Batman: Revenge Chapters 36 - 39

BATMAN: REVENGE

Chapter 36

    The Joker stood in front of the camera while Carl counted down, “In five, four, three, two,…” he pointed, to indicate the program had begun and they were on the air.
    With Appleby and the white cross behind him, the Joker greeted the viewing audience, “A very good afternoon to all of you who have tuned in expecting to see, perhaps, another episode of All My Children. Well, here’s a news flash; I’m not Adam Chandler,” Harley came into the camera’s view now and stood beside The Joker, “and this, ladies and gentlemen, is not Erica Kane!”
    Harley smiled and bowed, then turned and walked, followed by the camera, which was being manned by Cody, to where the white cross, illuminated brilliantly by numerous spotlights, rose from the vat. The Joker continued as the camera refocused upon him.
      “The reason for the interruption of your regularly scheduled programming is one of worldwide importance. Let me begin to explain by saying many of you may have already recognized me as a result of some bad press I received fourteen years ago. I had made an earth shattering discovery and was kept from being able to bring the results of my discovery to you by a fiend who evidently felt you weren’t capable of making an intelligent decision after having been supplied with the necessary information. The discovery that I made, admittedly by accident, was, quite simply, a way to avoid the things mankind has feared more than anything else since time began. No, not taxes and in laws. Not cable outages during the big game. I’m talking about hunger, and death. And no, I’m not kidding! I’m as serious as the heart attack that won’t ever happen to you or your loved ones if you, and they, become a member of our Church. Do I have your attention?”
      He raised an eyebrow and paused for dramatic effect, before sauntering over to the white cross. “Harley, who do we have here?” The Joker asked, as the camera pulled back enough to get the three of them in the field of view.
    Harley pointed up to Appleby, as if he were a contestant on a game show. “This is F. B. I. Agent Thomas Appleby, a twelve- year veteran who was most recently assigned to protection of the citizens attending the American Diabetes Association benefit held on the outskirts of Gotham City, at Wayne Manor.
    The Joker thanked Harley and the camera refocused on him again as he said, “Agent Appleby is about to be lowered into this pool of Holy Water, which contains a very special mixture of chemicals that have incredible properties. As hard as it may be to believe, it is impossible to kill someone who has been baptized with these chemicals. Now, before we lower agent Appleby into the Holy Waters, I’d like those of you who need to run to the powder room, or need to change the baby, or whatever, to go and do the thing that might distract you, however briefly, from what it is we are about to show
you. There has never been anything this amazing on television, except possibly a few episodes of Jerry Springer or Jeraldo, so hurry and do your little errand. 
    The camera zoomed in to a very tight shot on the face of The Joker as he said, “For those of you who aren’t running to the kitchen to grab a beer, I want to show you something amazing. I’m going to have the cameraman zoom in on my left hand, which as you can see is completely normal, except perhaps for the pale white skin and the green fingernails. As you can see, all of the fingers seem to be in perfect working order."
      The camera zoomed in and the fingers and thumb wiggled for a few seconds. Then the camera pulled back out enough to include the Joker’s face once again and he pulled a knife from his coat, which gleamed in the spotlight. “No, I’m not going to sell you a set of Ginsew knives, I’m going to show you a small example of just how amazing the healing powers of the Holy Waters are. He placed his left hand down on a tall stool, as the camera zoomed back in on his hand, and slowly brought the knife down to rest lightly on top of the first knuckle of his index finger.
      With a perverse chuckle The Joker commented, “This is a really sharp knife; we got it at Sears. Now, watch carefully.” He slowly pressed down on the knife and the blade began to disappear into the flesh upon which it rested. “Oooooh, it tickles,” The Joker assured the viewers, as red rivulets created a puddle under and around the finger. The knife continued to slice, at a leisurely pace, until the tip of the finger was completely severed. “I’m sure, right now, some of you are wondering why I decided on doing this around lunch time. Well, haven’t you ever heard of finger steaks?”
      He cackled in a way that sounded a little to the left of sane as he picked up the severed fingertip and held it for the home viewers to inspect. He turned it around and flipped it over to be sure all possible angles were explored, then he held his left hand up closely to the camera and did the same, making sure the camera got every possible view. “Now, watch this,” he said, and he held the severed tip within an eighth of an inch of the finger where it belonged.
      As the camera zoomed in, the skin from the severed tip and the skin from the bloodied stump stretched out, in an obvious attempt to reach one another. The Joker prevented the connection, momentarily, by pulling them further apart. The skin stretched out and kept stretching, further and further, as the two pieces fought to join once again. He finally brought them closer again, and once the initial connection was made the stump seemed to pull the missing tip back into it’s proper position as the skin from the two sides began to blend, like hot wax on a candle, leaving no trace of where the injury had been. There was not a hint of a scar. The finger, undeniably, looked as good as new. The camera zoomed in as tightly as possible, as the finger wiggled to demonstrate that it was working perfectly.
    “Well there you have it. Kids, feel free to try this at home. Amaze your family and friends! Moms and Dads, many of you have probably been tempted at one time or another to give your boss the finger, and here’s your chance! The Joker began to chuckle. The chuckle became a laugh, and the laugh grew rapidly into a howl; the kind
you might expect to hear in the deepest, seldom visited recesses of an insane asylum. The Joker suddenly looked up at the camera and began to regain his self control. While catching his breath again, he repeated the phrase, “Give your boss the finger, and here’s your chance! Hoo boy, that’s a little something you won’t see Siegfried & Roy try in their Las Vegas magic act.  And yes, this is magic folks, but not the fake kind. And there’s nothing evil about it. This is the kind of healing miracle you’ve read about in the good book. This is the kind of magic reserved for Gods. And today we’re going to show you how you can obtain this kind of power for yourself and for your loved ones. You’ve seen enough, you say? You’re ready to order now? Or, perhaps you’re of the opinion that this was all done by special effects. They have gotten pretty creative in Hollywood these days, haven’t they? For those of you who are just getting back from whatever it is you were doing, or for those who do need a little more convincing, I ask that you pay close attention to the good agent Appleby, who is going to be a part of an unprecedented demonstration, after which, even the hardest to convince will shake their heads in amazement. Lawrence, will you activate the cross, please?”
    The camera panned across the studio to Lawrence, who was wearing a white toga, similar to Carl’s. He had evidently encountered some difficulty in putting it on, and it was practically falling off of him. He puffed out his chest and straightened the garland of leaves which had somehow slipped down over one eye, and began to talk, “Hi everybody, my name is…”
    “Uh, Lawrence,” the camera turned back to The Joker, “as I remember you don’t have any lines to speak,” The Joker said, “Please,” he pointed, “no ad-libs, just punch the button.”
      Lawrence again appeared on the screen, “I was just going to tell everybody about…”
    “Please, Lawrence,” the camera turned back quickly to the JOKER, “this is live television, please, just punch the button. Will you do that for me, Lawrence?”
    “But…”
    “Lawrence! The button…NOW!”
    “The camera panned back to Lawrence, again, who seemed confused. He looked across the studio at The Joker, back at the camera, then at the switches on the post, and then back to the camera again. Pointing to himself, he said, “The Holy Waters made me a love machine, and they can do the same for you, too, guys!” As a groan came from the other side of the studio, Lawrence grinned a big, goofy, lopsided grin, obviously relieved and filled with a sense of tremendous satisfaction. Finally, he punched the button and straightened his garland one more time, which had slipped down over his other eye.
    Out of the camera’s view, The Joker hung his head and several people could be heard trying not to laugh. Carl and Harley held their hands over their mouths in a desperate attempt to stifle the guffaws that threatened to destroy the solemnity of the moment. When they caught sight of The Joker glaring at them, their urge to laugh vanished.
    When the camera panned away from Lawrence and focused on Appleby, a shot rang out and a thud was heard, followed by Lawrence’s voice, “What’d I do this time?”
      Neither the camera nor anyone in the studio seemed to notice the few golden sparks that fell from the ceiling, directly above the pool. Appleby stayed quiet as the cross tilted further forward. Remembering the warning he had been given, stoically he stared straight ahead and braced himself for whatever was about to happen. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath just before the murky, green waters closed over him. It was the last breath he would ever take based on the necessity of oxygen for survival. He held his breath for as long as he could, shivering as if he were cold, yet at the same time he feeling a burning sensation over his entire body. He thought of his parents and his sister, and her children. He knew his sister was a big soap opera fan and would have her VCR taping at this time of day.
