered.
“Uh... how.. er, how are you holding up there, uh, son?”
“Kill me... Kill... My God, I don’t deserve the... kill me.” Not for the first time that day, he began to weep.
--
Gordon sat in his office, filling out some forms on the status of Napier. There was a gush of wind. The Commissioner looked up to see Batman standing by the window sill.
Gordon didn’t seem one bit surprised that he was there. “So... what brings you here?”
“Cute.”
“I do my best here. Somebody’s gotta tell the bad jokes in this town. That job became an opening just this past evening.”
“What happens to him now?”
“What do you mean? So he’s sane now. Great, grand, wonderful. Give him a ****ing medal. He’s still in custody for countless homicides.”
Batman looked out the window. “I want to get him tried for parole.”
Gordon shot up from his seat. “What?!? On what grounds?!?”
“A plead of insanity.”
“Don’t insult my intelligence, Batman. What jury would let him go?”
“Then what harm would it do, Jim?”
Gordon turned around and looked at his Police academy diploma.
“Y’know, not to long after you were made public knowledge, I got the job that resides behind this desk. Since the very first day, I’ve pulled strings for you. Ones not even you know about. And in all those years, this is the first time I’m gonna tell you ‘No.’ Not this time, my friend. This is a bridge that I refuse to cross. Even I have my...”
Gordon turned to face him.
“...limits.”
Batman wasn’t there.
Gordon slumped back down into his chair and gave off a sigh. “Y’know one of these days, I’m gonna turn around, he’s gonna be there, and its gonna give me a heart attack.”
--
Batman stood atop one of Gotham’s twin towers. His cape flapped forward into the air, as he looked down upon the city from the skyscraper. The city went along with its life, unknowing and uncaring. The Dark Knight was lost in deep thought.
A strong breeze whipped around him. It was cold and familiar. Someone walked up behind him. He didn’t need to look back. He knew well ahead of time who it was.
“I just heard this morning.”
Batman didn’t turn around. “How?”
“The prestige have their way of finding out things. Its their job. Anything for a good scoop.”
“And, here, I thought you were supposed to be the ‘straight arrow’ out of all of us.”
“The night job isn’t what puts food on my table, Bruce. I need to make a living somehow.”
“I want to have him tried for parole under a plea for insanity.”
“Really?!?”
“I just think he might need a little reckoning.”
“What got into you? You almost sound like there’s a soul behind the eyeholes of that ridiculous mask.”
“Now don’t you start.”
“Sorry.”
“What do you think of my situation?”
“Well...” a deep breath, “I don’t think its a good one. You’re either going to be greatly victorious and then feel wonderful about it the rest of you life, or you’re going to fall flat on your face, Bruce.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. Never took you for a cynic.”
“Well, I’m learning. Or maybe just spending too much time around you.”
“I’d choose the latter.”
“So would I. Look, not too toot my own horn, but I’d hate to think of what could be going on back home without me. Whatever happens, just give me a call. I assume you know my phone number. You’d make your business to, right?”
“Right.”
Then, faster than a speeding bullet, Batman was alone again.
--
The gavel came swiftly came down, making a sound that echoed throughout the courtroom.
The court had an impatient look in his eye. “Court is now in session. In the case of ‘The People v. Jack Napier’, we are prepared for opening statements.
“Mr. Napier, how do you plea.”
Bruce Wayne arose from his seat beside Jack.
“Not guilty, your honor. My client would like to plead insanity.” Bruce sat back down.
“I would?” Jack spoke softly. He whispered to Wayne. “Mr. Wayne, I appreciate you defending me and all, but I really, really, just don’t deserve any of this. I need to be put away where no one can ever find me. I—“
“Quiet. This is what’s best for you, Jack.”
“Please stop saying that.”
“Look, the Batman referred me to this case, and frankly, I sympathize with you. You deserve deliverance, Mr. Napier.”
“I deserve much, much worse.”
“Shh.”
--
The lawyer from the other side of the courtroom stood.
