fanfic whut.
Title: Trick
Word Count: 7,342
Rating: Mature (Sex, violence, the usual)
Canon: Batman
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone, I don't profit from this, blah blah blah.
Characters: Jonathan Crane/Thomas Schiff, The Joker/Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy, Jim Gordon, Batman
Summary: It's Halloween and the freaks come out - but not without a little coaxing from the Scarecrow.
Author's Note: Written on a whim when I should have been doing something else. Been awhile since I dabbled in the world of fanfic and I hope it's not a giant piece of crap. I like it, but I have bad taste. Anyway. Pretty much Nolanverse, except Poison Ivy - she's definitely the most comic book-y out of the lot.
EDIT 03/10/09 @ 2:30 AM: There are apparently some similarities between this story and agent0fchaos's work. I've talked with the author over this and we've chalked it up to a freakish coincidence. That being said: what are you doing here? Go read her stuff. She's cooler than me, yo.
Trick
He grew up out of cornfields, leering high above them on his skeletal frame, eyeless and watchful. In the shiver of a hot midday sun, when the air distorted and the crops rustled despite the lack of breeze, maybe he turned his head to look at you, as you went by.
On Halloween he scrambled down from his post, perhaps. On Halloween he went a’ roving. Sunk his sickle into fat grinning Jack-o-lanterns, went into houses through the back door.
It didn’t matter where you were in this country, in this state; Halloween was always the same. The ghouls were different, but the victims never faltered. This was his holiday, he knew, and it always had been. Fear was delicious and thick, sicklier and sweeter than the candy pouring from stranger’s hands. It was all-the-more pungent because no one actually expected anything bad to happen on such a night, nothing moreso than usual. They were all so ready to be afraid, though. Ready, and waiting.
It was six o’clock and the streets were thick with children and their escorts. There was also sunshine, though the sun was low in the sky. That was fine with Jonathan; once night had properly fallen his real fun would begin. For now, though, there was work to be done.
He was such an unnoticeable person. He knew how to disappear in a crowd. He didn’t look much like the pictures in the wanted posters, anyway. His hair had grown long and unkempt and was dyed black, and his eyes were muted by a pair of hazel-coloured contact lenses. He knew, though, that in order to stay invisible on this night, he needed an accessory.
He found her standing uncertainly on the street corner, just within the Narrows district. She was small and dark-haired, clutching an orange, pumpkin-shaped plastic pail. Now who would leave such a beautiful little girl all by herself, in such a terrible place? Bad things could happen to her, all too easily, no matter what night it happened to be. He was lucky to have found her.
Jonathan went up to her and offered his hand. “Come on, darling,” he said. “What’s your name?”
“Ally,” she replied, but didn’t take his hand. She was wearing a very old, yellow taffeta party dress, too big for her and probably secondhand. “I lost Madame Jean.”
Ah, Jonathan thought. Of course. The orphanage.
“We’ll go find her,” he soothed. He had that sort of voice; patients loved it during therapy sessions. She didn’t hesitate to take his hand, now.
He hit the main street, Ally in one hand, the other slinging a pillowcase half-full of candy over his shoulder. They went away from the Narrows, heading into the stable neighbourhoods where people could afford things like mortgages. He led her up to houses for candy, smiled when the mothers or daughters flirted with him. At houses where there was only a bowl of candy left out on the steps, Jonathan dumped some of it into Ally’s pail, and then replaced it with candy from his own stash.
By seven o’clock, Ally told him her feet hurt, and she had more than enough candy, and Jonathan’s pillow case was empty. “Come on, sweetheart,” he said, picking her up in his arms as if she really were his daughter, and carrying her back to the main street, where he managed to hail down a cab.
In the backseat, she showed him all the different kinds of candy she had gotten. He listened aptly.
He paid the driver and held the car door open for Ally. The sky was bleeding red from the sunset as he led her up into the rundown apartment building. They had to go all the way up to the fifth floor, so Jonathan picked her up again and carried her up the stairs. She was so small and light; the orphanage could barely afford to feed her, probably.
“Halloween’s my favourite holiday,” she told him, as he carried her down the hall.
“Really?” he replied. “It’s my favourite holiday, too.”
He shifted her around so that he was holding her with one arm, and knocked on the apartment door. He heard footsteps, but carefully stayed out of view of the peep hole. The door opened a few inches, still secured by its chain, and he saw a dark blue eye fringed with thick lashes before the door abruptly slammed shut.
He waited another second, and the door slowly cracked open again. “Hello, Cynthia,” he said. “I’m here for your brother.”
Her eyes were trained on the girl. “What is this?” she asked, her voice low.
“Just let me in.”
Suspiciously, she undid the chain and opened the door. “I don’t know what kind of sick thing you’re doing, but-”
“Relax, won’t you?” Jonathan replied, unimpressed. He strode in, forcing her to back out of the way. He carefully set Ally down. The apartment, though shabby, was spotless, something he had come to expect from Cynthia. That, and her warm-heartedness. “Don’t worry, there’s no frantic mother out on the streets. She’s from the Catholic orphanage near the edge of the Narrows. Probably lost her trick-or-treating group.”
“Crane,” Cynthia said, her voice shaking with undisguised disgust. “I won’t pretend to think I can stop you from doing the things you do, but I don’t want you involving me or my brother in these things, especially if it involves children, my God-”
“I said relax,” Jonathan bit back, annoyed. “What kind of criminal do you think I am? I just took her trick-or-treating. Ask her, she’ll tell you everything. Now where’s Thomas?”
Cynthia glared at him, no doubt wondering whether to believe him or not. “He’s in his room, sleeping,” she said. She reached out and took Ally’s hand.
“Come on, babe,” Cynthia said, as Jonathan headed for the bedrooms. “You want a glass of coke? And I have some leftover candy, too.”
Thomas’ door was closed. Jonathan opened it slowly, peering into the musty darkness. Then he opened it fully, letting the light from the hall illuminate his path.
Jonathan picked his way through the bedroom, and sat on the edge of the bed. Thomas’ soft black hair was sticking out from under the blankets. Jonathan gently shook the other awake. “Hey, Schiff,” he said, quietly.
The other man stirred. “Is that you?” came the sleepy voice.
“Depends on who you’re expecting.” Jonathan carefully peeled back the blankets. Thomas started to shift around, murmuring. “I need you tonight, okay?”
“Okay,” Thomas mumbled. Jonathan stroked the sooty black hair and left the room.
Cynthia was in the kitchen with Ally, counting out her candy. The little girl looked happy, probably happier than she had been in a long time. “You’re lucky,” Cynthia said, grudgingly. “Your story checks out.”
“Of course it does.” Jonathan looked out the window, at the twinkling lights of Gotham City, glowing stronger as the sun sank.
“I don’t get it. I don’t get why.”
“I don’t care if you do, Cynthia,” he said. She’d figure it out soon enough. “I was hoping you could take her back to the orphanage for me. Or maybe to the cops. I’d rather not do it myself, and my time is precious.”
Cynthia stared sadly at Ally, who was, as most little children were when their attention was stolen by candy, completely oblivious. “Yeah, I can do that,” she said, softly. “I’ll feed her some dinner, first.”
“Does Madame Jean feed you?” Jonathan asked Ally. The little girl giggled at such a silly question. He saw Cynthia staring at him from the corner of his eye, wondering, maybe, if Jonathan had grown up without parents too.
Let her wonder.
“Are you wearing one of Thomas’ sweaters?” she asked finally, as she watched Jonathan carefully remove his contact lenses without the use of a mirror. Jonathan was surprised to see that he was.
Her brother soon appeared, still looking sleepy, and not questioning the presence of a little girl in the apartment. He questioned very little, most days. “Are we going someplace tonight?” he asked.
“We’re going to a lot of places,” Jonathan said.
“Did you take your pills, Thomas?” Cynthia asked.
He didn’t say anything.
“I need you to take your medication tonight, Schiff,” Jonathan said, gently. Thomas looked at the floor, and nodded.
Outside, a breeze had started up. Jonathan breathed in, fear and danger thick and heady on the wind. “We need a car, Schiff,” he said, idly, looking up at the dark sky. Unlit. “Where are you tonight, Batman?” he asked aloud, almost sing-song, as he followed Thomas down the street. Dead leaves rattled around their feet like bones.
“It needs to be able to carry a few people,” he felt compelled to add. He also felt his lips twitching up into a smile.
They found an old beater car that looked sturdy enough, and he watched Thomas jimmy the lock and hotwire it. Jonathan’s hideout was only a few minutes away, accessible only by alley. He fetched his mask and handed Thomas a can of gasoline and a duffle bag that clanked ominously. While Thomas switched license plates, Jonathan stripped down to his t-shirt and jeans before pulling on his threadbare suit jacket, the last of his possessions from his former life.
Lastly, they slid a large cooler, one that might once have been used for hoarding fish on long boat trips, into the backseat. “How’s your aim lately, Schiff?” Jonathan asked, climbing into the passenger seat.
Having a conversation with Thomas was difficult if his mind was on something else, and it usually was. “Are there going to be other people coming with us?” Thomas asked.
Jonathan smiled, and pulled on his mask. Thomas glanced back at the cooler.
“Let’s go,” Scarecrow said.
*
“Someone tell me what’s going on!” Commissioner Gordon yelled to the officers crowding the MCU. He rarely lost his cool, but his nerves were already on end because it was Halloween. He expected any number of wackoes to come out, child molesters or kidnappers or serial rapists, but he didn’t expect… whatever it was that was happening. An epidemic?
“We don’t know, Commissioner,” Lieutenant Berg said, uncertainly. “It’s the hospitals, they’ve all been calling… all these kids admitted into emergency. They’re frightened.”