      After a couple of minutes, he could no longer fight the urge to breathe. He gasped, and the green chemicals flooded his mouth, throat and lungs. It felt as if blisters were forming throughout his entire respiratory tract. He gagged and began choking uncontrollably. The choking led to a paralyzing seizure, which left him completely immobilized, while the crawling, stinging sensation rose from his chest and entered his head, crawling up through his neck, swirling and circling around his spine, before spreading out and swarming, invading his brain like a massive army of angry fire ants. Onward they marched, feasting as they went, through his eyes and ears, through his gums and tongue. He would have clawed his own head to shreds if only he could move.
      Little by little the world began slipping away as if the imagined ants were tearing hunks of it out of his mind and devouring it one bite at a time. Finally, the torture was almost over. The last normal cellular morsel was about to be chewed, swallowed and digested by the insatiable, molecular altering fluid. Only a shred of Appleby’s prior existence flickered faintly in his mind like the last tiny point of light in the center of a TV screen that has been turned off, and then it winked out and was gone.
    Dead, yet once again aware of the world around him, Appleby’s eyes fluttered open, looking down, peacefully, into the dark green waters. He felt a curious heaviness in his chest and wondered what the cause of it might be.  He attempted to move and remembered that he was tied to a cross, a white cross, which had been lowered into a pool. He felt no pain, the drowning sensation was gone and he wasn’t breathing! Furthermore, he had no desire or need to breathe. How could that be? Above him, someone was speaking. They spoke in the tone of voice you would expect to hear from a traveling evangelist, or possibly a candidate for political office. He strained to understand what was being said, but could not. The sound was muffled and distorted by the green liquid which surrounded him.
    As Appleby wrestled with the fact that he should be dead, yet his cognitive abilities seemed unimpaired, the cross vibrated and began to rise, shifting Appleby’s weight forward against the cords that secured him. The air touching his body felt cool, but not cold, as he rose, dripping, from the Holy Waters that were kept at 80 degrees. He wondered why he didn’t feel the weight of the soaked robe, but after turning his head to the right and to the left, he found that the robe had evidently dissolved. He was left, completely nude, and just hoped that the camera would be focused above his waist. For some odd reason, he glanced down, remembering Lawrence saying that he would now be a love machine. What he saw was a little unnerving. It wasn’t so bad having white arms, in fact, he hadn’t really given it a second thought when he noticed the robe was gone, but this white appendage, was, well, it was just a little weird. Lawrence hit the stop button when the cross reached it’s neutral, upright position.
    The Joker turned to the camera and said, “Born again ladies and gentlemen, agent Appleby has been baptized in the sacred waters and is now purged of the inherited weakness of the flesh. Man was born to die, but once anointed in the manner you have just observed, he is no longer susceptible to cellular decay, or disease. This man is now immortal, that’s right, I said immortal and we are going to prove it to you.” The Joker turned and asked Harley, “Would you be so kind as to hand me that nice, big weapon?”
      Harley walked back into camera range and handed him a lethal looking hybrid shotgun, referred to as a “Street Sweeper,” with a 12 shot drum, similar to a huge revolver.
    The Joker winked and said, “Thanks Harley, and by the way ladies and
gentlemen, doesn’t she look lovely today? Honey, you probably ought to go stand way over there,” he pointed to the area where Lawrence stood, “we don’t want to get blood all over your gown, now do we?” Harley bowed and walked over to stand by Lawrence. “Now, agent Appleby, The Joker asked, “How do you feel?”
    Appleby opened his mouth to speak, and a voluminous spray of green liquid shot out of his mouth, followed by another. The JOKER took it all in stride and turned to the camera to explain,  “While our agent was in the baptismal pool, he ingested and inhaled a fair amount of liquid. In order to speak he had to expel the liquid so that air could once again pass over his vocal chords.” He walked back to the cross again and said, “Now, let’s try this again. How are you feeling, agent Appleby?”
    Again, with a puzzled look on his face, Appleby attempted to speak, but instead of words, more of the green liquid dribbled down his chin. This time a few bubbles formed and floated from his lips. “Take a breath, boy, take a breath,” The Joker urged.
    Appleby inhaled, and immediately began to cough. The air flowed over and into the wet, partially collapsed respiratory passages and lungs, tickling them and causing them to spasm uncontrollably. Green spittle was being projected in all directions and The Joker backed off a few steps to avoid the barrage. “We started out with an F. B. I. agent and ended up with a fountain,” he quipped. He turned back to Appleby and asked, “Are you through, yet?”
    “I think so,” Appleby answered hoarsely and coughed again, but not as violently this time.
    “Well, it’s about time,” The Joker replied. “Now, please, tell us how you feel.”
    “I feel…okay, I guess.”
    “There you have it folks,” The Joker shouted, “He’s okay! Now for the next test.” He lifted the “Street Sweeper” up and aimed it at Appleby, then he lowered it again, turned back to the camera, grinned and said, “If he can be killed, this oughtta do it!”
    Harley walked up before he could squeeze the trigger and said, “You can’t kill him, Not even with that, but you’ll be picking pieces of him up for days, if you use that thing. Why not just use this forty-five? It makes a nice hole and then we won’t have to hire a clean up crew.” She handed him the smaller, but still lethal weapon and he, in turn, handed her the “Street Sweeper.”
    The Joker stared at the camera, pointed towards Harley and said, “Not only is she beautiful, she’s smart, too! What more could a man ask for?” He turned back towards Appleby, raised the gun, aimed it and pulled the trigger. The shell tore a huge hole in Appleby’s stomach, allowing a portion of his intestines to spill from his abdomen. After the initial shock of the bullet’s impact began to subside, and feeling dizzy from the partial disembowelment and loss of blood, Appleby looked down in horror, at the gaping hole.
      He had never been shot during his twelve years as an agent. Panicking and unable to use his hands, which were still secured to the cross, he desperately tried to will his glistening intestines back into his body, and was surprised to realize that they were actually obeying his mental command. They were returning to their rightful place. As Cody zoomed in for a close up, it looked like a group of giant, slimy worms, wiggling and squirming their way back into the ground from which they came, only in this case it wasn’t the earth they were reentering.
    Cody heard a thud behind him, and looked back to see that Vicki had fainted, again. On his headset he said, “Carl, our little Miss Passout, has flopped, again. She’s up against the wall, directly behind me. You might wanna check on her. I’m guessing our scenic version of thoracic anatomy 101 isn’t something she’s going to sign up for next semester.”
    From the control console, Carl said, “Yeah, Geez, let me go take a look at her. Damn, she passes out at the drop of a hat; just let me get this headset off.” There was a short pause and then he asked, “Before I check on her, what’s that noise I hear?”
    While the massive cavity that had allowed the spillage began to close, a peculiar, slurping sound became noticeable, as the internal organs, muscles, veins and arteries frantically rushed to properly realign themselves. Finally, the last of the writhing entrails squeezed back into the body, the hole closed with a clearly audible sucking noise, and the bullet tumbled from the stomach, bouncing off the platform Appleby stood on before splashing into the Holy Waters, below.
    The Joker stepped in front of the camera again, with his arms spread out wide, and sang out, “Ta-Dah! There you go ladies and gentlemen. Was that amazing, or was that amazing? This man, baptized before your very eyes, is now immortal. You’ve seen me cut off the tip of my finger and it grew back together. You’ve seen a .45 caliber gunshot to the mid section healed in less than two minutes. By now, you may be saying, I wouldn’t mind getting this done, if I could avoid the white face and green hair, but tell the truth, people. If your loved ones that have died could still be with you today, with white faces smiling and green hair, wouldn’t that be great? A little makeup and a nice trip to the beautician to get that hair dyed and you wouldn’t hardly know they were
any different than they used to be!”
    The Joker paused briefly as he focused behind Cody, where Carl helped Vicki to her feet. She picked up the camera, brushed her hair back from her face and went back to the booth to sit with Carl at the video control console.
    As soon as he saw Vicki was evidently okay, The Joker resumed his carnival barker’s routine, “Let’s get the dear boy down off that thing, and get some clothes on him. Harley, see what we have that goes with green!” Lawrence flipped the toggle switch and hit the green start button again. The cross tilted backwards smoothly, until it came to rest on the rim of the vat. Harley and Lawrence immediately began to untie the white cords and held a large towel in front of Appleby while he dressed in the black slacks and gold sweater that had been brought to him.