“Your Honor, I’d like to call to the stand, Mr. Martin DeBurgie.”
A short, slightly overweight man made his way to the stand. His eyes were tired, and his beard was shaggy. He seemed almost frightened to be there.
The guard let the shaken man into the stand. A Bible was put in front of him. “Mr. DeBurgie, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. DeBurgie, please describe the incident involving Mr. Napier.”
He looked confused and frightened at first, but then he took a deep breath and spoke.
“Three years ago, uh, my fifteen-year-old daughter was coming to Gotham from Oregon for the Christmas Holiday. You see, she lives with her mother. I hadn’t seen her in about four years. I had finally won a court settlement that let me have visitation privileges.
“I went to meet her at the bus stop. When I pulled into the parking lot, there were police cars, ambulances, sirens and lights blaring. I... I, I went to the building, but, but the officer wou—wouldn’t let me in. I told him I supposed to meet my daughter.”
Tears began rolling down his face.
“My daughter... he... that monster... he... my little girl...”
The lawyer raised his hand, signaling for him to stop. “The defense rests, your Honor.”
“Mr. Wayne, your stand.”
“No further questions, your honor.”
Napier whispered, “I don’t remember that.”
“What?” Wayne whispered back.
“I don’t remember that at all.”
“They caught you red-handed.”
“I don’t doubt it, but I don’t remember a single, solitary detail about it. I’ve killed so many, Mr. Wayne, and none of it was significant to me. It was just casual. My God.
--
For the first time in the day, Bruce Wayne began to sweat. The day had not been going well.
One after another, the friends and family of the Joker’s victims came forward. Some angry, some crying, all with hate in their eyes.
“Your witness, Mr. Wayne.”
Bruce hat an ace up his sleeve, however.
“The defense calls to the stand, former District Attorney, Mr. Harvey Dent.”
X.
The courtroom door opened. There stood four armed officers, and in the middle of them, a handcuffed and uniformed Two-Face. On his right side, his face appeared tired, but pleasant. The left side, however, did not seem to look as if it wanted to be there.
The officers led him to the stand. Harvey sat down and made himself comfortable. A Bible was put in front of him.
“Harvey Dent, do you sw—“
“Two-Face.”
“Pardon?”
“Ahem... Two-Face, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
Two-Face looked at them awkwardly for a moment. He scowled and then reached into his pocket. With a flick of his fingers, his coin was in the air and then landed back in his hand. He looked at it for a moment.
“Sure.”
Bruce Wayne stood up in his seat. “Harvey, I know you’ve h—“
“Two-Face. My name is two face. Harvey isn’t here.” His graveled voice sent a chill down all their spines.
Bruce furrowed his brow. He breathed then spoke again. “Two-Face, this subpoena was for Harvey Dent. With your blessing, may we speak with him?”
Once again his coin was in the air and landed back within his palm.
“Yes?”
His voice was no longer the graveled sound from before. It was pleasant and soothing. Harvey Dent was behind the wheel now.
“Harvey, we’re aware that you had been in contact with Joker on numerous occasions, correct?”
“Yes.”
“What is your personal opinion of Mr. Napier?”
“I don’t know ‘Mr. Napier’. I know the Joker.”
“Your opinion of him, then.”
“A monster. A person so foul that I, myself, am afraid to be around him. He is without reason. I am not a good man, by any accounts, but even now, simply looking at him curdles my blood. He is insanity shaped like a man.”
“And what is your opinion of his alleged rehabilitation.”
“When I heard it. I dismissed it. In both of my minds, there was no probable way I could comprehend it to be true.”
“Is that all?”
“No. I look at him now, and I see the tormented and aged look upon his face. Its a look I’m not unfamiliar with. I see it every day in the right side of my cell mirror. It’s the face of a man desperately fighting demons that rip away at his insides with razor-sharp claws out a daily bases.” He let out a sigh. “If he is rehabilitated, then I think he, more than anyone on the damn planet, deserves reconciliation for the years that he has been lost. And given the chance, I would throw myself to be first in line to offer it to him. It is the calmness of the soul that I, myself, long for so intensely, but will never find. He has my every blessing.”
