The Batmobile comes to a stop and the top of the cockpit slides open. Batman jumps out, his cape swishing behind him as he walks. He yanks the cowl off his head and lets it hang off his neck.
In his hands is a DVD, the only piece of information Deadshot would give up. He has a feeling that he knows exactly what's on that disk. He's had a good idea ever since Croc uttered the name Eric Morecambe. Eric Morecambe, the alias of the man who hired Lawton to kill Joker, is also the real name of a British comedian. Half of the famous comedy duo Morecambe and Wise.
Pulling the DVD out of its case, Batman slides the disc into the computer. The black screen blinks on, basking the cave in the bright light of his white skin.
“SURPRIIIIIIIIISE! BLAAAAAHAHA! OOGA-BOOGA-BOOGA! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!”
The Joker’s face is pressed against the screen, blowing raspberries out at Batman.
“I’m here to haunt you from beyooond the graaaaave! AWOOOOOO! That’s right, if you are watching this, it means I’m dead, expired, deceased, no longer of this world, finito. It’s curtains for me, and all that remains is this, my final message to you, my dearest friend. I’m sure you have questions, the biggest one being: why would I order my own death?”
The Joker runs a finger along his neck in a theatrical gesture, crossing his eyes and sticking his tongue out the side of his mouth for added effect.
“That’s a very deep question, and the answer is complicated, so I’m going to begin at the end, and explain why I placed the assignment with Deadshot. On the surface, the two of us couldn’t be more different, but in fact ol’ Floyd and I are quite alike, in that boring, clichéd sacred cows like life and death hold little value or meaning to either of us. For me, it’s all about the game, and for him it’s all about the job. From his cold, clinical, utterly objective perspective, the view of a man who didn’t have a horse in the race – who doesn’t have any horse in any race – I gave him the conditional contract a long time ago, with the fee already paid, leaving him with the judgement to act upon it when he felt The Joker/Batman rivalry had become safe, stale and predictable. I didn’t know when death was coming, and frankly I’m surprised it hadn’t happened by the time I made this message.”
The Joker scratches his head in confusion, his brow furrowing.
“Boy, it sure is weird talking about oneself in the past tense. Anyway, you might want to know what I mean by safe, stale and predictable, so allow me to elaborate. You and I were made for each other, two sides of the yin-yang forever encircling one another. Neither of us could ever bring ourselves to kill the other, you claiming a bloated sense of moral superiority, I claiming that you were the mysterious, untouchable Batman and, try as I might, I just never had the chance to kill you. But we were both kidding ourselves. We couldn’t admit it, but what really drove us was that, deep down, neither one of us could live without the other, we gave each other’s lives meaning. We built an elaborate game of chance and wits around this core truth, and it was a perfect system, perfectly capable of sustaining our merry dance forever... and ever... and ever.”
The Joker’s grin begins to fade, a deep sadness filling his eyes.
“Then it all fell apart.”
Letting out a deep sigh, The Joker falls into a deep silence for close to a minute, his fevered mind lost in unsettling thoughts and recollections.
“It was the mask that ruined it. The moment you lost your mask in front of me and I saw, standing before my eyes, Bruce Wayne in a Batman costume. I mean, I knew already. I always knew. How could I not? I know you better than anyone, Batman. I’ll do you the respect of calling you by your real name. Bruce Wayne is the mask you put on during the day so you can walk around with the peons and make-believe that you’re a normal person with feelings and the capacity for human connection. But when night falls, you go into your cave and you peel off your three-piece suit, then you peel off your skin and your dumb, grinning face, and the cape and cowl are underneath... isn’t that right? I know you. I knew... but I couldn’t let anyone in on the joke, not even myself. I could play along and convince myself that if only I knew Batman’s ‘true identity’, I might be able to hit him where it hurts and kill him. It was a nice little illusion, but then I see you without the mask and the phoniness of it all is exposed in plain sight. I couldn’t see you like that and just DO NOTHING. Pandora’s Box had been opened, the illusion shattered, it was all over. I just didn’t know it yet.”