    Specific, upbeat music had been selected for this part of the program and Carl made sure that it started right on time while he checked all the readouts, dials and gauges on the console to make sure everything else was still working properly. Vicki pointed to a readout indicator that wasn’t moving, and said, “It looks like there’s something wrong with that one. It’s not moving like the others.”
    That’s when he noticed it. The LCD readout, which indicated outgoing signal strength, showed no signal whatsoever. He flipped the switch, to reset that piece of equipment, figuring it had just frozen up, as digital equipment occasionally did, but it had no effect. He didn’t know if something had just happened to stop the signal, or if it had been like this for the entire program. He couldn’t really say, for sure, if they had ever been linked to the satellite that was to distribute the program worldwide. Beads of sweat immediately began to form on his forehead as he flipped another switch on the console and said, “Cody, we have a big problem. The dish ain’t working, man. The show isn’t being seen by anyone but us. Tell the JOKER for me, would you?”
    Cody couldn’t believe what he heard in his headset. “You’ve got to be shittin’ me,” he said.
    “No, I’m serious, man. I can’t say for sure what caused it, but the show isn’t. You’ve got to tell him!”
    “I don’t have to do shit, Carl. You’re the one in the booth watching the readouts, you tell him. And by the way, I’ll put flowers on your grave.”
      He didn’t want to, oh God; he surely didn’t, because he knew all hell was going to break lose, but Carl leaned forward, made the  sign of the cross, even though he wasn’t Catholic, and tapped the glass in front of him to get the Joker’s attention.
    The Joker had his arm around Appleby’s shoulder, as they walked towards the camera. He was just about to say something, when the tapping on the glass, attracted his attention. “Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said looking directly into the camera, “someone in our video control room is trying to get my attention. I hope you’ll excuse us for this lack of professional broadcast standards. While we are bringing you the most thrilling breakthrough, in health sciences, since man first walked on this planet, I’m afraid we are, ourselves, appallingly inexperienced in the broadcast medium. We’re just simple folk,
with a simple message, and…for goodness sakes, Carl, what in the world does this mean?” The Joker made slashing motions at his throat with his right index finger. It was the universal broadcast signal, telling the on-air personality to stop talking, because he was either out of time, or something was drastically wrong.
    Carl got up, and walked out of the control room, shaking his head. “It’s the satellite signal,” he said, as he approached the Joker. “It’s fried.”

BATMAN: REVENGE

Chapter 37

    Behind Carl, Vicki slipped out of the studio, back through the door that led to the Joker’s office. She looked back, just for a moment, as she shut the door and saw Harley headed straight for her. She walked through his office, towards the hallway that would lead to the ladies room, and as she left the room she quickly pulled the door closed behind her. She expected to hear the door fly open at any moment with Harley in hot pursuit, but her fears proved unfounded. Vicki’s heart pounded while she waited, peeking around the corner of the hallway that led to the ladies room. The door to the office was slightly open and she was dying to see what Harley was up to. “Damn curiosity,” she said to herself, “it’s gonna get me killed, yet.” She slipped out of her shoes and tiptoed up to the door, attempting to stay on the opposite side of the hall from where she had stepped on that creaky board around four thirty that morning. This time she saw Harley, looking into the thing that resembled a fuse box. Just as Harley was about to flip one of the switches, Carl walked into the office from the studio.
    “Carl, what are you doing here?” Harley asked, “Shouldn’t you be out there trying to fix the signal problems?”
    Carl looked at the wide open fuse box, and then at Harley, “The Joker told me to come in here and look for Vicki, we both saw her come this way, but I’d say the important question is, what are you doing here, Harley? You were about to throw the switch that opens up the window and door reinforcements, weren’t you?”
    Harley looked cool, calm and collected. She didn’t seem startled. There was no sign of fear, or guilt. Hers was a supreme poker face. She spoke with a confident tone, “Why would you say such a thing Carl? Is that the real reason why you came in here? Have you been having second thoughts again about where your allegiance lies?”
    “Don’t try to squirm out of this, you snake. I caught you red handed!”
    “Caught who red handed?” the JOKER asked, as he and Appleby stepped into the room, followed by Lawrence and Cody.
      Harley immediately began to point at Carl as she answered, “When I heard Carl say the dish was fried, I came in here, to see if anyone had been screwing with the switches. I think Cinderella must have gotten to them, because several of them had been messed with, but I turned them back on.”
    Carl was hopping mad and turning red. He countered by saying, “That’s bullshit, JOKER! She was going to throw the switches! I caught her before she could do it!”
    The JOKER looked at Carl, and asked, “Whose word should I believe, Carl? The son of a man who tried to have me killed, and whom I’ve had numerous problems with, or the woman I’ve been intimate with for sixteen years, who has never given me a reason to doubt her?” The JOKER thought for a moment, and said, “Cody, go activate the backup dish and let’s all hope that one works. Carl, you and Lawrence find Vicki Vale and bring her into the studio. Put her on the cross. We’re going to reshoot the show, and she can be our new guinea pig.”
    Vicki fought the immediate urge to swoon and ran to the ladies room. She hopped up on one of the toilet seats, like she had seen done in the movies to keep her feet from showing, and locked the stall, knowing full well they would find her, but hoping that before they did, somehow, BATMAN would find a way to get in and rescue her. She was so scared her heart threatened to burst and her fear caused her to feel as if she had to pee in the worst way. “How ironic,” she thought, as she wiggled uncomfortably, “to be trapped here, perched upon a toilet and not be able to use it.”
    The door to the ladies room burst open and Carl called out, “C’mon Ms. Vale, don’t make this any worse than it has to be.” There was no answer. Carl bent down and looked under each stall door for a pair of feet. There were none. “Ms. Vale, do we have to break the stall door down?”
    Vicki held her breath and silently thought, “Oh, please, BATMAN, please come get me, before it’s too late.” A hand grabbed the top of the door to the stall she was in and shook it.
    “Well how about that, this one is locked. You know, I think we may have found her, Lawrence,” Carl said. “Last chance Ms. Vale, open up or we’ll break down the door.”
    There was no answer. Vicki closed her eyes tightly, anticipating the big collision, and boom, there it was! The door burst open and practically came off its hinges as the lock broke. “Excuse me,” Vicki said, “are you boys aware that this is the ladies restroom? The boys restroom is further down the hall.”
    Carl wasn’t in the mood for jokes and really didn’t like the idea of the JOKER turning Ms. Vale into one of “the new breed,” but he couldn’t exactly try to make a run for it. After all, the JOKER had him on a short leash. “Yeah, yeah, very funny, now come on.” Carl reached out to grab her left arm and she jerked back.
    “Don’t touch me,” The look on her face asked, “How can you do this to me?”
    “Look, I don’t have a choice here,” Carl told her. “If you don’t want me to touch you, get your ass down off that commode and come with us.”
    “Okay, but wait outside for just a minute, please. I gotta go really bad.”   
    “Yeah, sure, but make it quick, or we’ll be back in here; and I won’t be as
understanding if I have to come back in.” Carl and Lawrence left and Vicki raised the toilet seat cover. As she sat, she wondered what else she could do, to put off the inevitable. Should she try to fight Carl and Lawrence, and if she did, what would that gain her? They would overpower her in seconds. She thought about checking the handicapped stall, to see if one of the handrails might be loose enough to tear off the wall and be used for a weapon, but then figured it still wouldn’t do any good. She sat there, at the end of her rope, emotionally, wishing for a miracle. Tears formed as her thoughts strayed to the life that could have been.
      Last night’s nightmare had started out so perfectly. Young Thomas was such a fine looking boy, a perfect blend of his father’s good looks, coupled with her creativity. Maybe it would all still happen. She grabbed some additional toilet paper off the dispenser and dabbed at her eyes. She felt a little better, and at least now she didn’t have to worry about losing control of her bladder, when they strapped her to the cross, although why she was worried about that she couldn’t really understand.