Bruce looked at Harvey with understanding eyes.
“No further questions, your Honor.”
--
Bruce walked down the winding staircase of the Batcave. The court had been called to recess while the jury were excused to reach a verdict.
He heard a commotion coming from inside the cave. Dick was training. He turned a corner and saw Dick giving various blows to the stuffed dummies that he had positioned all around him. There was something different about his actions, however. They were overly aggressive, filled with hatred. There was something wrong.
Dick caught glimpse of Bruce as he walked closer. Dick let out a loud growl and jumped in the air performing a very impressive roundhouse kick. He landed back on the ground, and, not too long afterward, so did the severed heads of three dummies.
“Bad day?” Bruce offered.”
“Screw you?”
“What’s up your ass?”
Dick grabbed a towel and began patting off his sweat.
“You! You are! How could you side with him. How in a million years could you ever support him?”
“Look, Dick, he’s—“
“Rehabilitated. Yeah, I know, I know. I’ve already heard that part. But after how much pain he’s caused us; this city, there’s no way he deserves to walk.”
“Dick—“
“Save it, Bruce. God, just save it.”
Dick threw his towel down.
--
This was the moment that the entire country was anticipating. Camera crews from at least two dozen news sources were in attendance.
After a while, the jury filed in and took their seats.
The judge spoke. “Have you reached a verdict?”
One man of the jury stood. “We have, your Honor.”
--
Dick sat watching the television at Wayne Manor. His hands were folded and his eyes were fixated on the television.
--
The jury member looked at his paper and recited what was written. “In the case of The people v. Jack Napier, we find the Defendant, Jack Napier, not guilty.”
--
Dick buried his face and his hands. He got up from his seat walked to the door, grabbed his coat, and, with the slam of the door, he was no longer in the picture.
XI.
The huge steel gates mechanically whirred and then opened. Jack Napier had a suitcase in either hand. He stepped forward through to the parking lot. Usually, the guards would pat the recently freed on the back and wish them good, luck, but right now, the guards seemed to want to keep their distance.
He stepped into the blinking sunlight of freedom.
--
Bruce Wayne sat up in his bed, unable to sleep. When he had come home after the trial, he found a note from Dick that had been left on the screen of the computer in the cave.
“Bruce-
No more. I can’t take this anymore. I can’t seem to figure you out no matter how hard I repetitively try. One moment you have no love for a sociopathic psychopathic murderer. The next moment, you’re trying to get him to walk amongst the innocent.
I’ve taken what I need. I figured one day, sooner or later, this would happen. I had some friends, and I had some connections. If Barbara or Tim need anything, they can come look for me in Bludhaven. Tell them that. As for you, call Superman, because I could care less. Leave me alone, Bruce. I don’t want to be sought out by you. I am not some child who needs coddling. I am no longer under your wing, old man. And, so help me God, if I find out that you took any aggression out on Tim or Barb, I will come back and snap your fucking neck.
I can no longer understand you at all. For that reason, you present as much threat to me as any villain I’ve ever encountered.
I hope you realize what you’ve done to us. And, in the end, no one will be your alias anymore. You’ll have to hire some kid to hang around your house and play Batman with you. No one else would bother to come close.
-Dick”
Bruce didn’t get any sleep at all that night.
--
Jack was set up by his parole officer in an apartment in some half-way house called ‘The Brewer.’
There were people in the city who actually supported him. Inside his apartment were fruit baskets, balloons, and other assorted bric-a-brac. ‘Takes all kinds,’ He thought to himself.
He set his suitcases on the bed and opened them. He looked through all the new clothes that were given and donated to him. He could tell from the moth-ball smell that most them had come from the garage sales, and the nickel bins down at the Goodwill, but beggars can’t be choosers. It was good start.