The Joker smiles again, smirking knowingly to himself.
“It’s quite funny, looking back. I can pinpoint the exact moment where I sealed my fate, and I began down the path that ultimately led to my demise. I had just been injured by The Parasite, and shipped off to Arkham for the hundredth time. But this time was different. This time I was imprisoned with the knowledge that Batman and Bruce Wayne were one and the same. And I schemed, I planned, I figured it all out... the dreaded word... the endgame. I curse myself for ever thinking of that stupid word now. Endgame. Why would I ever want this game to end? That big master-gag, you know the one, the one where I murdered Alfred and buried you alive in the desecrated grave of your parents.... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
He bursts into wild hysterics, only getting himself under control after a couple of minutes. He wipes a tear of laughter from his eye before continuing.
“Oh, nostalgia. That gag changed the whole dynamic of our danse macabre. I broke the rules, I shifted it from being something endless and evergreen to something finite, something with an expiration date. And when I tried to go back to the usual old routine – remember the antimatter bomb on my island fortress? – it rang hollow. It was no good. I’d peeled back the curtain, and exposed the artifice in our game, exposed that hidden truth that we were both simply playing a role. There was no going back. Only forward, inevitably towards the end. We started hitting the grand final notes of our love ballad. You killed me. I killed you. We broke the sacred, unbreakable rules, the two of us. And we exposed the lie. How long have we said that this was always going to end with you killing me or me killing you? That was a fine thing to say... so long as it never actually happened! But when it did, it became clear that this couldn’t be the end, that we needed it to keep on going. Batman needs a Joker. The Joker needs a Batman. Don’t you see? Don’t you get it!? DON’T YOU GETIT!!!?!?!?!”
The Joker looks hysterical, eyes bulging out of his skull, as he tugs at his hair. He turns his back for a moment, shoulders hunching, then turns to face the screen once more, looking weary.
“I don’t know when the hammer fell, when the executioner came for me. If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say it was after I helped bring you back. When I travelled the world to find you, and I restored you from lost, mindless shell to the Batman of old. Oh, I was so proud of myself. Things would go back to the way they used to be! Only they didn’t, and they never would, would they? I could never win. If I killed you, I knew from experience I’d be adrift, lost in despair, and so I could never kill you again. Every punch I threw from that point on would be pulled. We were always players in a grand fiction, Batman, but now I could see the borders of the pages around me, I had taken what was implied and made it overt. And like a joke explained and dissected, the bite was taken out of the punchline. The Joker had been rendered impotent. So, really, if Deadshot didn’t put a bullet in my head right around then, I don’t know what I paid him for.”
The Joker perks up again, a big, maniacal grin spreading across his face as he moves closer to the screen, as if seeing through it, seeing right into Batman’s eyes.
“But we had some good times, didn’t we? Oh, what a ride it was. There were highs and lows, there were thrills and chills, and there was plenty of bloodcurdling, soul-crushing horror, but through it all, we were together. And now that I’m gone, I worry about you, old friend. You’ve probably kept yourself going lately by devoting your every waking hour to avenging my death, solving the unsolvable case. But now you’ve solved it, and you’re no better off than when you started. The Joker: case closed. Where does that leave you, when you’re alone in bed at night with only the screaming demons in your head to keep you company? Does it keep you up at night, knowing that there’s no Joker to terrorise the city and force you to be forever vigilant... but you’ll still keep on putting on that costume anyway? How does it feel to be going through the motions, Batman? How does it feel to be hollow? How does it feel... to be alone?”
There’s a tear brimming in his eyes, and for a moment it seems like The Joker might be serious in his sympathy. But then he bursts out laughing, a laugh wild and violent in its power, a laugh that Batman hoped to never hear again, that he never would hear again after tonight.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! So long, Caped Crusader! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Auf Wiedersehen, Dark Knight! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Bye bye, Batman! HA! HA! HA!”
And the screen goes black. Curtains.