    The bathroom door swung open again and Carl announced, “Okay, times up, now we can do this, one of two ways…”
    “Yeah, Yeah, I know,” Vicki interrupted, “the easy way, or the hard way, and I think I’ll go with the easy way.” She opened the stall door, which still threatened to fall off it’s hinges at any moment, and walked out. As they left the bathroom and walked down the hall she saw her shoes, which she had abandoned earlier when creeping up to spy on Harley. She stopped and slipped back into them before proceeding the rest of the way down the hall and into the office. Harley was still there, near the fusebox, which was still
open.
    “Took you long enough,” she said, sarcastically, to Carl. “Where’d you find her, whimpering in the ladies room; hiding in a stall?”
      Vicki shot her the finger, as she neared the door to the studio.
    “No, my dear,” Harley asserted with a malicious smile, “it is you who are fucked… Royally, I might add.”
    Carl turned briefly, and said, “Oh, shut up Harley, and stay away from those switches. If we’re going to reshoot the whole show from the start, you need to get into the studio.”     
    On the roof, Mike shut off the valve on the welding torch, flipped his protective mask up and announced, “That ought to do it!” As everyone watched anxiously, he raised his big, size thirteen booted foot into the air, ceremoniously, and releasing a primal scream brought it crashing down on the steel plate. It didn’t give an inch. Mike stomped on the steel plate again with the same result. He looked up and said, “I guess we need a little more weight on this thing; someone else want to help out here?”
    NIGHTWING was the first to answer the call. Vaulting into the air as high as he could, he came crashing down on the center of the plate with both feet. And still there wasn’t the slightest hint of give or weakness in the plate. He looked at Mike and said, “Mike, this thing still feels solid as a rock. Too bad they couldn’t come up with any acid strong enough to use on this thing. I would have thought they could have found something.”
    Next, at NIGHTWING’s insistence, everybody on the roof formed a circle around the plate and stomped on it in unison. “Still, nothing,” Mike said, “I don’t know what’s holding it up, but let me get back to work, again.” He lit the torch again and flipped his mask back down.
    Carl and Lawrence led Vicki back into the studio where the white cross lay waiting on the rim of the vat. As they walked past Appleby, who had been tied up, sitting on a metal folding chair,  he extended his left foot as far as he could and tripped Carl, who momentarily released his grip on Vicki’s arm while he struggled to keep from falling. In a split second Vicki made a bold decision to try one more thing, which might stall her baptism for another precious minute. She turned towards Lawrence and with all of her might, drove a kick with the pointed toe of the glass slipper on her right foot, directly into his groin. She swore she could feel something pop, as her foot sank into the scrotal sack.       
      He grabbed his crotch and collapsed, groaning, as the sickening feeling spread quickly to his stomach. He was brutally reminded of the fact that being immortal did not make one impervious to discomfort. Usually, in mortals, pain became magnified by fear induced panic, while immortals, with their miraculous healing powers, felt discomfort, but it was never accompanied by fear . This pain, however, needed no magnification. It didn’t just hurt. The deep ache and nausea surpassed anything Lawrence had ever experienced, even the gunshot wounds, which were painful to be sure, but had become, with repetition, rather old hat.
    From his chair, Appleby shouted out, “So much for your love machine, Lawrence!”
    Vicki’s next thought was to give Carl the same treatment, but her intentions were never realized. From the right, her peripheral vision picked up a fleeting glimpse of an approaching fist, which connected flush with her right cheek. She fell in a heap, unconscious, to the concrete floor, and lay there under the brilliant illumination of the studio spotlights. That same brilliant lighting greeted her, causing her to squint, as she tried to open her eyes and began to regain her senses. She was vaguely aware that she had been moved and was now laying on her back. She tried to bring her right hand up to her cheek, which felt hot and must be swollen, but her right hand and entire arm were tied to something. The same thing was true of her left arm, her torso, and her legs.
      Vicki made one last effort to rise up, straining with all of her might against the white cords, but she realized it was useless, and eventually let her muscles go limp. There didn’t seem to be anything she could do now, other than to lay there, helpless, on the white cross.
    Vicki noticed that her Cinderella gown was gone and had been replaced by a white robe, which seemed to be identical to the one Appleby had worn during his ordeal. She also noticed the robe was far more open than she would have liked it to be, exposing her skimpy, push up bra and an ample amount of her bosom along with it. Looking for someone to complain to, she  rolled her head to the right, where Lawrence, who had evidently recovered from his encounter with her right foot, was standing, by the switches that controlled the movement of the cross. “Lawrence,” she yelled, “What are you guys trying to do here, shoot a Victoria’s Secret commercial, or what?” Lawrence acted as if
he hadn’t heard a word she had said, paying no attention to her, causing her to shout even louder,  “Hey, love machine, I’m talking to you, did you do this?”
    From across the studio the JOKER’s voice was heard, “Lawrence did not remove your costume, Ms. Vale, it was Harley, who did that.”
    The JOKER pointed to Harley, who waved, as she walked towards the office door, and said, “I’m going to powder my nose, I’ll just be a moment.”
    The JOKER shrugged and continued his defense of what they had done, “And as for the amount of cleavage we decided you should display, well, I’m sure you’ve been known to display that much on the beach, and besides, we need to have something to keep the  male audience’s attention, now don’t we? The JOKER turned to Carl and said, “Let’s activate that second satellite dish, my boy.” Carl raised his hand and said, “Just a Minute; bathroom break! I’ll be right back!” He jumped up and headed for the door.
    The JOKER was obviously frustrated, as he raised his arms into the air and shouted, “Is there anybody else who needs to run to the restroom before we do this?”
    Cody was about to raise his hand, to say he wanted to go, when a red light began to flash in the studio, accompanied by a horn, which sounded like the ones in the submarine movies when the captain was ordering the ship to dive. An automated voice announced, “Defense mechanisms have been deactivated. Defense mechanisms have been deactivated; steel reinforcement panels will retract in T minus 60 seconds. Steel reinforcement panels will retract in T minus 60 seconds, and counting.
    The JOKER knew all too well that someone had thrown the switches in his office, and ran to reverse the action before it was too late. “C’mon Lawrence,” he yelled. "If those panels go up, we’re goin’ down!” Lawrence, broke into a run, following the JOKER.
    Bursting into his office, the JOKER and Lawrence found Harley and Carl on the ground, wrestling, as smoke and sparks flew from the switch box, which had apparently been sabotaged. The blinking red emergency light in the dimly lit office, coupled with the smoke, made the whole scene seem even more chaotic than it was. Carl had Harley down on the ground, with one hand on her throat, while the other held her right hand, which reached for the .45 pistol the JOKER had used earlier on Appleby.
    “I caught her,” Carl panted, “I knew she was going to try something, and I caught her!”
    Through ragged breaths, Harley sputtered and coughed, “He’s lying lover, I was coming back from the bathroom and found him here, wrecking the switchbox!”
    The automated voice announced, “T minus 40 seconds and counting, the steel reinforcement panels will retract in T minus 40 seconds…”
    The JOKER screamed, “Lawrence, do something. Find the right wires and get this thing fixed, quick!”
    “T minus 35 seconds and counting…”
    Lawrence ran to the panel, and grabbed a handful of wires, which were hot,
immediately freezing him in his tracks. He trembled, unable to release the wires, as the voltage shot through him like a convict riding the lightning in an electric chair.
    “T minus 30 seconds…” The klaxon horn continued to blare, the red light continued to twirl and blink.
    “Carl, I’m sorry,” The Joker shook his head sorrowfully, as he pulled the derringer from his robe’s pocket. “I hate to say it, but you turned out a lot more like your old man than I hoped you would. Carl, I just want to ask you one thing... Did you ever dance with the Devil by the pale moonlight?” 
    “I’m not lying,” Carl insisted, “she’s the one…” The trigger was pulled, and Carl’s sentence, as well as his life, was cut short by the bullet that passed just between two ribs and into his heart.
    “T minus 20 seconds, and counting…”
    Harley got to her feet and said “Thanks lover, he was a bad seed from the start, I knew you’d believe me.”
    The JOKER looked into her eyes, and knew somehow he had made a bad decision, but it was too late to do anything about that and they were all going to be arrested. Before that happened he had some unfinished business to attend to. He ran back into the studio, straight to the switch that controlled the cross, flipped the toggle switch to the forward position and hit the “on,” button. He saw Cody untying Appleby and shouted, “Good idea, I can use him.” Cody had just finished freeing Appleby’s legs and torso, but hadn’t yet undone the cords pinning his hands behind his back. “That’s just the way I want him,” the JOKER said, as he jerked him up off the chair. “Come with me, my friend, we’re going for a little stroll. Do as I say and I’ll let you go. Try anything funny
and your family will pay the consequences!”