“Frightened of what?” Gordon demanded. His mind went through endless possibilities, maybe one of Gotham’s most notorious villains attacking parents, doing evil things. But the next thing Berg said made Gordon’s mind quiet and then slowly reel as his memory went back to stained underground corridors, and a thin man with piercing blue eyes, wrapped up in a straitjacket. The feel of burlap in his calloused hands.
“They just afraid, sir,” he said. “Screaming. Afraid of everything.”
“Crane,” Gordon said.
*
He heard a click, as of a door quietly closing.
He was up and out of bed in an instant, on the prowl. He paced from the tiny, threadbare bedroom and into the rest of the tiny, threadbare apartment. His girl had secured the digs under a false identity a week or so ago (she was useful like that) and they hadn’t really moved in yet.
There was the scarred kitchen table, its one short leg propped up by an old phone book. On it was an assortment of knives, guns, and pots bearing the remnants of numerous macaroni and cheese dinners. There was a new addition. Two, really.
Someone’s head was in the middle of the table, next to a very neatly prepared, unlit Molotov cocktail. The facial muscles had been pulled and forced into a mad, grinning look, and a note was secured to the nose with a thumbtack.
The Joker was already smiling as he tugged the note free.
Happy Halloween. First drink’s on me.
No signature, but he knew.
Bursting into a peal of laughter, the Joker snatched up the head, rushing into the bedroom where Harley was starting to stir. He launched the head right into her lap and was rewarded by her high-pitched scream.
“Come on, beautiful!” he sang, giggling. “Come on, baby! We’re going out on the town, you and me! Dinner, drinks, and dancing! Oh, Jonathan,” he oozed, jumping up onto the bed and bouncing on it, barely missing the scrambling Harley. He kicked the head across the room. “Jonathan, Jonathan, you put me in the best moods, Jonathan!”
The Joker was indeed in a good mood, and he had a feeling it was going to improve. Crane probably had an agenda, but who cared?
He heard gunshots nearby.
*
The Scarecrow stuck his head out of the car and relished the smell of dead leaves and urban decay as Thomas obediently ran a red light. His burlap mask flapped threateningly, but the noose around the neck kept it secure. He cocked his shotgun and began to fire, randomly.
“People fear disorder,” Scarecrow shouted to Thomas, between gunshots. “They fear what they don’t expect. But they crave it, too. It makes them watch scary movies and ride roller coasters. They want it. They need what they fear.”
When he was out of rounds, he got back into his seat and started to reload. “Chaos,” he said, as he worked. “Unexpected, murderous chaos. Not my expertise, but never let it be said that I don’t take shortcuts.”
“The Joker-”
“You know the Joker, don’t you, Schiff?” Jonathan teased. “He offered you escape, but he’s so unreliable. Isn’t he, Schiff? How’s your knee?”
Thomas didn’t reply.
“You better concentrate,” Jonathan said, staying in his seat but leveling the shotgun out the window. “This is important. This is science. There is nothing more important than science.” He pulled the trigger.
*
Ivy awoke in a bed of roses.
They were twined all about her, wrapped seductively around her arms, her legs, her neck. The thorns drew not a drop of blood. She stretched luxuriously.
She had spent all day lying there, sleeping, soaking up the sun’s rays beaming down from her glass roof. Now she was energized, ready to go out and face the night. Halloween was for amateurs, true, but she was feeling restless…
Then she noticed the bouquet.
She pulled herself free of the clinging roses, who sighed and withdrew. Her light step rustled in the grass of her underground green house and she tripped on a discarded leg.
Scattered, here and there amid her plants, were body parts. That wasn’t what disturbed her, they were just fertilizer. She picked up the bouquet, handling it as if she were handling a dead thing - which, in reality, it was.
Red carnations and black roses, twisted with ivy. The ivy was obvious. Her hands shook with rage and she dropped the bouquet to the ground, where it scattered like ashes from a funeral pyre. Black roses for death and hatred, red carnations murmured of heartache. There was only one man that she hated dearly who was smart enough, insulting enough, to send her a message in flowers, to mock her with false flirtation and dead plants.
*
“Gunshots reported in Old Gotham, sir,” Stephens shouted, hanging up the phone. “At least one tipster reported a burlap mask.”
“Get on it,” Gordon said.
*
“Not scared, are you, Schiff?” Scarecrow asked. They had pulled over in a ticketed parking lot. Scarecrow half-expected to see a bunch of drug dealers showing up for a drop off at any second, it was that kind of place.
“No,” Thomas said, softly.
Jonathan pulled off his mask and climbed over into Thomas’ seat, straddling his lap. “We’ll be done soon,” he murmured, his lips finding the other man’s ear. “Then we’ll go home. You want to go home with me, don’t you?” He shivered as he felt the other man’s hand slide underneath his shirt.
Jonathan heard a crash, an explosion - a small one nearby, or a big one far away, he couldn’t tell. He chuckled, and then kissed Thomas full on the lips.
*
The police cars headed for Old Gotham screeched as their tires burnt tracks on the road, braking and turning and climbing over curbs to head back in the other direction, the way they had come. Reports were pouring in through the radio, nonstop, like a shouting mob.
The screaming children paled next to the reports of seven other children missing, a fire in a nightclub downtown, and then suddenly the explosion of a daycare centre several streets over. The panic was escalating, going ever upward. The phone lines were getting tied as citizens phoned each other, demanding help or answers or comfort. Every television in every home, bar, hotel room and window display showed the channel 4 news.
The Joker stood on the rooftop of the apartment building, on the corner of Jameson, and flung his arms wide as he watched the chaos unfold. The wind was picking up and the leaves were starting to scatter. “Everyone’s in a mask tonight, Harley girl,” he said. Above him in the night sky, the Bat Signal glowed.
He held out his gloved hand.
She was beautiful, and his, all his. She leapt forward, bright and agile, the sharpest blade in his arsenal. “Dance with me, baby,” he said, and hummed a tune as they made up a dance. Some sort of waltz tango.
He spun her and caught her, and held her over the edge of the building in a lover’s embrace. Her eyes glittered like the lights of the city. “Your buddy Jonathan is up to something, Harley Harl,” he said. “We should go and talk to him.”
“Whatever you say, Mister J,” she breathed, letting her head fall back, feeling the wind caress her cheeks.
“I hope he doesn’t ruin our night.”
“Me too, me too…”
He turned her away from the edge of the building, planning on continuing their dance, and then dropped her when he noticed a fiery glow in the distance. She hit the concrete with a little squeak. “Did we light that fire?” he asked.
Harley got to her feet. “No,” she said, peering into the distance.
“Yeah, let’s go talk to your scary little friend,” the Joker said.
*
“Someone just threw three Molotov cocktails through the windows at City Centre, there was another fire at Club D, and two men were just found poisoned to death near eighty-first ave. Do you think they’re related, Commissioner?”
“No. That’s what’s worrying me.”
*
“Did you take your sister’s cell phone?” Jonathan asked.
Thomas tossed it over to him, and Jonathan dialed. “Cynthia,” he said. “Could you do me a favour and record the news? My television just broke the other day.”
“Crane!” Cynthia howled, so loud Thomas glanced away from the road in alarm. “What the fuck are you doing? I know all those kids in hospital are your, are your fault-”
“Don’t say my name!” Jonathan spat, in a rare loss of temper. Someone could be listening. A big bat with giant ears.
“I ought to turn you in,” Cynthia snarled. “If it weren’t-” she cut herself off this time, falling silent.
“You were going to say something, Cynthia,” he said, softly, after a pause. “Go on. ‘If it weren’t’… if it weren’t for what?”
“If it weren’t for the fact Thomas listens to you…” she trailed off.
“Just tape the news, Cynthia,” Jonathan said, and flipped the phone shut. He reached forward and turned up the radio. Mayor Garcia urges everyone in Gotham to remain calm. There is no evidence of terrorist attack. Citizens are advised to stay in their homes and with loved ones.
“Not the young kids,” Jonathan said, pulling on his mask again. “They’re going to be out, partying. They like the sense of danger. Everyone’s running around in costume, everyone’s having a frightening, fun time. Is that a flower shop?” Thomas squeezed the brakes.
Scarecrow fished in the duffel bag for another Molotov cocktail. He really loved making them, and put as much perfectionism into them as he did with most else in his life. Smooth glass bottles of kerosene, neatly stuffed and capped. Almost as fun as liquor and sex, really.
Scarecrow went out onto the sidewalk, startling four costumed partiers laughing drunkenly nearby. “What’re you-” someone began, before Jonathan pulled out a gun and shot out the shop window. At least two of them screamed.
Scarecrow turned to them. “Boo,” he said, and lit the soaked rag. He threw the flaming bottle into the flower shop, where it burst in a shower of kerosene. Scarecrow stood and watched the roses shrivel up as the bystanders ran away. He knew she’d get the message.
*
Poison Ivy had herself a brand new car, having kissed one besotted drug dealer outside of Club D. Men. They never could resist a pair of tits, could they?
She was a proud woman, and because of that she could not stand Jonathan Crane. That arrogant, smirking, skinny little man. No, he wasn’t a man. Poison Ivy knew men. Like the Batman. Sure, he was a giant bat, but he knew how to treat a woman like Ivy: with caution. Crane had no such cares, though. Crane was reckless.
Harley liked him so much and Ivy didn’t understand why. And the Joker never tried to kill him, at least not seriously, as far as Ivy knew - Harley said something about Mister J trying to throw him off a building once, but Harley said a lot of things - and Ivy didn’t understand that either. You’d think someone as territorial as the Joker would take aims to eliminate competition.
Not that Jonathan Crane merited competition.