He almost expected to see it in there. He was near compulsive about it. He took everything out of the suitcases and then put them back in, and then did it all over again. For nearly twenty years, it had been in every suitcase he had ever used, but it wasn’t there. He breathed an audible sigh of relief. No purple tuxedo anywhere to be seen.
--
Jim Gordon thought to himself.
Goddammit.
This town wasn’t what it used to be. It wasn’t cop’s town anymore. The Joker walked the streets. Batman put him there. Batman. Lord, God, Sonny Jesus.
Now, at this point it would be normal to think that Jim was contemplating stepping down as the police commissioner. That was not true at all.
Gordon made the decision to quit his post at about 3:00 that afternoon. Now, he was contemplating if signing the recommendation on his desk in front of him was the right thing to do.
The possible replacement had everything it needed to be a good and effective police force commissioner. Young, stern, a no-nonsense attitude. They had just reached the age of eligibility two months prior.
He signed it. In doing so, he condemned the only person he loved left to the turbulent life he had tred to that point.
Goddammit.
--
Jack looked through all of the gifts given to him by supporters. He found a book entitled ‘The Hitchhikers’ Guide to the Galaxy’.
He sat down to read it. He had never sat down to read a book before. At least, not in recent memory. He found it quite enjoyable. A good book.
Then he heard a voice. It was familiar, yet somehow strangely foreign. He was in shock as it spoke to him, or, rather, through him.
“I’m still here, you know.”
XII.
Barbara walked down the stairs of the cave with an envelope in her hand. Her father had handed it to her just an hour before. She had fainted when she read what was written inside.
Bruce was blindfolded. He thrust a batarang forward. 84 yards away, the weapon contacted with and chipped of a stalagmite about 1 foot wide.
“Still got it.”
“Wow. Impressive. You can still do that after all these years, huh?”
He grinned and took off the blindfold.
“It’ll probably go as soon as the gray hair sets in.”
“My, uh, my dad gave me an envelope.”
“Important, I take it?”
“A little. Here.”
Bruce took the letter from her extended hand. His quick and experienced eyes soaked it in.
“Commissioner? Are you going to except?”
“I, I- I, uh don’t think so. I mean what about what I’m doing here?”
“You’d have to choose. I’d respect any decision you’d make, but you’d be sorely missed here. It’d be just me and Tim.”
“I know. I know.”
Bruce started walking away.
“Where are you going?”
“I have a few errands to run tonight.”
--
“How? Why weren’t you there before? In court, why?”
“Please. If I had made any signs of still being prevalent within your ‘goody goody’ psyche. They’d of locked me back up and never given me the chance I have now.”
“They must have fought you off. Why would you have left me at all?”
“God, would you look in the mirror?! You’re me! Me with a tan! There is no Jack Napier within my equation, boyo. You’re a hopeful daydream of the common public. Yes, while they’re are those who still remain weary at your integrity, but countless have breathed a sigh of relief in vain. They think my threat is gone from the city. They’ll find out. They’ll see. No one’s safe from my punchline. Least of all, you.”
“I’ll tell them! How can you keep me from giving out your secret?”
“Right now? I can’t. But enlighten me, Jackie-boy, are you really willing to sacrifice your physical freedom? If you rat me out like the rat you are, it’ll be you the lock up. Not me.”
Jack looked around, frightened.
Joker smiled wryly. “See you around, kiddo. Things to plan.”
Then Jack was all alone. He was left with his thoughts. At least, he hoped they were his.
--
Barbara walked into the kitchen of her house. Her father was sitting at the table reading the paper and drinking his coffee. He had an overly tired look in his eyes.
“Dad, I need to talk to you about your... job offer.”
“Have you decided already, hon?”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“I can’t do it, Pop.”
Jim let out a disappointed sigh. “Okay, but why not?”
“I- I, I can’t. Its a little complicated.” She breathed out a frustrated sigh. “Screw it. I’ll just show you.” Barbara began unbuttoning her blouse.
Jim got a scared look on his face, “Um, Barb, if you have a tattoo, I’m sure you could just as well tell me about it!”