    “T minus 10 seconds, and counting. Nine, Eight, Seven…”
    The cross began to move forward and Vicki screamed, “What are you doing? You can’t do your show, now! Why are you doing this to me?”
    The JOKER picked up the Street Sweeper and ran towards his partially open office door, again, where smoke curled out into the studio. Where was Harley? He looked around in his smoky office, but didn’t see her anywhere. The red pulsing light, reflected in the mirrors, and the incessant blaring of the horn made clear thinking difficult, but he knew what he had to do. He smoothed his hair back, walked up to a mirror and gave himself one last admiring glance before he walked out of his office, headed for the front door.
    The automated voice echoed throughout the building, “…Two, One, The steel reinforcement panels will now retract. The steel reinforcement panels will now retract. Warning, the chemical mix has been altered. Warning, the chemical mix has been altered.”
    The JOKER smiled and said to himself, as he stood at the front door where the steel panels slid up with a slight rumble, once again allowing entry and exit. “Well, at least one thing worked the way it was supposed to. The rest of that sodium flouracetate will take care of BATMAN’s babe and anyone else that gets so much as a drop of that stuff on them.” He opened the front door and walked out onto the cracked, uneven sidewalk. His eyes were drawn to the sign, “FUN HOUSE,” and he chuckled, “Yes, indeed, it was.”
    In The helicopter, hovering overhead, Chuck Martin grabbed his microphone switch, and shouted, “BATMAN, it’s the JOKER, he just walked out the front door!” The cameraman zoomed in, getting a close up picture of  the wanted fugitive, who looked up and waived, nonchalantly.
    The JOKER raised the Street Sweeper and aimed it at the copter, which hovered no more than two hundred feet above him. He pulled the trigger three times and howled with approval as the helicopter’s engine coughed. It banked sharply away from the City of Tomorrow, heading for a nearby vacant parking lot, where it slammed down roughly and burst into flames.  The pilot, Chuck Martin, and the cameraman jumped clear in time to avoid the explosion that followed. The JOKER began to run towards the front of the park, dragging Appleby with him, and stood in front of the turnstile at the entry way, in the mouth of the huge clown, laughing, and screaming, “You fools, don’t you know you can’t kill me? You can put me in jail, and the jail will tumble to the ground, and be gone long before I will.” He raised the Street Sweeper again and began
firing indiscriminately, as the onlookers ducked for cover.
    NIGHTWING shouted, “If he’s out, that means the mines must be turned off and that means we can get in!”
    BATMAN agreed, and said, “Vicki’s not with him, so she must still be in there!” They both swung over the side of the roof and dropped to the ground followed by the rest of the commandos. BATMAN told all but two of the commandos to patrol the perimeter of the building to look for any secret passageways or straggling members of the JOKER’s crew, then he and NIGHTWING raced through the front door, followed by the two chosen soldiers, calling out frantically for Vicki as the sounds of gunshots from outside filtered into the complex. They entered a smoky room with a sign on the door that said, “Manager’s Office.” A man wearing what looked like a Roman toga stood in front of a switch box, jerking convulsively, the stench of frying flesh filled the air. BATMAN grabbed a chair, knocked the man free from the hot wires, and saw the strangely white face staring up at him through glazed eyes. “He’s toast,” NIGHTWING quipped.
    Coming from the next room, they heard the sound of a running hydraulic motor. BATMAN told the two soldiers to stay put in case any of the JOKER’s crew returned. He opened the door on the far side of the room and rushed in to see Vicki, suspended on a white cross, which was moving backwards. Standing by a green, steel support post stood a short, pudgy young man, with spiky  blonde hair. Neither Vicki, nor the young man seemed to notice the entry of the caped crusader and his partner. BATMAN’s first impression was that Vicki was in danger, and he intended to somehow stop the movement of the cross. He was going to fire his Bat Grappler in the direction of the ceiling, hooking it onto one of the overhead steel beams and then he would swing the
line around and behind the cross, preventing it from moving. Just before he fired it, he nudged NIGHTWING and said, “Watch this.” The 14 year old device misfired, and the grappler hook was weakly projected less than one foot into the air before clanking to a bouncing halt on the concrete floor in front of the mortified Dark Knight.
    By this time, Cody had spotted both of them and saw the whole thing. He burst out laughing, stomped his foot and pointed at the hook. Vicki spotted them now, as well, and shouted, “Oh my God, thank you BATMAN, I knew you’d come for me! You had to come!”  She ached to hold her arms out to him, but they were still tied securely to the cross, which again started moving backwards, towards the rim of the vat.
    “It’s okay,” Cody shouted, “she’s out of danger, but don’t touch the water in the vat. There’s some kind of lethal chemicals in it.”
    “Vicki, who is this guy, and are you really okay?” BATMAN asked.
    “His name is Cody. He stopped the cross from dropping me into that pool. He was part of the JOKER’s crew, but I never saw him hurt anyone. He was always pretty nice.”
    “Hey, I just do some of the electronics, and I’m the cameraman,” he held up the camera for them to see. Cody decided not to mention he was one of the demolition experts that helped plant the  bombs at Wayne Manor, and he sure wasn’t going to confess to slugging NIGHTWING at Charlie’s apartment. “Wait till you see what’s on the video tape back in the control booth. Pretty freaky stuff, man.”
    BATMAN walked up to Cody and put out his hand, “Thanks young man. You evidently saved this woman’s life.”
    “Yeah, well, no big deal,” Cody said, shaking the hand of the Dark Knight, “I’m just glad we didn’t have to depend on your hook thing, there,” he pointed to the floor.
    NIGHTWING chuckled, nudged BATMAN in the side, and said, “Told ya. Hope that isn’t any indication of how your future love life will go.”
    “Will somebody get me off of this thing?” Vicki shouted, as the cross reached the rim and stopped. BATMAN ran to her side and quickly cut the cords that held her. Now she was free to put her arms around the man she loved, which she did, as she began to cry tears of relief and happiness. “I thought I’d never see you again. Where have you been all this time?” she asked, sniffling.
    NIGHTWING overheard the question, and interjected, “We’d have been here a lot sooner, but it’s our golf day,” he grinned.

BATMAN: REVENGE

Chapter 38

    A gunshot from the office they had just been in got everyone’s attention. Everybody ducked down below the rim of the vat and peered over the top to see if any of the JOKER’s crew had returned. After about a minute BATMAN sneaked up to the door, and looked in on what was truly a bizarre sight. The commandos were staring, wide eyed, and open mouthed at the man who had been electrocuted. He was propped up against a wall, inspecting a hole in his stomach, which had been put there by one of the commando’s rifles. The hole seemed to be healing as they watched, dumbfounded.
      Looking up at the two commandos, the burly man with the pale, bone white face and legs asked meekly, obviously not understanding why he had been shot, “What’d I do?”
    Gunfire and explosions coming from the battle at the front of the park, followed by the sound of someone talking through a bullhorn, filtered into the studio. BATMAN went back and told Vicki, “You stay here with Cody,” after which he turned to NIGHTWING and said, “He’s out there, let’s go.” They raced out of the studio and back through the office, where the man who had been electrified and shot was sitting in a chair now, chatting with the commandos and looking at his charred hands.
    “Did you see that?” NIGHTWING asked, as they burst out the front door, “how could he be alive?”
    “I don’t think he was alive, I think he was like the JOKER. Maybe you ought to go back there, just to make sure Vicki’s safe. Get the commando’s to stay with you, just in case that guy had some orders he was supposed to carry out for his boss.”
    “What, and miss all the fun? Hey it’s your fiancée!”
    “Yeah, I know, but the JOKER and I have a lot of history, so would you mind?”
    “Oh, all right. Just don’t try and use that Bat Grappler again.” NIGHTWING turned, and headed back to the Fun house, while BATMAN continued cautiously, but quickly, along the sidewalk towards the front of the park.