Maybe that was it, Ivy mused. Maybe he was just too pathetic. Well, maybe she’d just overcome her disgust, kiss him and be done with it.
The clouds thinned out, flowering and faint, and stretched over the moon.
*
Reported robbery at Royal Jewelers. Roughly three hundred and thirty seven thousand dollars worth of jewelry stolen. This is the thirteenth robbery tonight, but is the first involving diamonds and…
Scarecrow smiled to himself.
They pulled over next to a church. It was no longer a place of worship, he could see; there were signs for a tailor’s in the windows. A very old, dignified building, pushed in between newer (but not much newer) bricked housing structures. Its sparse yard boasted yellow grass and was framed by a spiky iron fence.
“Picturesque,” Scarecrow remarked, helping Thomas to drag the massive cooler out of the backseat. It hit the sidewalk and its contents shuffled awkwardly from impact. “Like a postcard. A little Halloween postcard.”
“I don’t want to do this,” Thomas blurted out, an edge of hysteria in his voice.
People got hysterical over dead things, and Thomas was no exception. Scarecrow knew the psychological reasons, but he failed to feel the same way. What was so frightening about them? They were already dead. He opened the cooler and the stench rose from it, despite the amount of ice he had poured in there. His mask deadened some of the smell.
“It’s just meat,” Scarecrow counseled, soothingly. He dug through the ice and closed his fingers around someone’s wrist. Heavy, dead meat. It had real weight to it, like money when it was stacked in heaps or bound in paper. Cumbersome.
He pulled the severed forearm down over the black iron fence, having to push and tug to get the spike to go through. “Where did you get… all of this?” Thomas asked faintly.
“Why would I tell you that?” Scarecrow replied, idly. He walked back to the cooler, studied it critically, and then dumped the entire thing out.
Ice and body parts scattered over the sidewalk.
Scarecrow found himself, lately, becoming more and more artistic. He wondered how that was so. Perhaps it was his attention to detail, or perhaps he had always been artistic but hadn’t known it. There could be an artistry in science that he was just starting to see, when before all he had were facts and theories.
The little black fence was his sculpture. He carefully picked and chose and ornamented it with his cache. He didn’t mind the smell; you could get used to anything, if you faced it often enough. It was a small price to pay.
Thomas knelt at the curb, coughing. Jonathan pulled off his mask and bent down beside him, fingering and stroking the soft black hair, pushing it back from his face. The other man was paler than usual, and he was shuddering, shoulders quaking beneath Jonathan’s palm.
“You’ll be fine in a minute,” Jonathan said. He placed the ghostliest of kisses to the back of Thomas’ head, so light he knew the other wouldn’t feel it.
Jonathan picked up the last head - the head of a lady, not that gender mattered when the body was gone - and stuck it on the spiked gate. He slammed his fist down atop the skull, hearing the flesh speared with a sickly squelch.
“I still have some pieces left,” Jonathan remarked. “Think there’s a school nearby? Oh, there must be a school nearby.” He listened to Thomas cough up another mouthful of vomit.
*
What was Halloween without a little black cat?
Selina crouched atop the Gotham National Bank, viewing the scene below. There were a lot of people out on the street. She was in a fancy part of town… perhaps they thought that because they were rich, they were immune…
No, she thought. Because you are rich, you are worth stealing from.
She ought to go home, she really should, but she’d seen something fly over the moon and didn’t want to lead any ghouls back to her sanctuary. He was creeping up to her now, cloaked in soft, velvety black silence, but she knew he was there.
“Why so shy, Batman?” she purred, turning to see him crouching a few metres away. He straightened up. “Getting lost, are we? Too many things, too big a city, not enough bats?”
“What’s going on, Catwoman?”
“I don’t know,” she murmured, her voice throaty and musical compared to the growl in his voice. She enjoyed the little differences between them. She leapt up onto the ledge of the building. “I just don’t know, Batman. But why ask me?”
“Because you’re the first one I found.”
“I’m just taking advantage of the night,” she breathed. “Soft and black, like a kitty cat. It’s my night to go out, isn’t it? Isn’t Halloween a night for black kitties?”
“And a night for clowns,” said the Batman.
“Mmn,” Catwoman agreed. “And scarecrows, too.” She darted away, running along the edge of the building, and leapt off, twirling about her bullwhip. The Batman didn’t follow her this time.
*
The trees shivered in ecstasy as she passed. She wanted to stop her car and wrap her arms around their thick, voluptuous trunks; press her ear to the bark and thrive in the heady thrum of their living, their breathing. She didn’t, though. She had some semblance of control, unlike everyone else in this wretched city.
She relaxed back in her seat at a red light and ignored the pair of men in the car next to her, panting. Let them pant, she thought, kindly. She liked getting attention, anyway; she loved to be flirted with, sought after, but there was a time and a place for everything and it definitely wasn’t right there at the intersection.
Then one of them said something. Something she didn’t care to hear.
“Excuse me?” she murmured, smiling. She pursed her lips and blew them a kiss, exhaling, sending them her heady scent of lilac and vanilla and sweet exotic places and mind-controlling spores.
The light turned green.
“Go drive off a bridge, boys,” she suggested silkily, before hitting the gas.
*
As he suspected would happen sooner or later, the Joker found him.
Scarecrow was standing outside the liquor store, leaning back against the front bumper of the car. After the incident at the school, Thomas had expressed the need for a drink. Scarecrow had thoughtfully accommodated him.
As if materializing out of thin air, which he seemed to do often, the Joker was abruptly standing beside him, reeking of gasoline and sweat. Harley went into the brightly-lit liquor store, to stand beside Thomas. They both watched shamelessly through the display windows, like tourists at a zoo. The man at the counter didn’t seem to care what was happening in or outside his store, just continued to read his pulp fiction.
“Knew you’d get thirsty sooner or later,” the Joker drawled, in his funny voice.
“I was hoping to see you tonight,” Scarecrow said. He sensed the Joker tense, ever-so-slightly. “Did you like my present? It took a while to get the face to look like that.”
“’Preciate it,” the Joker said. Then he shoved his own smiling face close to Scarecrow’s, so close that his breath could be smelt even through the burlap. “Don’t tell me it’s part of a little scheme, though. You know me and how I feel about schemes.”
“Not a scheme,” Scarecrow said, truthfully. “It’s… an experiment.”
Striking like a viper, the Joker’s hands were around his neck. He slammed Scarecrow back against the hood of the car, the impact ringing through his body. “Not on you,” Scarecrow gasped, desperately ripping at the vice-like hands. “Not on you!”
After a few more seconds in which the Joker’s grip tightened and there was a scuffle in the liquor store, Scarecrow was released. He pulled off his mask and took in lungfuls of chilly October air.
“You really need to be more clear about these things,” the Joker said, his face pulling an over-exaggerated look of concern. “I could, like, have strangled you, y’know?”
“It’s a social experiment on Gotham,” Jonathan corrected, rubbing his throat. “I needed terror. For terror I needed chaos, and I figured you’d have done it anyway on a Halloween night, and some thanks would be in order. So I sent you a… gift basket.”
“You do whip up a decent cocktail,” the Joker said.
*
Harley and Thomas were having a drink in the liquor store. It was all Harley; she was a beer woman. She’d pulled two icy bottles out of their case and cracked the caps off on the edge of the counter. The clerk looked at them but didn’t dare say a word.
“I like you,” she said to Thomas. “You were at Arkham when I started interning there, right?”
“For a little bit,” Thomas said. He didn’t mention his connection to the Joker. She wouldn’t care and the Joker wouldn’t remember.
They stood and watched their respective partners talk. The Joker stood with his shoulders hunched up, but Scarecrow leaned on the car looking awkwardly relaxed. They both seemed to be expecting something, but had different ideas of what.
Thomas glanced aside at Harley. She was draining her bottle in one go. He waited until she put her hand on her hip and burped. “Can you talk to him?” he asked.
“To who?” She followed his stare outside. “Oh, to Mister J? Sure. I talk to him all the time.”
The Joker struck and Thomas jumped forward, only to have a pair of wiry arms wrap around his neck. He attempted to turn and slash Harley with his beer bottle, but they just ended up falling to the floor and writhing about, wordlessly struggling and hitting and rolling onto spilt beer and broken glass.
When Thomas looked up again to see Jonathan straightening his jacket, he stopped punching Harley and helped her to her feet. “Oh, thank you,” she said, grabbing onto his hand. “You’re sweet.”
*
Gordon stood on the rooftop, next to the spotlight. What else could he do? The Commissioner had no place running about on the streets, putting out fires.
Something told him he wasn’t alone anymore, and he turned with relief to see that he was joined by the Batman.
“This doesn’t look planned,” Gordon said, without preamble. “This looks random. Terrifying, but random. There’s always a scuffle or two on Halloween, maybe a bit more than the rest of the year, but this… this is different.”
“It started with the children at the hospital.”
“You think it’s Crane behind this?” Gordon asked. “But there’ve been reports of the Joker, too, and he’s not likely to let himself be part of someone else’s plan.”
“It’s Halloween. Could just be a costume. But only the Scarecrow uses that kind of drug.”
“Yeah, I hear there are a lot of Batmen around tonight.” Gordon kept his eyes on the other, knowing that once he glanced away, Batman could be gone. “Still, can you see a motive?”
A pause. “No.”
“Well, it’ll turn up sooner or later,” Gordon sighed. “I just want this night to end. They all crawl back to their hiding places once the sun comes up.” His cell rang, alarming him, and he ripped it from his belt. “Gordon.”
“Trouble?”
Gordon rubbed at his temple, tiredly, and hung up. “Joker’s been sighted. He just ran over a man dressed like him.”