“No, Dad, nothing like that!” She laughed.
As she undid the last button, Jim noticed another layer of black clothing under her top. Black, with some sort of a yellow symbol.
--
Jack Napier was on the roof of the boarding house looking out upon Gotham. The wind whipped through his hair and he looked out on all the nameless faces that the Joker hadn’t gotten to yet. He didn’t want them do die. He didn’t want to be locked up. He didn’t want to have to choose between the two.
“Something on your mind, Mr. Napier?”
Jack spun around and was almost face to face with the Batman. He felt the familiar urge to run and gain distance. He had to convince himself to remember that he was no longer an enemy to this man.
“Just, Just trying to get reacquainted with freedom.”
Jack turned away and looked back over the ledge into the night.
“Freedom from the asylum?”
“Hardly.”
“Problems?”
“Nothing that anyone wouldn’t expect.”
Jack couldn’t bring himself to mention his earlier encounter, outright, to him. He didn’t want to be put away.
“If you need anything. If anything happens. Call the commissioner. He’ll call me.”
“Yes, I know how to get your attention. I know what’s going on around—“
Jack turned around.
“—me.”
Batman wasn’t there.
“I guess he finally got the joke on me.”
--
Tim tossed and turned in his tumultuous sleep. The laughing man came towards him. Worse than death. Fate. No. Please. Junior. No. God. Oh, God. Help.
--
Jim Gordon sat in his den. Barbara had long since explained her situation. Hugged him and then left all over again.
A gust of wind from the direction of the window. Oh Jesus.
“Jim?”
“Yes?”
“I heard about your decision to step down.”
“I know.”
“Don’t do it, Jim. Not yet. This town needs you. I need you.”
“Maybe it does. Maybe this town would crumble without me. But, maybe I have needs. Maybe I need peace of mind. Maybe I want to rest. Maybe I just need a friend, Bruce.”
“How?”
“Barbara. When I asked her why she wouldn’t take the job, she told me. I know everything about the four of you. Three, now. I got the whole story.”
“And?”
“No, dammit, I’m not gonna step down. Not yet. Not until something even worse happens or until I think that this city is safe with Jack Napier on the streets. Not yet.”
“Jim, thank you.”
They embraced. It felt good to know the age-old friendship had not lost its steam.
It felt good.
--
Jack wanted to cry. It was overwhelming. He honestly didn’t know if he could suppress Joker. He wanted to cry. He did cry.
It was unlike any anguish he had ever felt. He felt so selfish. He felt so wrong. He felt so torn.
There was a record player and assorted records donated by his supporters. He grabbed the first one he could find. Something. Anything.
He put the record on and flipped the switch.
Then he broke. His mind silently screamed. He felt his mind going. Joker was resurfacing. He stood to his feet and thrashed about. He clutched his hair and his fingers ran down his face. His laughter began to softly sound.
Then the music began to play.
It was Pachelbel’s Canon . In D Major. The music began to flood the room. Beautiful music. Unbelievably outstanding music. Music that was surely conducted by God Almighty, Himself.
Jack didn’t even notice it, but anything of the Joker’s that was surfacing before had long since vanished. All that mattered was the music.
The music.
XIII.
Four months had passed. Everyday since, Jack had no problems at all with his suppressed past. He lived happily. He worked in the mailroom of one of the many offices of Wayne Enterprises. He walked everywhere with a smile. A pleasant smile. At home, the first thing he would was put on Pachelbel’s Canon. Life was good.
--
Nightwing stood in the shadows. A group of kids were huddled in an alley. They had a bag of something. Something illegal. Nightwing waited for the right moment.
He had been in Bludhaven for almost four months now. It wasn’t Gotham, but it suited him fine.
He waited. The first kid pinched some of the contents of the bag and rolled it in some paper.
Nightwing waited.
The kid patted all his pockets and found a lighter.
Nightwing waited.
With a flick of the thumb, the flame was lit.
Nightwing waited.
He brought the flame to the tip of the joint.
Nightwing waited.