    Staying low and looking just over the top of a row of bushes he saw the JOKER up ahead, where the huge clown face welcomed visitors to the park. He was using Appleby as a, “once human,” shield. The JOKER was screaming to the Police, F. B. I. and National Guard that he had come back once and he would do it again. SWAT team Sharp shooters fired from a number of different angles and distances, hitting either Appleby, or occasionally the JOKER, with little or no effect.
    “Hoo-Hoo, good shot boys,” the JOKER yelled, as he felt a bullet pierce his side. He looked down, at the minimal damage which was already repairing itself, popped Appleby on the back of the head, and said, “You’re supposed to block the bullets, Appleby! Now get with it man, do your job!”
    From the midst of the military and law enforcement personnel, encamped in the parking lot across from the park, a man in a non military uniform raised a powered bullhorn to his lips and said, “Attention, JOKER, this is Fire Chief Austin Pounds of the Gotham City fire and Emergency Response Department. Directly in front of you are two red fire trucks filled with a special chemical compound developed by the Wayne Foundation that has the ability to injure and potentially kill you. If you will surrender peacefully, we won’t use this weapon against you. But, if you do not surrender now, we will use it. Do you understand?”
    More than fifty pairs of binoculars clearly saw the JOKER turn around and pull his robe up high enough to expose his bare, white, rear end. He then turned back around, stuck out his tongue, stuck his thumbs in his ears and wiggled his fingers in the classic display of a child that doesn’t believe, or respect you and the things you represent.
    BATMAN had crept close enough to hear the JOKER say, “It’s only water, or something just as ineffectual, Appleby. They don’t have anything that can harm us.” 
    “Yes we do, JOKER,” BATMAN shouted as he rose up from behind the bushes, “And you know it.”
    “BATMAN, my old friend, I’m flattered that you have decided to attend my little party. Of course it pales by comparison to the blast you threw at your little abode the other night. I quite enjoyed dancing with Ms. Vale, who incidentally has, by now, passed on to a better life, of course any life without you would be better.”
    “No, JOKER, when I got there she had been saved by your cameraman, I believe his name is Cody. Now, I suggest you do what Chief Pounds suggested.” BATMAN grabbed the nozzle of his backpack’s chemical delivery system and pointed it at the JOKER. “If I spray you with this, there won’t be any coming back.”
    “Oh, please. Go shake your fist at the moon, Bat brain. Mortals cannot threaten the Gods.” The JOKER turned and walked away from BATMAN just as a stuck up Hollywood star might walk haughtily away from an autograph seeker. He added, “I can’t be bothered by the likes of you, anymore.” He strutted, with Appleby still in front of him, to about ten yards in front of the City of Tomorrow entrance, thrust his chest out and spread his arms wide. He turned his head to the left, and then slowly to the right, approving of, and appreciating the chaotic scene which sprawled out before him. Helicopters circled above, while on the ground, in the parking lot across the street, bubble
light racks lit up the landscape, with orange, blue and red twirling lights emanating from the tops of the military and civilian law enforcement vehicles, as well as the local television coverage vans that had arrived on the scene. The JOKER adored attention, and always did his best to entertain and shock his audience. To make sure nobody missed what he was about to say, he waived his arms over his head, like a performer on stage would do, to indicate that he was about to speak, cleared his throat and said, “I believe it was Joan Jett who wrote a song that illustrates succinctly how I feel at this moment. It
was called, ‘Hit me with your best shot’.”
    Two firemen in yellow protective gear walked towards The JOKER and before the valves were opened to release the pressurized spray, Chief Pounds called out, “One last chance, JOKER. Surrender, or suffer the consequences.”
      The JOKER shouted back, “Surely you see that I have here, the former F. B. I. agent, Thomas Appleby. He has undergone the same transformation that I did when I fell into the vat of chemicals fourteen years ago. If you spray me, you also will be killing him. Are you so hardened, that you would kill one of your own, a faithful, loyal servant, in order to stop me?”   
    Appleby cried out, “Do it, I don’t want to exist like this. I can’t continue this way! I’m not really alive! If you don’t do it, he’ll go on, forever. He’ll surely get another chance somewhere down the line. Maybe it will be as a result of a prison break, or maybe he will just outlast you and every structure you build, but he will get the last laugh if you don’t do it. Please, he has killed thousands already. If you don’t do it, you are condemning thousands more at some point in the future, who will die as a result of this madman.”
    The JOKER laughed and shouted, as he stood slightly behind Appleby, “How can you punish that kind of loyalty? Give the kid a medal, not a funeral!”
    One of the two firemen had heard enough. Without receiving the final okay from his commanding officer, he twisted the valve on the nozzle he carried, releasing the pressurized spray of chemicals. The JOKER scrambled out of the way, as Appleby spread his arms wide and shouted “Thank you, Thank you so much.” The concentrated spray hit him in the chest, knocking him backwards, but not off his feet. Every pair of eyes within range strained to see the result of the Wayne Foundation’s technology. Every man and woman involved in this effort, or watching on Television across the United States and around the world held their breath, collectively, praying to whatever form of supreme being they believed in, that this chemical would accomplish what it was intended to do. 
    The JOKER tapped his foot and looked at his watch as the seconds ticked by. “Well,” he asked, “How long do we have to wait for this stuff to work? It looks to me like the Wayne Foundation is trying to perpetrate some kind of a hoax here, ladies and gentlemen. You see… we can’t be killed. I keep trying to explain, we’re immortal and the good news is…”
    The JOKER stopped speaking, as he heard the crowd across the street gasp and begin to cheer. His eyes grew wide in horror and disbelief as the man standing in front of him, who had been known as Thomas Appleby, started to shrink. In fact, it quickly became evident to those watching across the street and around the world on television, that he was decomposing and turning to sand, as his skin dried, cracked, and crumbled before their eyes, exposing muscle and bone, which quickly followed the same pattern as
the skin. The sweater and pants began to loose their shape as sand flowed freely from the arms and pants legs. Finally, the last granular remains of Appleby sank and spread out onto the concrete. It was as if someone had tossed a nice pair of black slacks and a golden sweater onto the sidewalk. There was nothing, nothing at all that would indicate a man had been standing there moments earlier, wearing them.
    The crowd watched silently, while the JOKER walked awkwardly forward,
completely dumbfounded. He knelt, where the pile of sand that had been Appleby swirled slightly in the cool November breeze. Reaching down with his left hand, he picked up a fist full of the granulated remains and examined them pensively, running the index finger of his right hand across the residue in his palm, feeling the texture, oblivious of the yellow suited firemen, poised and ready to rid the world of him. He sighed heavily, stood, and tilted his partially opened palm, allowing the sand to drain back onto the sidewalk.
    Behind him the flash of a camera caught his attention, and he turned expecting to see BATMAN taking pictures of his great victory over the evil villain, but instead was surprised to see Vicki Vale with the camera he had given her. His expression was one of relief as he said, “He wasn’t lying, you are alive. You know, I had great plans for you.” The sadness etched upon his face and in his voice was ponderous. “C’est la vie, my Cherie.”
    Having been supplied dramatically with the proof of his mortality, he was about to turn and surrender, resigned to the fact that he would stand trial and be convicted of war crimes, mass murder, or some heinous offense worthy of capital punishment. Whatever happened, it had to be better than being terminated right now by those leering firemen, and if he was able to get Johnny Cochran as a lawyer, well, things might turn out okay after all. That was when he heard the voice of Harley Quinn coming up the sidewalk behind BATMAN and Vicki. She was walking with NIGHTWING, Lawrence, Cody, and
a group of commandos, explaining why she had been hiding in the office restroom and a whole lot more.
    “I was in the bathroom because all of that shooting and killing, going on! I was so frightened! He forced me to do all those things at Axis Chemicals. I swear on a stack of bibles, I never wanted to manufacture that stuff, or my name’s not Harley Quinn, but his crew said he would kill me and my employees, if I didn’t do as he said. And you know how much I value my staff and the people of Gotham City! That monster hired the thugs that tried to hijack the F-27, there were a lot of people killed on that runway, and he had  Commissioner Gordon killed, and Captain Archer, and some female vice squad officer, and he hired a large group of guys to blow up Wayne Manor, and I tried so hard to warn…”
    The JOKER picked up the Street Sweeper, which had one more shell left in it, and pointed it at Harley, who’s string of words suddenly stuck in her throat when she saw him staring at her. The tension in the JOKER’s voice was clear, as he said, “When Carl swore he didn’t throw those switches, I should have listened to him, but no, like most men, I let a woman bring me down. A woman! Carl Grissom, Sr. set me up over a woman. And, if I hadn’t chased and captured the soon to be Mrs. Wayne, I think we would have pulled this whole thing off without a hitch. I killed Grissom for double-crossing me. I killed his son because I thought he did the same thing, but it was you.” He glared at her and shouted again, “YOU!”