*
He and Thomas retrieved from the car the duffle bag and the license plate, because the Joker didn’t give a damn whether the vehicle looked legitimate or not. “She’s all yours,” Jonathan said, as Thomas shouldered the duffle bag. He was glad the Joker had decided not to kill him this time.
He and Thomas set off on foot as the car roared away, Harley leaning happily out of the window and waving goodbye rather than keeping her eyes on the road.
“What did you get?” Jonathan asked.
“Tequila.”
“Good choice.” Jonathan reached around Thomas to tuck his mask into the duffle bag, and then the other man surprised him, putting his arm around Jonathan’s shoulders and drawing him close. He allowed himself to be tucked underneath Thomas’ jacket. He supposed he didn’t mind. The other smelt of candy and beer.
*
The blare of static always announced the arrival of one of the Joker’s home videos on the evening news. They had gotten even worse since Harley Quinn started holding the camera for him.
“Hellooooo,” he drawled, practically kissing the lens, his mangled mouth freshly painted and baring yellowed teeth. “Hellooooo Gotham! Isn’t Halloween fun? I love Halloween. Everyone seems to be getting into the spirit of it too, which is great. I didn’t actually have anything planned for tonight but I changed my mind.”
Harley’s giggle strained into the audio.
“Everyone’s just doing their thing, robbing and plundering, murdering and raping. And I wouldn’t presume to tell people what to do with their lives, y’know, more power to them. But I guess I get kinda concerned after awhile.”
There was a swoop and a clatter and everyone staring at their television screens were treated to a close up of the Joker’s expensive shoe.
“Harley!” he barked.
“Sorry!”
“I got concerned because, you know, I was out and about on the town with my girl and then I saw myself. Not in the mirror or a reflection or anything. No, no. No. I saw myself on the street. I went out to take a look.” The Joker lifted up the camera and held it in front of him.
“He didn’t look very much like you,” Harley opined.
“No, no, he wasn’t smiling.” The Joker licked his lips and peered into the camera as if he were looking through a telescope. Or a microscope. “So, hello, Gotham. I know flattery is a form of imitation, but I really… must… protest.”
The camera shut off.
It was turned back on.
“Look, here are three more,” the Joker giggled, off camera. The faux-villains were clearly unconscious - Harley was jabbing them with large toasting forks, just to prove it. “One Joker, two Joker, three Joker… four! I’m Joker four.”
“You’re number one to me,” Harley said.
“Y’hear that, Gotham? I’m number one. No joke for you tonight. I’m all tired out. I just wanted to wish you… a happy Halloween. And I’m glad to be here.”
*
“I’m sorry I dropped the camera, Mister J.”
Poison Ivy about wanted to vomit by the time she pushed open the door to the seventh-floor in the building. Not from the smell, but from the words spilling out of her friend’s mouth.
“Still livin’ the feminist dream, eh, Harl?” Ivy growled.
The Joker was sitting in a fold-out deck chair he probably stole from someone’s backyard. He was relaxed back, legs spread, shotgun balanced across his knees. Harley was sitting on the floor, messing around with the camera. Three men dressed as the Joker were lined up against the wall nearby, two of them clearly dead with ugly smiles carved onto their face.
“Oh,” the Joker said, idly. “It’s just you.”
Ivy bristled.
“Red!” Harley dropped the camera and bounded forward. “Oh, Red, I’m so glad to see you! This night just keeps getting better and better! Mister J’s been so romantic.”
“I bet,” Ivy said, glancing at him. “Listen. Just tell me where Crane is and I’ll get outta your hair.”
The Joker stared at her, fingering the shotgun. “Who?”
“Jonathan!” Harley said. “You remember Jonathan, right?”
“The Scarecrow,” Poison Ivy spat out. She really hated to dignify him with that moniker.
“Oh him!” The Joker said, with the occupied air of a man interrupted while reading the newspaper. “I dunno where he is. Why?”
“I want to kill him.”
“Red, you can’t,” Harley said, with a half-laugh, clearly unsure if Ivy was joking or not. “He’s not so bad.”
“Harley, shut up,” Ivy snapped.
The Joker cocked his shotgun and stared at Ivy with that curious, deadly calm. The stare of a predatory bird. “I don’t like you coming around,” he said. “You put strange things into Harley’s head. I don’t like people messing with what’s mine.”
“She’s not something you can own,” Ivy spat, her hatred of Jonathan Crane now suddenly overcome by her hatred of this man, this suffocating, insane man. He blinded you with his charisma, twisted your mind with his own, irrelevant logic.
She opened her mouth to say more, but then Harley said, softly, “I heard something.”
The Joker leapt to his feet, grinning. “He’s here!” he exclaimed, ecstatic. “I’ve been waiting all night for him. What’s he been doing? Rescuing babies from house fires? Well, well, it’s Halloween. Trick-or-treat.” He grabbed Harley’s wrist and dragged her to the door. Ivy ran after them and stared down the corridor, seeing them disappear into the elevator. It was going up.
Where were they going? Ivy wondered, watching them go helplessly. Upstairs, to the roof? The bat would get them in a second. Well, if Harley ended up back in Arkham then it was her own fault. Ivy wasn’t ready to go there, ever.
She turned and ran for the stairs.
*
They undressed under the single bulb, hanging bare and naked overtop their heads.
Jonathan fell back onto the bed and watched Thomas bend over him, mouth searing and hot as it kissed and licked and nibbled. Jonathan licked his lips and grasped handfuls of the other’s hair, pulling Thomas away from his chest to kiss him again, the first kiss since that moment in the parking lot. Thomas tensed under his hands now as he did then.
Thomas groaned, pressing Jonathan down firmly against the mattress. Jonathan ran his hands over the other’s arms and torso, so much fuller and more muscular than his own, struck again by how much he enjoyed lying like this, feeling the firmness and presence of the other’s body, as if he were more real than the rest of the world around Jonathan.
*
“Nowhere to go, Joker.”
“Hello, stranger!” the Joker exclaimed. “I’ve missed you, you know? I feel like you’ve been ignoring me. It’s okay, though. I’ve got your attention at last.”
He held Harley close to him. She was small and warm in the cold night.
“What’s your plan, Joker?” Batman advanced. His cape flowed and coiled around his body. The Joker found himself wondering as always what lay behind the mask. He wouldn’t have been surprised if it really had been Harvey Dent, all along, despite all that had happened. Dent had quite the chin.
“Plan?” The Joker exclaimed. “I hate plans, you know that. I’m not a man who plans. I did rig another hospital to blow though.”
“What?”
“Trick-or-treat!” He burst out laughing. Harley giggled. “I always pick trick.”
“I noticed.”
“I learned something tonight, Bats,” said the Joker. “You know you never stop learning? Life is so fascinating. It’s great. Anyway, I learned this great thing tonight from-”
He scrambled wildly out of the way as Batman pounced. He dragged Harley along with him like a boy clutching his teddy.
“So I learned, Gotham loves to be frightened! Gotham feeds off of it, isn’t that neat? It’s Gotham’s little guilty pleasure. We all love to lock our doors. We all love to watch meeee on the television!”
*
Jonathan clung white-knuckled to the headboard, moaning with each thrust of Thomas’ hips.
Thomas’ hands were everywhere, and he was also murmuring, too; he always murmured. Sometimes Jonathan listened, sometimes he didn’t. He listened now. Just little snippets of noise. Beautiful you’re so beautiful… I can’t breathe I… just after every night I can… hear you say my name… always before the screaming…
Thomas’ hands went to Jonathan’s lower back and he bucked his hips at such an angle that Jonathan let out a strangled cry.
*
Harley screamed as the Batman’s fist slammed into the Joker’s face. The Joker’s lean body practically crackled with energy as he leapt forward, a knife shining in his hand. There was always a spot, he had found. Always a spot to sink the blade in.
They hurtled off the edge.
The Joker’s laughter echoed through the chilly air. He pulled himself back onto the roof, white-knuckled. The bat had landed below on a car driven by a mouthy little redhead.
“Hey, look, Harl,” the Joker said, motioning her close. She went to him, inevitably, magnetically. They leaned over the edge. “It’s your plant friend saying hello to the Batman.”
“Yeah,” she said, tremulously, but her eyes were drawn to the blood running down the side of his face.
“We oughta get out,” the Joker said. “I bet he’s real mad at me now. But we probably wouldn’t make it.”
Harley’s face quivered. “Don’t say that, Mister J,” she exclaimed, and suddenly she was crying, sobbing. “W-we can distract him! Why don’t we distract him?”
She was in so much distress. He wiped the tears from her face with his gloved hands and smeared her makeup as he did so. “It’ll be okay, Harley,” he said. “It’s gonna be o-kay. Do you believe me?”
She nodded.
“Good.” He said. He picked up all five feet, three inches of her and tossed her off the roof.
*
They laid there, Thomas’ head resting on Jonathan’s chest, the sweat drying off their bodies.
“Are you afraid of me, Thomas?” Jonathan asked, his voice soft, a whisper. A secret.
Thomas didn’t stir, but Jonathan felt his breath against his chest as he spoke. “Yes.”
“That’s foolish,” Jonathan replied, eyes straying to the ceiling. “The only thing to fear is fear itself.”
There was no answer.
Thomas waited until the other’s breath had evened out before carefully moving to brush the hair from Jonathan’s face. “That’s what I said,” he whispered. He reached over to turn off the light.
Out in the city, a bat fluttered across the moon; and outside of the grimy world of Gotham the old things stirred. The grasses rustled, the shadows quivered, and people locked their doors for the night. The Jack-o-lanterns were blown out, their momentary, flickering thoughts extinguished in a single puff.
The scarecrow was strapped to his ungainly cross. He was in repose but he glowed triumphantly, lit up, unearthly and orange and hot. All around him, the crops were on fire.