The tip of the joint lighted.
Nightwing moved.
By the time Nightwing had moved the five feet to the teenagers, they were all laid out on the pavement.
Nightwing cursed. He knew what put them there.
“Dick.”
“Bruce, leave. Now. Before something bad happens to you.”
“Don’t threaten me, Dick. I want you to come back.”
Nightwing started to walk away. “Not interested.”
“I also came.... to apologize.”
Nightwing stopped.
“Look, I know I’m hard to work with. I know I’m set in my ways. I know I cross the line far too often. Now, I want you know that I re-offer my hand in friendship. Dick, the team needs you.”
Nightwing stood in silence for a moment.
“Fuck off, Bruce.”
Batman grabbed a hold of Dick’s shoulder’s and spun him around.
“I came a long way to come and get you.”
Nightwing punched Batman hard across the face.
“Now turn around and go back the same way you came. You’re not wanted here.”
Batman was suddenly in front of him, and pushed Nightwing to the ground.’
“You’re acting like a child, Dick.”
Nightwing pushed Batman off of him, pinning him to the ground and reached for something out of his belt.
“No...”
Nightwing brought his knife to Batman’s face.
“I’m acting like you.”
The knife made a trail of blood as it cut deep into Batman’s face, started from just below his eye, past his cheek.
Nightwing got up. “There. Now go home, Bruce.” He began walking backwards. “You’ve got something to remember me by. I shouldn’t have to come with you.” He had backed into the middle of the street.
A bus speedily passed in front of him. When it had completely gone by, Nightwing was gone.
Batman clutched his bleeding face, and was gone just as quickly.
--
Jack Napier had grown quite accustomed to classical music. It had layers of unspeakable beauty to him. He knew nothing like it. He walked through the office with headphones on as he pushed the mail cart, listening to, usually, something like Mozart, Beethoven, or Salieri.
He walked into the mailroom, having just distributed the day’s mail. He took off his headphones and turned to reach for something high upon the shelf. He heard footsteps behind him.
Something came across the back oh his head hard. He fell unconscious. Someone else laughed with satisfaction
--
Bruce Wayne looked at the cut in his bathroom mirror. The bleeding had stopped, but he knew this kind of cut. It would be a permanent scar. Everything that had happened thus far seemed to be a permanent scar in one way or the other.
XIV.
Jack woke up in darkness. No, not darkness. He was blindfolded. His head hurt severely, and he felt dizzy and confused. He felt someone kick him in the side sharply.
“Wake up.”
“Where am I?”
He was kicked in the head. Unspeakable pain.
“Shut up.” The voice was very low and gravelly. It was very obviously electronically distorted to conceal his kidnapper’s identity.
He tried to move, but to no avail. He was lying on his back with his feet shackled, his legs tied together, and his arms tied to his side. He felt the shackles around his ankles move. He heard the rattle of a chain. All of a sudden he felt him self being pulled by the shackles. He was raised on a pulley until he was five feet off the ground hanging upside down by his feet.
“Now. This may be... a little painful.”
A gag was tied around his mouth. Then there was nothing. He sat for a few seconds in silence. He had begun to think that he had been left for the blood to rush to his head.
He then felt the burning searing pain in his side. A red hot poker was shoved into his abdomen and pressed into his flesh. His muffled screams of unspeakable pain did not cease his torturer’s action. After repeated pokes and prods in various parts of the body, it stopped. The tears ran up his forehead as he hung in the darkness.
Then he felt his shirt being torn open. Fear gripped him and he clenched his eyes shut, despite the fact that he couldn’t see anyway.
He then felt the hot pokers being pressed and held to both of his nipples.
--
Jim Gordon sat watching the news. Two days ago, Jack Napier had gone missing. He sat thinking for a long time. He didn’t know that to think. Finally after a long debate with himself, he came up with a definite opinion to the situation.
“Oh crap.”
--
He felt the chain give way, and he fell to the floor, landing the 5 foot drop on his head. He hoped that perhaps now, they would let him rest.