    He was through talking, and looked through the sight, about to pull the trigger, when BATMAN pressed the button releasing the pressurized, pink, fluorescent spray from his backpack. The concentrated stream hit the JOKER on his trigger hand and splashed onto his face and chest. He screamed, not because of the pain, but because of the realization that he was doomed. He had thought it was all over when he fell from the top of the Gotham City Cathedral, fourteen years ago, but now he knew for sure, he was doomed. He fired the Street Sweeper, barely missing Harley, just before his hands began
to dissolve. The gun fell and he held his mutilated arms up in front of him to view the damage. His vision lasted just long enough for him to see sand flowing from the sleeves of his purple and gold robe.
      He stared, accusingly at BATMAN, and as he did, everything began to blur. The right side of his face began to change color from its previously pale, bleached white, to a more natural flesh tone. It didn’t stop there, however, as the flesh tone changed to a sandy brown and the flesh began to dry, crack, and crystallize. He lost his hearing on the right, as his ear bounced off his shoulder and fell to the ground where it cracked and then lost its shape as it completed it’s metamorphosis . The blood, which at first gushed from the wound, turned to sand and trickled down the side of his, now partially exposed skull. With half of his face gone, he turned, lurching drunkenly away from BATMAN, as sand flowed from what was now an empty eye socket.
      Stumbling back to where the firemen waited with their hoses, his senses began to dim as he shook convulsively, flinging sand in all directions. He no longer cared about Harley’s betrayal, or his Church, or his revenge on BATMAN. All that concerned him now was the parade of change that marched within him. He could feel the molecular structure of his body coming apart, dying, decaying, the way it should have long ago. Simultaneously, the
firefighters twisted the release valves and pointed the spray at the JOKER, who was caught in a cross fire, while standing in the middle of the entryway to the City of Tomorrow. Staggering backwards, just before his jaw detached, he shrieked an unholy, evil scream that no man or woman that heard it would ever forget. The rest of his head fell from his decomposing body in a wet sandy clump that splattered upright on the concrete, briefly retaining a vaguely recognizable shape, like a sand castle on the beach, before turning dry and collapsing into a nondescript mound. Within seconds the robe fell, shapeless, to the ground where all that remained was a pile of sand and a horde of nightmarish memories.
    From across the street the two firemen dropped the hoses that had delivered the  chemical spray and began to clap and cheer. They pumped their fists in the air and hugged each other in an act of celebration that would be watched on virtually every television around the world that day. Chief Pounds, Denise Ferguson, the entire Wayne foundation crew, Colonel Lamensky, and all of his surviving troops cheered and clapped until their hands were red and their voices were hoarse. The cheering went on, and life began to return to normal, as citizens in homes and businesses around the United States and around the world relaxed, as the word spread that the most evil murderer since
Adolph Hitler was gone, for good.
    BATMAN walked forward and looked down at the mound of sand. He felt tired, yet relieved, but most of all, he felt cleansed. Cleansed of the poisonous guilt that had eaten away at him ever since the death of his parents. That guilt had driven the insatiable craving to stop all evil doers, to be there for everybody all of the time. It had grown from an unhealthy obsession, to an overwhelmingly self-destructive addiction. It had consumed him, ironically, in many ways similar to the way a drug consumes a junkie, robbing him of sleep, detrimentally affecting his relationships with others, making him unable to concentrate on other important matters, and convincing him to avoid intimacy and commitment. But now, the one who started it all, the pusher that got him hooked, was gone and with Vicki’s help he would go through a kind of rehabilitation where love would be stronger than the withdrawal symptoms he would inevitably encounter. 
      At BATMAN’s insistence, handcuffs were put on Harley Quinn and Lawrence.  Cody, however, was not taken into custody. He was told not to leave town and was warned to obtain a lawyer in case the police investigation into the crimes committed by the JOKER and his crew somehow implicated him. Harley gave Cody an icy stare before being led off to the police vehicle that would take her downtown for questioning, which would be followed by arraignment on charges of aiding and abetting a fugitive and known felon in the act of planning and committing numerous crimes. Similar charges would be levied against Lawrence, who was led to a separate vehicle and was heard to ask his signature question while being led away, “What’d I do?”
    “Hey, I almost forgot the camera,” Cody said, and turned to go back to the Funhouse.
      BATMAN, NIGHTWING and Vicki accompanied him.
      Coming out of the front door as the three approached were two paramedics carrying the body of Carl Grissom, Jr. Cody felt the urge to say something about Grissom, but thought better of it, and just kept quiet. Anything he said could and probably would turn around to bite him in the ass. Before they could walk in, another pair of paramedics brought out the body of Marty Mitchell. One of them was complaining. “How come we always get the big ones, damn, talk about dead weight!”
    After passing the chalked outlines where the bodies had been found, Cody led the way back into the studio. The red warning lights had stopped blinking and the automated voice no longer echoed throughout the complex. He went to the control booth, hit a button, and a DVD popped out. He picked it up and placed it in a jewel case cover. “It’s all on this disc,” he said, handing it to BATMAN. “This is what everybody would have seen, worldwide, if the dish hadn’t fried.” He handed the disc to BATMAN. Walking out of the booth he went to a chair, which sat near the steel pole where the switches were that controlled the cross. He picked up the Sony camera and gazed momentarily at the white cross, which lay on the rim of the vat. Vicki stared, as BATMAN reached out and put his arm around her. “That was just wrong,” Cody said,
“JOKER was really messed up. He thought he was a God.” Cody shook his head and started for the door, followed by NIGHTWING. Vicki stood for an extra moment, looking at the cross, thinking of how close she came to being killed, or turned into one of those white zombies. 
    “Come on Vicki,” BATMAN urged her, “you’ve been in dangerous situations before. You’re okay and so am I, and the JOKER’s gone, forever.” She shuddered slightly, walked past the pool, and back through the door to the office, with her future husband, who shut the door behind them.
    Back in what had been the JOKER’s office, Cody spoke to a couple of police detectives, “You better get some guys in there to drain that pool that are good at toxic chemical disposal. It has some kind of lethal poison in it, I think. Make sure they understand that one drop of that stuff, just one drop, could kill them.”
    The investigating detectives thanked Cody and told him they’d be sure to pass along his warning. NIGHTWING said, “Let’s get out of here and let these guys work.” They all took one last look at the bizarre collection of mirrors and started out of the office, when they heard a gigantic splash, which obviously came from the pool in the studio. It was much too large of a splash to have been caused by a single individual jumping in.
      Cody blurted out, “I bet the cross fell in. They were having a lot of problems with it over the last few days.” BATMAN opened the door enough to look in, and couldn’t believe what he saw.
    “Well, what is it?” NIGHTWING asked, “Are you just gonna stand there all day without telling us?”
    BATMAN pulled the door back far enough for them all to look in, and said, “You won’t believe it.” He was right, what they saw had them all gaping in wonder. If it had happened just a few moments earlier they would have all been killed by the resultant spray of poisonous chemicals from the pool. The reinforced steel panel, in the roof, had finally fallen in.
    NIGHTWING, as usual had to have the last word. His mind raced back to his leap, with both feet, onto that panel while he was on the roof. He remembered getting everybody to jump onto the area at once. It could have easily been a disaster. None of them had known what lay beneath. But it hadn’t happened, they hadn’t fallen in and everything had turned out okay, so he said, “I think the JOKER would have liked it. After making all of those radical improvements to this place, you would think he would have wanted a nice sunroof, now, wouldn’t you?”

                               

Batman: Revenge

                                           

    Chapter 39

      With the start of the nuptials due in less than ten minutes, the good news rang out from the lofty church steeple’s belfry, informing the citizens of Gotham that the most publicized wedding in the history of their fair city was about to begin. It was a cool, crisp, brilliantly blue-skied Thanksgiving Day in Gotham City. The long line of both the groom’s and the bride’s friends, along with Vicki’s family members had, for the most part, been seated in the New Gotham City Cathedral, which was truly a stunning architectural achievement, reminiscent of the Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris.