Word Count: 7,342
Rating: Mature (Sex, violence, the usual)
Canon: Batman
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone, I don't profit from this, blah blah blah.
Characters: Jonathan Crane/Thomas Schiff, The Joker/Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy, Jim Gordon, Batman
Summary: It's Halloween and the freaks come out - but not without a little coaxing from the Scarecrow.
Author's Note: Written on a whim when I should have been doing something else. Been awhile since I dabbled in the world of fanfic and I hope it's not a giant piece of crap. I like it, but I have bad taste. Anyway. Pretty much Nolanverse, except Poison Ivy - she's definitely the most comic book-y out of the lot.
EDIT 03/10/09 @ 2:30 AM: There are apparently some similarities between this story and agent0fchaos's work. I've talked with the author over this and we've chalked it up to a freakish coincidence. That being said: what are you doing here? Go read her stuff. She's cooler than me, yo.
Trick
He grew up out of cornfields, leering high above them on his skeletal frame, eyeless and watchful. In the shiver of a hot midday sun, when the air distorted and the crops rustled despite the lack of breeze, maybe he turned his head to look at you, as you went by.
On Halloween he scrambled down from his post, perhaps. On Halloween he went a’ roving. Sunk his sickle into fat grinning Jack-o-lanterns, went into houses through the back door.
It didn’t matter where you were in this country, in this state; Halloween was always the same. The ghouls were different, but the victims never faltered. This was his holiday, he knew, and it always had been. Fear was delicious and thick, sicklier and sweeter than the candy pouring from stranger’s hands. It was all-the-more pungent because no one actually expected anything bad to happen on such a night, nothing moreso than usual. They were all so ready to be afraid, though. Ready, and waiting.
It was six o’clock and the streets were thick with children and their escorts. There was also sunshine, though the sun was low in the sky. That was fine with Jonathan; once night had properly fallen his real fun would begin. For now, though, there was work to be done.
He was such an unnoticeable person. He knew how to disappear in a crowd. He didn’t look much like the pictures in the wanted posters, anyway. His hair had grown long and unkempt and was dyed black, and his eyes were muted by a pair of hazel-coloured contact lenses. He knew, though, that in order to stay invisible on this night, he needed an accessory.
He found her standing uncertainly on the street corner, just within the Narrows district. She was small and dark-haired, clutching an orange, pumpkin-shaped plastic pail. Now who would leave such a beautiful little girl all by herself, in such a terrible place? Bad things could happen to her, all too easily, no matter what night it happened to be. He was lucky to have found her.
Jonathan went up to her and offered his hand. “Come on, darling,” he said. “What’s your name?”
“Ally,” she replied, but didn’t take his hand. She was wearing a very old, yellow taffeta party dress, too big for her and probably secondhand. “I lost Madame Jean.”
Ah, Jonathan thought. Of course. The orphanage.
“We’ll go find her,” he soothed. He had that sort of voice; patients loved it during therapy sessions. She didn’t hesitate to take his hand, now.
He hit the main street, Ally in one hand, the other slinging a pillowcase half-full of candy over his shoulder. They went away from the Narrows, heading into the stable neighbourhoods where people could afford things like mortgages. He led her up to houses for candy, smiled when the mothers or daughters flirted with him. At houses where there was only a bowl of candy left out on the steps, Jonathan dumped some of it into Ally’s pail, and then replaced it with candy from his own stash.
By seven o’clock, Ally told him her feet hurt, and she had more than enough candy, and Jonathan’s pillow case was empty. “Come on, sweetheart,” he said, picking her up in his arms as if she really were his daughter, and carrying her back to the main street, where he managed to hail down a cab.
In the backseat, she showed him all the different kinds of candy she had gotten. He listened aptly.
He paid the driver and held the car door open for Ally. The sky was bleeding red from the sunset as he led her up into the rundown apartment building. They had to go all the way up to the fifth floor, so Jonathan picked her up again and carried her up the stairs. She was so small and light; the orphanage could barely afford to feed her, probably.
“Halloween’s my favourite holiday,” she told him, as he carried her down the hall.
“Really?” he replied. “It’s my favourite holiday, too.”
He shifted her around so that he was holding her with one arm, and knocked on the apartment door. He heard footsteps, but carefully stayed out of view of the peep hole. The door opened a few inches, still secured by its chain, and he saw a dark blue eye fringed with thick lashes before the door abruptly slammed shut.
He waited another second, and the door slowly cracked open again. “Hello, Cynthia,” he said. “I’m here for your brother.”
Her eyes were trained on the girl. “What is this?” she asked, her voice low.
“Just let me in.”
Suspiciously, she undid the chain and opened the door. “I don’t know what kind of sick thing you’re doing, but-”
“Relax, won’t you?” Jonathan replied, unimpressed. He strode in, forcing her to back out of the way. He carefully set Ally down. The apartment, though shabby, was spotless, something he had come to expect from Cynthia. That, and her warm-heartedness. “Don’t worry, there’s no frantic mother out on the streets. She’s from the Catholic orphanage near the edge of the Narrows. Probably lost her trick-or-treating group.”
“Crane,” Cynthia said, her voice shaking with undisguised disgust. “I won’t pretend to think I can stop you from doing the things you do, but I don’t want you involving me or my brother in these things, especially if it involves children, my God-”
“I said relax,” Jonathan bit back, annoyed. “What kind of criminal do you think I am? I just took her trick-or-treating. Ask her, she’ll tell you everything. Now where’s Thomas?”
Cynthia glared at him, no doubt wondering whether to believe him or not. “He’s in his room, sleeping,” she said. She reached out and took Ally’s hand.
“Come on, babe,” Cynthia said, as Jonathan headed for the bedrooms. “You want a glass of coke? And I have some leftover candy, too.”
Thomas’ door was closed. Jonathan opened it slowly, peering into the musty darkness. Then he opened it fully, letting the light from the hall illuminate his path.
Jonathan picked his way through the bedroom, and sat on the edge of the bed. Thomas’ soft black hair was sticking out from under the blankets. Jonathan gently shook the other awake. “Hey, Schiff,” he said, quietly.
The other man stirred. “Is that you?” came the sleepy voice.
“Depends on who you’re expecting.” Jonathan carefully peeled back the blankets. Thomas started to shift around, murmuring. “I need you tonight, okay?”
“Okay,” Thomas mumbled. Jonathan stroked the sooty black hair and left the room.
Cynthia was in the kitchen with Ally, counting out her candy. The little girl looked happy, probably happier than she had been in a long time. “You’re lucky,” Cynthia said, grudgingly. “Your story checks out.”
“Of course it does.” Jonathan looked out the window, at the twinkling lights of Gotham City, glowing stronger as the sun sank.
“I don’t get it. I don’t get why.”
“I don’t care if you do, Cynthia,” he said. She’d figure it out soon enough. “I was hoping you could take her back to the orphanage for me. Or maybe to the cops. I’d rather not do it myself, and my time is precious.”
Cynthia stared sadly at Ally, who was, as most little children were when their attention was stolen by candy, completely oblivious. “Yeah, I can do that,” she said, softly. “I’ll feed her some dinner, first.”
“Does Madame Jean feed you?” Jonathan asked Ally. The little girl giggled at such a silly question. He saw Cynthia staring at him from the corner of his eye, wondering, maybe, if Jonathan had grown up without parents too.
Let her wonder.
“Are you wearing one of Thomas’ sweaters?” she asked finally, as she watched Jonathan carefully remove his contact lenses without the use of a mirror. Jonathan was surprised to see that he was.
Her brother soon appeared, still looking sleepy, and not questioning the presence of a little girl in the apartment. He questioned very little, most days. “Are we going someplace tonight?” he asked.
“We’re going to a lot of places,” Jonathan said.
“Did you take your pills, Thomas?” Cynthia asked.
He didn’t say anything.
“I need you to take your medication tonight, Schiff,” Jonathan said, gently. Thomas looked at the floor, and nodded.
Outside, a breeze had started up. Jonathan breathed in, fear and danger thick and heady on the wind. “We need a car, Schiff,” he said, idly, looking up at the dark sky. Unlit. “Where are you tonight, Batman?” he asked aloud, almost sing-song, as he followed Thomas down the street. Dead leaves rattled around their feet like bones.
“It needs to be able to carry a few people,” he felt compelled to add. He also felt his lips twitching up into a smile.
They found an old beater car that looked sturdy enough, and he watched Thomas jimmy the lock and hotwire it. Jonathan’s hideout was only a few minutes away, accessible only by alley. He fetched his mask and handed Thomas a can of gasoline and a duffle bag that clanked ominously. While Thomas switched license plates, Jonathan stripped down to his t-shirt and jeans before pulling on his threadbare suit jacket, the last of his possessions from his former life.
Lastly, they slid a large cooler, one that might once have been used for hoarding fish on long boat trips, into the backseat. “How’s your aim lately, Schiff?” Jonathan asked, climbing into the passenger seat.
Having a conversation with Thomas was difficult if his mind was on something else, and it usually was. “Are there going to be other people coming with us?” Thomas asked.
Jonathan smiled, and pulled on his mask. Thomas glanced back at the cooler.
“Let’s go,” Scarecrow said.
*
“Someone tell me what’s going on!” Commissioner Gordon yelled to the officers crowding the MCU. He rarely lost his cool, but his nerves were already on end because it was Halloween. He expected any number of wackoes to come out, child molesters or kidnappers or serial rapists, but he didn’t expect… whatever it was that was happening. An epidemic?
“We don’t know, Commissioner,” Lieutenant Berg said, uncertainly. “It’s the hospitals, they’ve all been calling… all these kids admitted into emergency. They’re frightened.”