He then felt himself being dragged and picked up and slammed against the wall. Two hooks were placed under his arms. He was then raised up into the air. The hooks dug into his armpits as the carried him off the ground.
He heard a mechanical whir and he was moving forward. His fatigued suspended legs weakly flailed about. He stopped with a quick jut. He sat for a while. Then he felt himself being lowered.
He felt his shoes hit liquid. Then he didn’t feel his shoes anymore. Then he felt the liquid. Then he felt pain. He had been quickly dipped in and out up to the knees in acid.
It when on like that for quite some time. Until every last part of his body had been dipped in the corrosive liquid. His mind had been overloaded with pain. He could have never imagined this much pain in a million years. The only untouched portion of his body was his head. As he felt himself go upside down, he knew that would soon to be remedied.
--
Barbara Gordon sat watching the news. Five days ago, Jack Napier had gone missing. She had mixed feelings over the situation. She felt sorry for her father and what stress this must be putting on him. She also felt very relieved that she had decided not to be in his place just yet.
--
He couldn’t move without it hurting. His skin hadn’t been charred. He had only been dipped in for a half a second at a time. It was a sensation he seemed familiar with, but he couldn’t remember from where.
It hurt so much. It hurt to cry, but the pain was so overwhelming, he couldn’t help it. Then it went over the top, his body was dragged upon the floor, rubbing his new chemical burns, and he was once again hanging upside down by his feet. Unimaginable pain.
“Now. I know this has been hard on you. But there is something that you should see.”
He heard an electronic hiss. Then he heard the familiar sound of the needle going down a upon a spinning record. He was listening to a record player. Then the music came.
The Music.
Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major.
A painful smile crossed his lips, and at once, it almost seemed as if nothing bad had happened to him
“Now. Watch.”
A tug and a flash of pain as the blindfold was untied and draped off of his face. He looked to see his record player and his record collection of classical music. It was had kept him sane. His reason for living anymore.
A figure dressed from head to toe in black picked up a record, took it from it’s jacket and examined it.
Without any warning they just flinged it into the wall, shattering it.
A look of fear wiped over his eyes. Oh no.
One after the other, the black discs fell in pieces upon the floor. The destruction was cruelly choreographed to the Pachelbel masterpiece that kept on playing. It was an evil dance that broke Jack’s soul into as many pieces as what laid upon the floor in black shards.
Then, after all the records were shattered. They turned towards the player, and pulled the Canon record off with a crude scratch.
Jack, doing his best to ignore the pain, violently shook his head and forth in muffled pleading. He began to tear, this time with emotion. He screamed through his gag, like a child, he pleaded. The tears came unfiltered now. He bawled like a baby.
And, with one swift move, Pachelbel shattered. So did Jack.
--
Bruce Wayne sat watching the news. Ten days ago, Jack Napier had gone missing. He felt that he had failed. He knew what this would lead to. Frankly, he had failed. He got up from his seat and to the window and looked out at Gotham City. He had failed them all.
--
A night had passed. He had passed out in pain and mental exhaustion. Now he stirred awake.
“Good Morning.”
He found that he wasn’t bound. He wasn’t blindfolded. He wasn’t gagged.
The pain from before had almost entirely vanished. He sat up. He realized he was sitting in a lavish bed. Not the floor, and not a cot. An expensive King Size bed. He got up and looked around. It looked like a normal bedroom.
“The mirror.”
He looked confused for a moment, then scared. He slowly made his way toward the mirror that sat upon a dresser. All the time, he grew more afraid.
He looked in the mirror and saw the toll that the acid bath had taken upon him. He saw it and screamed at his mind.
--
Tim Drake sat watching the news. Two weeks ago, Jack Napier had gone missing. He didn’t want to think about it. He told Barbara he was going on patrol to get his mind off of things.
“Good luck, Tim.”
“Ha, what makes you think I need it?”
--
The day after Jack Napier had gone missing; from outside of the Ace Chemical Processing Plant, screaming was heard.
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