“Frightened of what?” Gordon demanded. His mind went through endless possibilities, maybe one of Gotham’s most notorious villains attacking parents, doing evil things. But the next thing Berg said made Gordon’s mind quiet and then slowly reel as his memory went back to stained underground corridors, and a thin man with piercing blue eyes, wrapped up in a straitjacket. The feel of burlap in his calloused hands.
“They just afraid, sir,” he said. “Screaming. Afraid of everything.”
“Crane,” Gordon said.
*
He heard a click, as of a door quietly closing.
He was up and out of bed in an instant, on the prowl. He paced from the tiny, threadbare bedroom and into the rest of the tiny, threadbare apartment. His girl had secured the digs under a false identity a week or so ago (she was useful like that) and they hadn’t really moved in yet.
There was the scarred kitchen table, its one short leg propped up by an old phone book. On it was an assortment of knives, guns, and pots bearing the remnants of numerous macaroni and cheese dinners. There was a new addition. Two, really.
Someone’s head was in the middle of the table, next to a very neatly prepared, unlit Molotov cocktail. The facial muscles had been pulled and forced into a mad, grinning look, and a note was secured to the nose with a thumbtack.
The Joker was already smiling as he tugged the note free.
Happy Halloween. First drink’s on me.
No signature, but he knew.
Bursting into a peal of laughter, the Joker snatched up the head, rushing into the bedroom where Harley was starting to stir. He launched the head right into her lap and was rewarded by her high-pitched scream.
“Come on, beautiful!” he sang, giggling. “Come on, baby! We’re going out on the town, you and me! Dinner, drinks, and dancing! Oh, Jonathan,” he oozed, jumping up onto the bed and bouncing on it, barely missing the scrambling Harley. He kicked the head across the room. “Jonathan, Jonathan, you put me in the best moods, Jonathan!”
The Joker was indeed in a good mood, and he had a feeling it was going to improve. Crane probably had an agenda, but who cared?
He heard gunshots nearby.
*
The Scarecrow stuck his head out of the car and relished the smell of dead leaves and urban decay as Thomas obediently ran a red light. His burlap mask flapped threateningly, but the noose around the neck kept it secure. He cocked his shotgun and began to fire, randomly.
“People fear disorder,” Scarecrow shouted to Thomas, between gunshots. “They fear what they don’t expect. But they crave it, too. It makes them watch scary movies and ride roller coasters. They want it. They need what they fear.”
When he was out of rounds, he got back into his seat and started to reload. “Chaos,” he said, as he worked. “Unexpected, murderous chaos. Not my expertise, but never let it be said that I don’t take shortcuts.”
“The Joker-”
“You know the Joker, don’t you, Schiff?” Jonathan teased. “He offered you escape, but he’s so unreliable. Isn’t he, Schiff? How’s your knee?”
Thomas didn’t reply.
“You better concentrate,” Jonathan said, staying in his seat but leveling the shotgun out the window. “This is important. This is science. There is nothing more important than science.” He pulled the trigger.
*
Ivy awoke in a bed of roses.
They were twined all about her, wrapped seductively around her arms, her legs, her neck. The thorns drew not a drop of blood. She stretched luxuriously.
She had spent all day lying there, sleeping, soaking up the sun’s rays beaming down from her glass roof. Now she was energized, ready to go out and face the night. Halloween was for amateurs, true, but she was feeling restless…
Then she noticed the bouquet.
She pulled herself free of the clinging roses, who sighed and withdrew. Her light step rustled in the grass of her underground green house and she tripped on a discarded leg.
Scattered, here and there amid her plants, were body parts. That wasn’t what disturbed her, they were just fertilizer. She picked up the bouquet, handling it as if she were handling a dead thing - which, in reality, it was.
Red carnations and black roses, twisted with ivy. The ivy was obvious. Her hands shook with rage and she dropped the bouquet to the ground, where it scattered like ashes from a funeral pyre. Black roses for death and hatred, red carnations murmured of heartache. There was only one man that she hated dearly who was smart enough, insulting enough, to send her a message in flowers, to mock her with false flirtation and dead plants.
*
“Gunshots reported in Old Gotham, sir,” Stephens shouted, hanging up the phone. “At least one tipster reported a burlap mask.”
“Get on it,” Gordon said.
*
“Not scared, are you, Schiff?” Scarecrow asked. They had pulled over in a ticketed parking lot. Scarecrow half-expected to see a bunch of drug dealers showing up for a drop off at any second, it was that kind of place.
“No,” Thomas said, softly.
Jonathan pulled off his mask and climbed over into Thomas’ seat, straddling his lap. “We’ll be done soon,” he murmured, his lips finding the other man’s ear. “Then we’ll go home. You want to go home with me, don’t you?” He shivered as he felt the other man’s hand slide underneath his shirt.
Jonathan heard a crash, an explosion - a small one nearby, or a big one far away, he couldn’t tell. He chuckled, and then kissed Thomas full on the lips.
*
The police cars headed for Old Gotham screeched as their tires burnt tracks on the road, braking and turning and climbing over curbs to head back in the other direction, the way they had come. Reports were pouring in through the radio, nonstop, like a shouting mob.
The screaming children paled next to the reports of seven other children missing, a fire in a nightclub downtown, and then suddenly the explosion of a daycare centre several streets over. The panic was escalating, going ever upward. The phone lines were getting tied as citizens phoned each other, demanding help or answers or comfort. Every television in every home, bar, hotel room and window display showed the channel 4 news.
The Joker stood on the rooftop of the apartment building, on the corner of Jameson, and flung his arms wide as he watched the chaos unfold. The wind was picking up and the leaves were starting to scatter. “Everyone’s in a mask tonight, Harley girl,” he said. Above him in the night sky, the Bat Signal glowed.
He held out his gloved hand.
She was beautiful, and his, all his. She leapt forward, bright and agile, the sharpest blade in his arsenal. “Dance with me, baby,” he said, and hummed a tune as they made up a dance. Some sort of waltz tango.
He spun her and caught her, and held her over the edge of the building in a lover’s embrace. Her eyes glittered like the lights of the city. “Your buddy Jonathan is up to something, Harley Harl,” he said. “We should go and talk to him.”
“Whatever you say, Mister J,” she breathed, letting her head fall back, feeling the wind caress her cheeks.
“I hope he doesn’t ruin our night.”
“Me too, me too…”
He turned her away from the edge of the building, planning on continuing their dance, and then dropped her when he noticed a fiery glow in the distance. She hit the concrete with a little squeak. “Did we light that fire?” he asked.
Harley got to her feet. “No,” she said, peering into the distance.
“Yeah, let’s go talk to your scary little friend,” the Joker said.
*
“Someone just threw three Molotov cocktails through the windows at City Centre, there was another fire at Club D, and two men were just found poisoned to death near eighty-first ave. Do you think they’re related, Commissioner?”
“No. That’s what’s worrying me.”
*
“Did you take your sister’s cell phone?” Jonathan asked.
Thomas tossed it over to him, and Jonathan dialed. “Cynthia,” he said. “Could you do me a favour and record the news? My television just broke the other day.”
“Crane!” Cynthia howled, so loud Thomas glanced away from the road in alarm. “What the fuck are you doing? I know all those kids in hospital are your, are your fault-”
“Don’t say my name!” Jonathan spat, in a rare loss of temper. Someone could be listening. A big bat with giant ears.
“I ought to turn you in,” Cynthia snarled. “If it weren’t-” she cut herself off this time, falling silent.
“You were going to say something, Cynthia,” he said, softly, after a pause. “Go on. ‘If it weren’t’… if it weren’t for what?”
“If it weren’t for the fact Thomas listens to you…” she trailed off.
“Just tape the news, Cynthia,” Jonathan said, and flipped the phone shut. He reached forward and turned up the radio. Mayor Garcia urges everyone in Gotham to remain calm. There is no evidence of terrorist attack. Citizens are advised to stay in their homes and with loved ones.
“Not the young kids,” Jonathan said, pulling on his mask again. “They’re going to be out, partying. They like the sense of danger. Everyone’s running around in costume, everyone’s having a frightening, fun time. Is that a flower shop?” Thomas squeezed the brakes.
Scarecrow fished in the duffel bag for another Molotov cocktail. He really loved making them, and put as much perfectionism into them as he did with most else in his life. Smooth glass bottles of kerosene, neatly stuffed and capped. Almost as fun as liquor and sex, really.
Scarecrow went out onto the sidewalk, startling four costumed partiers laughing drunkenly nearby. “What’re you-” someone began, before Jonathan pulled out a gun and shot out the shop window. At least two of them screamed.
Scarecrow turned to them. “Boo,” he said, and lit the soaked rag. He threw the flaming bottle into the flower shop, where it burst in a shower of kerosene. Scarecrow stood and watched the roses shrivel up as the bystanders ran away. He knew she’d get the message.
*
Poison Ivy had herself a brand new car, having kissed one besotted drug dealer outside of Club D. Men. They never could resist a pair of tits, could they?
She was a proud woman, and because of that she could not stand Jonathan Crane. That arrogant, smirking, skinny little man. No, he wasn’t a man. Poison Ivy knew men. Like the Batman. Sure, he was a giant bat, but he knew how to treat a woman like Ivy: with caution. Crane had no such cares, though. Crane was reckless.
Harley liked him so much and Ivy didn’t understand why. And the Joker never tried to kill him, at least not seriously, as far as Ivy knew - Harley said something about Mister J trying to throw him off a building once, but Harley said a lot of things - and Ivy didn’t understand that either. You’d think someone as territorial as the Joker would take aims to eliminate competition.
Not that Jonathan Crane merited competition.
Maybe that was it, Ivy mused. Maybe he was just too pathetic. Well, maybe she’d just overcome her disgust, kiss him and be done with it.
The clouds thinned out, flowering and faint, and stretched over the moon.
*
Reported robbery at Royal Jewelers. Roughly three hundred and thirty seven thousand dollars worth of jewelry stolen. This is the thirteenth robbery tonight, but is the first involving diamonds and…
Scarecrow smiled to himself.
They pulled over next to a church. It was no longer a place of worship, he could see; there were signs for a tailor’s in the windows. A very old, dignified building, pushed in between newer (but not much newer) bricked housing structures. Its sparse yard boasted yellow grass and was framed by a spiky iron fence.
“Picturesque,” Scarecrow remarked, helping Thomas to drag the massive cooler out of the backseat. It hit the sidewalk and its contents shuffled awkwardly from impact. “Like a postcard. A little Halloween postcard.”
“I don’t want to do this,” Thomas blurted out, an edge of hysteria in his voice.
People got hysterical over dead things, and Thomas was no exception. Scarecrow knew the psychological reasons, but he failed to feel the same way. What was so frightening about them? They were already dead. He opened the cooler and the stench rose from it, despite the amount of ice he had poured in there. His mask deadened some of the smell.
“It’s just meat,” Scarecrow counseled, soothingly. He dug through the ice and closed his fingers around someone’s wrist. Heavy, dead meat. It had real weight to it, like money when it was stacked in heaps or bound in paper. Cumbersome.
He pulled the severed forearm down over the black iron fence, having to push and tug to get the spike to go through. “Where did you get… all of this?” Thomas asked faintly.
“Why would I tell you that?” Scarecrow replied, idly. He walked back to the cooler, studied it critically, and then dumped the entire thing out.
Ice and body parts scattered over the sidewalk.
Scarecrow found himself, lately, becoming more and more artistic. He wondered how that was so. Perhaps it was his attention to detail, or perhaps he had always been artistic but hadn’t known it. There could be an artistry in science that he was just starting to see, when before all he had were facts and theories.
The little black fence was his sculpture. He carefully picked and chose and ornamented it with his cache. He didn’t mind the smell; you could get used to anything, if you faced it often enough. It was a small price to pay.
Thomas knelt at the curb, coughing. Jonathan pulled off his mask and bent down beside him, fingering and stroking the soft black hair, pushing it back from his face. The other man was paler than usual, and he was shuddering, shoulders quaking beneath Jonathan’s palm.
“You’ll be fine in a minute,” Jonathan said. He placed the ghostliest of kisses to the back of Thomas’ head, so light he knew the other wouldn’t feel it.
Jonathan picked up the last head - the head of a lady, not that gender mattered when the body was gone - and stuck it on the spiked gate. He slammed his fist down atop the skull, hearing the flesh speared with a sickly squelch.
“I still have some pieces left,” Jonathan remarked. “Think there’s a school nearby? Oh, there must be a school nearby.” He listened to Thomas cough up another mouthful of vomit.
*
What was Halloween without a little black cat?
Selina crouched atop the Gotham National Bank, viewing the scene below. There were a lot of people out on the street. She was in a fancy part of town… perhaps they thought that because they were rich, they were immune…
No, she thought. Because you are rich, you are worth stealing from.
She ought to go home, she really should, but she’d seen something fly over the moon and didn’t want to lead any ghouls back to her sanctuary. He was creeping up to her now, cloaked in soft, velvety black silence, but she knew he was there.
“Why so shy, Batman?” she purred, turning to see him crouching a few metres away. He straightened up. “Getting lost, are we? Too many things, too big a city, not enough bats?”
“What’s going on, Catwoman?”
“I don’t know,” she murmured, her voice throaty and musical compared to the growl in his voice. She enjoyed the little differences between them. She leapt up onto the ledge of the building. “I just don’t know, Batman. But why ask me?”
“Because you’re the first one I found.”
“I’m just taking advantage of the night,” she breathed. “Soft and black, like a kitty cat. It’s my night to go out, isn’t it? Isn’t Halloween a night for black kitties?”
“And a night for clowns,” said the Batman.
“Mmn,” Catwoman agreed. “And scarecrows, too.” She darted away, running along the edge of the building, and leapt off, twirling about her bullwhip. The Batman didn’t follow her this time.
*
The trees shivered in ecstasy as she passed. She wanted to stop her car and wrap her arms around their thick, voluptuous trunks; press her ear to the bark and thrive in the heady thrum of their living, their breathing. She didn’t, though. She had some semblance of control, unlike everyone else in this wretched city.
She relaxed back in her seat at a red light and ignored the pair of men in the car next to her, panting. Let them pant, she thought, kindly. She liked getting attention, anyway; she loved to be flirted with, sought after, but there was a time and a place for everything and it definitely wasn’t right there at the intersection.
Then one of them said something. Something she didn’t care to hear.
“Excuse me?” she murmured, smiling. She pursed her lips and blew them a kiss, exhaling, sending them her heady scent of lilac and vanilla and sweet exotic places and mind-controlling spores.
The light turned green.
“Go drive off a bridge, boys,” she suggested silkily, before hitting the gas.
*
As he suspected would happen sooner or later, the Joker found him.
Scarecrow was standing outside the liquor store, leaning back against the front bumper of the car. After the incident at the school, Thomas had expressed the need for a drink. Scarecrow had thoughtfully accommodated him.
As if materializing out of thin air, which he seemed to do often, the Joker was abruptly standing beside him, reeking of gasoline and sweat. Harley went into the brightly-lit liquor store, to stand beside Thomas. They both watched shamelessly through the display windows, like tourists at a zoo. The man at the counter didn’t seem to care what was happening in or outside his store, just continued to read his pulp fiction.
“Knew you’d get thirsty sooner or later,” the Joker drawled, in his funny voice.
“I was hoping to see you tonight,” Scarecrow said. He sensed the Joker tense, ever-so-slightly. “Did you like my present? It took a while to get the face to look like that.”
“’Preciate it,” the Joker said. Then he shoved his own smiling face close to Scarecrow’s, so close that his breath could be smelt even through the burlap. “Don’t tell me it’s part of a little scheme, though. You know me and how I feel about schemes.”
“Not a scheme,” Scarecrow said, truthfully. “It’s… an experiment.”
Striking like a viper, the Joker’s hands were around his neck. He slammed Scarecrow back against the hood of the car, the impact ringing through his body. “Not on you,” Scarecrow gasped, desperately ripping at the vice-like hands. “Not on you!”
After a few more seconds in which the Joker’s grip tightened and there was a scuffle in the liquor store, Scarecrow was released. He pulled off his mask and took in lungfuls of chilly October air.
“You really need to be more clear about these things,” the Joker said, his face pulling an over-exaggerated look of concern. “I could, like, have strangled you, y’know?”
“It’s a social experiment on Gotham,” Jonathan corrected, rubbing his throat. “I needed terror. For terror I needed chaos, and I figured you’d have done it anyway on a Halloween night, and some thanks would be in order. So I sent you a… gift basket.”
“You do whip up a decent cocktail,” the Joker said.
*
Harley and Thomas were having a drink in the liquor store. It was all Harley; she was a beer woman. She’d pulled two icy bottles out of their case and cracked the caps off on the edge of the counter. The clerk looked at them but didn’t dare say a word.
“I like you,” she said to Thomas. “You were at Arkham when I started interning there, right?”
“For a little bit,” Thomas said. He didn’t mention his connection to the Joker. She wouldn’t care and the Joker wouldn’t remember.
They stood and watched their respective partners talk. The Joker stood with his shoulders hunched up, but Scarecrow leaned on the car looking awkwardly relaxed. They both seemed to be expecting something, but had different ideas of what.
Thomas glanced aside at Harley. She was draining her bottle in one go. He waited until she put her hand on her hip and burped. “Can you talk to him?” he asked.
“To who?” She followed his stare outside. “Oh, to Mister J? Sure. I talk to him all the time.”
The Joker struck and Thomas jumped forward, only to have a pair of wiry arms wrap around his neck. He attempted to turn and slash Harley with his beer bottle, but they just ended up falling to the floor and writhing about, wordlessly struggling and hitting and rolling onto spilt beer and broken glass.
When Thomas looked up again to see Jonathan straightening his jacket, he stopped punching Harley and helped her to her feet. “Oh, thank you,” she said, grabbing onto his hand. “You’re sweet.”
*
Gordon stood on the rooftop, next to the spotlight. What else could he do? The Commissioner had no place running about on the streets, putting out fires.
Something told him he wasn’t alone anymore, and he turned with relief to see that he was joined by the Batman.
“This doesn’t look planned,” Gordon said, without preamble. “This looks random. Terrifying, but random. There’s always a scuffle or two on Halloween, maybe a bit more than the rest of the year, but this… this is different.”
“It started with the children at the hospital.”
“You think it’s Crane behind this?” Gordon asked. “But there’ve been reports of the Joker, too, and he’s not likely to let himself be part of someone else’s plan.”
“It’s Halloween. Could just be a costume. But only the Scarecrow uses that kind of drug.”
“Yeah, I hear there are a lot of Batmen around tonight.” Gordon kept his eyes on the other, knowing that once he glanced away, Batman could be gone. “Still, can you see a motive?”
A pause. “No.”
“Well, it’ll turn up sooner or later,” Gordon sighed. “I just want this night to end. They all crawl back to their hiding places once the sun comes up.” His cell rang, alarming him, and he ripped it from his belt. “Gordon.”
“Trouble?”
Gordon rubbed at his temple, tiredly, and hung up. “Joker’s been sighted. He just ran over a man dressed like him.”
*
He and Thomas retrieved from the car the duffle bag and the license plate, because the Joker didn’t give a damn whether the vehicle looked legitimate or not. “She’s all yours,” Jonathan said, as Thomas shouldered the duffle bag. He was glad the Joker had decided not to kill him this time.
He and Thomas set off on foot as the car roared away, Harley leaning happily out of the window and waving goodbye rather than keeping her eyes on the road.
“What did you get?” Jonathan asked.
“Tequila.”
“Good choice.” Jonathan reached around Thomas to tuck his mask into the duffle bag, and then the other man surprised him, putting his arm around Jonathan’s shoulders and drawing him close. He allowed himself to be tucked underneath Thomas’ jacket. He supposed he didn’t mind. The other smelt of candy and beer.
*
The blare of static always announced the arrival of one of the Joker’s home videos on the evening news. They had gotten even worse since Harley Quinn started holding the camera for him.
“Hellooooo,” he drawled, practically kissing the lens, his mangled mouth freshly painted and baring yellowed teeth. “Hellooooo Gotham! Isn’t Halloween fun? I love Halloween. Everyone seems to be getting into the spirit of it too, which is great. I didn’t actually have anything planned for tonight but I changed my mind.”
Harley’s giggle strained into the audio.
“Everyone’s just doing their thing, robbing and plundering, murdering and raping. And I wouldn’t presume to tell people what to do with their lives, y’know, more power to them. But I guess I get kinda concerned after awhile.”
There was a swoop and a clatter and everyone staring at their television screens were treated to a close up of the Joker’s expensive shoe.
“Harley!” he barked.
“Sorry!”
“I got concerned because, you know, I was out and about on the town with my girl and then I saw myself. Not in the mirror or a reflection or anything. No, no. No. I saw myself on the street. I went out to take a look.” The Joker lifted up the camera and held it in front of him.
“He didn’t look very much like you,” Harley opined.
“No, no, he wasn’t smiling.” The Joker licked his lips and peered into the camera as if he were looking through a telescope. Or a microscope. “So, hello, Gotham. I know flattery is a form of imitation, but I really… must… protest.”
The camera shut off.
It was turned back on.
“Look, here are three more,” the Joker giggled, off camera. The faux-villains were clearly unconscious - Harley was jabbing them with large toasting forks, just to prove it. “One Joker, two Joker, three Joker… four! I’m Joker four.”
“You’re number one to me,” Harley said.
“Y’hear that, Gotham? I’m number one. No joke for you tonight. I’m all tired out. I just wanted to wish you… a happy Halloween. And I’m glad to be here.”
*
“I’m sorry I dropped the camera, Mister J.”
Poison Ivy about wanted to vomit by the time she pushed open the door to the seventh-floor in the building. Not from the smell, but from the words spilling out of her friend’s mouth.
“Still livin’ the feminist dream, eh, Harl?” Ivy growled.
The Joker was sitting in a fold-out deck chair he probably stole from someone’s backyard. He was relaxed back, legs spread, shotgun balanced across his knees. Harley was sitting on the floor, messing around with the camera. Three men dressed as the Joker were lined up against the wall nearby, two of them clearly dead with ugly smiles carved onto their face.
“Oh,” the Joker said, idly. “It’s just you.”
Ivy bristled.
“Red!” Harley dropped the camera and bounded forward. “Oh, Red, I’m so glad to see you! This night just keeps getting better and better! Mister J’s been so romantic.”
“I bet,” Ivy said, glancing at him. “Listen. Just tell me where Crane is and I’ll get outta your hair.”
The Joker stared at her, fingering the shotgun. “Who?”
“Jonathan!” Harley said. “You remember Jonathan, right?”
“The Scarecrow,” Poison Ivy spat out. She really hated to dignify him with that moniker.
“Oh him!” The Joker said, with the occupied air of a man interrupted while reading the newspaper. “I dunno where he is. Why?”
“I want to kill him.”
“Red, you can’t,” Harley said, with a half-laugh, clearly unsure if Ivy was joking or not. “He’s not so bad.”
“Harley, shut up,” Ivy snapped.
The Joker cocked his shotgun and stared at Ivy with that curious, deadly calm. The stare of a predatory bird. “I don’t like you coming around,” he said. “You put strange things into Harley’s head. I don’t like people messing with what’s mine.”
“She’s not something you can own,” Ivy spat, her hatred of Jonathan Crane now suddenly overcome by her hatred of this man, this suffocating, insane man. He blinded you with his charisma, twisted your mind with his own, irrelevant logic.
She opened her mouth to say more, but then Harley said, softly, “I heard something.”
The Joker leapt to his feet, grinning. “He’s here!” he exclaimed, ecstatic. “I’ve been waiting all night for him. What’s he been doing? Rescuing babies from house fires? Well, well, it’s Halloween. Trick-or-treat.” He grabbed Harley’s wrist and dragged her to the door. Ivy ran after them and stared down the corridor, seeing them disappear into the elevator. It was going up.
Where were they going? Ivy wondered, watching them go helplessly. Upstairs, to the roof? The bat would get them in a second. Well, if Harley ended up back in Arkham then it was her own fault. Ivy wasn’t ready to go there, ever.
She turned and ran for the stairs.
*
They undressed under the single bulb, hanging bare and naked overtop their heads.
Jonathan fell back onto the bed and watched Thomas bend over him, mouth searing and hot as it kissed and licked and nibbled. Jonathan licked his lips and grasped handfuls of the other’s hair, pulling Thomas away from his chest to kiss him again, the first kiss since that moment in the parking lot. Thomas tensed under his hands now as he did then.
Thomas groaned, pressing Jonathan down firmly against the mattress. Jonathan ran his hands over the other’s arms and torso, so much fuller and more muscular than his own, struck again by how much he enjoyed lying like this, feeling the firmness and presence of the other’s body, as if he were more real than the rest of the world around Jonathan.
*
“Nowhere to go, Joker.”
“Hello, stranger!” the Joker exclaimed. “I’ve missed you, you know? I feel like you’ve been ignoring me. It’s okay, though. I’ve got your attention at last.”
He held Harley close to him. She was small and warm in the cold night.
“What’s your plan, Joker?” Batman advanced. His cape flowed and coiled around his body. The Joker found himself wondering as always what lay behind the mask. He wouldn’t have been surprised if it really had been Harvey Dent, all along, despite all that had happened. Dent had quite the chin.
“Plan?” The Joker exclaimed. “I hate plans, you know that. I’m not a man who plans. I did rig another hospital to blow though.”
“What?”
“Trick-or-treat!” He burst out laughing. Harley giggled. “I always pick trick.”
“I noticed.”
“I learned something tonight, Bats,” said the Joker. “You know you never stop learning? Life is so fascinating. It’s great. Anyway, I learned this great thing tonight from-”
He scrambled wildly out of the way as Batman pounced. He dragged Harley along with him like a boy clutching his teddy.
“So I learned, Gotham loves to be frightened! Gotham feeds off of it, isn’t that neat? It’s Gotham’s little guilty pleasure. We all love to lock our doors. We all love to watch meeee on the television!”
*
Jonathan clung white-knuckled to the headboard, moaning with each thrust of Thomas’ hips.
Thomas’ hands were everywhere, and he was also murmuring, too; he always murmured. Sometimes Jonathan listened, sometimes he didn’t. He listened now. Just little snippets of noise. Beautiful you’re so beautiful… I can’t breathe I… just after every night I can… hear you say my name… always before the screaming…
Thomas’ hands went to Jonathan’s lower back and he bucked his hips at such an angle that Jonathan let out a strangled cry.
*
Harley screamed as the Batman’s fist slammed into the Joker’s face. The Joker’s lean body practically crackled with energy as he leapt forward, a knife shining in his hand. There was always a spot, he had found. Always a spot to sink the blade in.
They hurtled off the edge.
The Joker’s laughter echoed through the chilly air. He pulled himself back onto the roof, white-knuckled. The bat had landed below on a car driven by a mouthy little redhead.
“Hey, look, Harl,” the Joker said, motioning her close. She went to him, inevitably, magnetically. They leaned over the edge. “It’s your plant friend saying hello to the Batman.”
“Yeah,” she said, tremulously, but her eyes were drawn to the blood running down the side of his face.
“We oughta get out,” the Joker said. “I bet he’s real mad at me now. But we probably wouldn’t make it.”
Harley’s face quivered. “Don’t say that, Mister J,” she exclaimed, and suddenly she was crying, sobbing. “W-we can distract him! Why don’t we distract him?”
She was in so much distress. He wiped the tears from her face with his gloved hands and smeared her makeup as he did so. “It’ll be okay, Harley,” he said. “It’s gonna be o-kay. Do you believe me?”
She nodded.
“Good.” He said. He picked up all five feet, three inches of her and tossed her off the roof.
*
They laid there, Thomas’ head resting on Jonathan’s chest, the sweat drying off their bodies.
“Are you afraid of me, Thomas?” Jonathan asked, his voice soft, a whisper. A secret.
Thomas didn’t stir, but Jonathan felt his breath against his chest as he spoke. “Yes.”
“That’s foolish,” Jonathan replied, eyes straying to the ceiling. “The only thing to fear is fear itself.”
There was no answer.
Thomas waited until the other’s breath had evened out before carefully moving to brush the hair from Jonathan’s face. “That’s what I said,” he whispered. He reached over to turn off the light.
Out in the city, a bat fluttered across the moon; and outside of the grimy world of Gotham the old things stirred. The grasses rustled, the shadows quivered, and people locked their doors for the night. The Jack-o-lanterns were blown out, their momentary, flickering thoughts extinguished in a single puff.
The scarecrow was strapped to his ungainly cross. He was in repose but he glowed triumphantly, lit up, unearthly and orange and hot. All around him, the crops were on fire.