      In the groom’s quarters, Dick adjusted Bruce’s tie and then stepped back to take a look. “Bruce, I can’t believe you’re doing this. I know you love Vicki, but you’re giving up the very core of who you are and who you have been for a long time. Do you really, I mean really think you can be happy? You still have time for the warden to call in a reprieve. In fact, Warden Borg and the Governor are both out there, right now.”
    Bruce smiled and put his hand on Dick’s shoulder. He said, “Are you sure this isn’t a jealousy thing, Dick? Here you see me in my tux, all smiles, and quite frankly you just haven’t been yourself since your heart was broken.”
    “Huh?” Dick’s face contorted as he tried to figure out what Bruce was talking about.
    “I know you’ve tried to hide it,” Bruce continued, with a look of consolation and genuine concern, “but  you’re obviously in pain.”
    “Bruce, what the…”
    “The torment you must be going through,” Bruce looked down and shook his head.
      Dick appeared ready to explode. He had no earthly idea as to what his long time friend was referring until Bruce looked up, his eyebrows arching as he said, “Shamika. I know how desperately you must miss her.” Again, he patted his friend’s shoulder.
    The look of puzzlement dissolved as Dick remembered the rotund rap singer at the Sunset apartment complex and burst out laughing. Laughing so hard that tears began to flow and he became short of breath, he grabbed Bruce and hugged him until he was able to regain a semblance of self composure. Stepping back, he exhaled and said, “Man, you sure know me, Bruce,” he grinned and wiped a laugh induced tear from his cheek, “I thought I was hiding it so well.” The seriousness returned to the former boy wonder’s demeanor, as he asked again, “Bruce, no kidding, how can you stop? How can you just put it down? I mean there isn’t any medicated patch you can wear, there’s no twelve step program for something like this. You can’t go to support meetings and stand up and say, I’m Bruce Wayne
and I’m addicted to being Gotham City’s crime fighting hero.”
    Bruce turned away and looked into the mirror, pleased with what he saw, and answered, “I just hate to tell you this, because it’s the same answer I keep offering, but I’m very, very, happy. Dick, we’ve already had this discussion over the past month, maybe twenty times.  Look, I know this isn’t what you expected from me. I’ve never been the kind to throw in the towel. I always thought I’d only give up being BATMAN if I were too badly injured to continue, or if I had made the supreme sacrifice. But Wayne Manor has been totally redesigned and is being completely rebuilt with all new priorities. Those priorities are Vicki and hopefully one or maybe two children. The Bat cave is gone and it’s going to stay that way. I just can‘t go on alone, forever.”
    Dick shook his head, half in disbelief and half in disagreement. “But if you give up being BATMAN, isn’t that like saying the JOKER has won? He has his revenge?”
    Bruce shook his head no and replied, “If his revenge was for me to be happy the rest of my life and to be released from the burden of guilt that I carried since I was a boy, then I would say you’re right. I deserve a chance at happiness, Dick. It may sound corny, but I’ve kicked the habit, the monkey’s off my back. I used to think I became Batman because nobody else could do what I could and the city really needed me. But finally I’ve come to understand I needed to be Batman more than the city ever needed me. I was hooked on being the one who was needed. I was hooked on the idea that somehow I was making amends for the deaths of my parents; deaths that I should have somehow prevented. Actually, Dick, The Joker and I had something in common. We were both looking for revenge. It consumed me. Although I wasn’t aware of it, it had become my whole reason for living. You can’t possibly imagine how good I feel. I feel like Atlas with the weight of the world no longer squarely on my shoulders. I’m just lucky to have found an angel with a heart big enough to put up with me and my weaknesses. That makes everything different now.”
    Dick put his hand on his friend’s shoulder, and said, “Bruce, every time we’ve had this discussion it sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself more than me.”
      “Dick, I’m forty-six years old, almost forty-seven. I have to be realistic. I can’t keep doing this forever. I know Gotham City is in good hands with you here to look after it. Over the past three weeks, I haven’t answered a single call and you’ve taken care of everything perfectly.” Bruce went to the corner of the room where a large suitcase stood between the wall and a chest of drawers. “This is a little gift for you,” he said, “from me, and the people at the Wayne Foundation.” He bent down and opened the silvery, metal suitcase right there on the floor. Inside was a brand new, jet-black BATMAN costume. “This has been tailored to fit you, Dick. If you are going to continue to fight crime, I want you to have this. I want you to become BATMAN. Under the cape it has a new feature I think you’ll get a kick out of; remote
controlled gliding wings with jet boosters and stabilizers that will allow you to soar among the city’s tallest buildings. Think about it, Dick, you’ll be able to swoop down on criminals in a way I never could.”
    Dick was overwhelmed. He loved the costume and the new gliding feature, but he didn’t feel right about taking the name, BATMAN. While searching in his mind for the right response, he studied the larger, significantly changed, red emblem of the bat, boldly embossed on the chest of the costume. “Bruce, there’s only one BATMAN,” he asserted, “and that’s you. I’m NIGHTWING. I’ll take over working here in Gotham City for you, but I can’t be BATMAN.”
    “Consider this for a moment,” Bruce asked, “if BATMAN disappears at the same time Bruce Wayne gets married and goes off on a three month honeymoon, aren‘t a lot of people going to figure out, or at least highly suspect, that I was BATMAN? That would mean a lot of criminals would be gunning for me and my wife, and any children we might have. The only chance I have at ever having a semblance of normal life is for BATMAN to continue fighting crime here in Gotham City. In fact, I want you to appear as BATMAN at the wedding reception today. Will you do that for me, partner? As a wedding gift for me and for Vicki?”
    “Okay,” Dick said, “now supposing I was to do this, you know someone is going to notice the difference in our voices and lower facial features. After all, I’m a whole lot more handsome than you, you know.”
    Bruce smiled as he asked, “Have you had your yearly eye check up? I’m beginning to think I may have picked the wrong guy after all. Seriously, put the mask on.” He picked it up out of the suitcase and handed it to Dick, who went to the full length mirror on the other side of the room and pulled it on.
    “I hate messing my hair up,” he complained, as he began to adjust the new mask. It covered much more of the face than the old mask, having only a small opening with a tiny microphone in the area of the mouth, and was made of a much thinner, cooler material. “Hey, how’d they do this?” Dick wondered, as he realized that the mask was actually sturdier and more protective than the old one. He also noticed his voice pitch sounded lower and more powerful than normal. “Get a load of Darth BATMAN,” he said. “Way Cool. Very ominous sounding!”
    “I knew you’d like that,” Bruce said, “that’s the default setting for the new vocal harmonics variable pitch control. Changes in pitch and volume are controlled on your utility belt. You can make yourself sound like anybody with that thing, as long as you’re good at duplicating their accent. There’s more. Feel up near the corner of your right and left eye on the mask. You’ll find a small button on each side. Hit the button on the right.” Dick did as he was told and a small lens clicked into place over each eye. “Those are interactive, protective ocular lenses,” Bruce said. “They have up to 20 times zoom magnification, macro vision ability, and infra red night vision, while also functioning as goggles. Push both buttons at the same time for macro vision, or just the one on the left for zoom magnification. Whenever the lenses are activated, they automatically measure light in lumens, and if it’s dark enough the infra red assist will come on. If you want to you can mess with the default setting on that as well.” Dick got within two or three inches of a leaf in a planter, which sat on a corner of the chest of drawers. He pushed both buttons and whistled with amazement at what he was able to see. “I think you would say, sweet, am I right?” Bruce asked.
    “Sweet is an understatement,” Dick agreed.
    “Oh, yes, one more thing,” Bruce said, as he reached in his pocket and pulled out a set of  keys. “The Batmobile is yours, but I don‘t want to see it in a new sequel to the Fast and Furious street racing movies.”
    With that, Bruce turned and walked through the doorway, Dick began to follow him down the hall and then realized he still had the mask on. “Uh-oh,” he said, quickly turning around and ducking back into the room they had just come from.
    Bruce went back into the groom’s dressing room with Dick, and said, “I thought I was the senile one here.”
    With the mask safely tucked away in the suitcase again, they both headed down the hall, then down the stairs to where the guests awaited the start of the ceremony. While walking down the middle of the Isle, some of his dearest friends called out to him, and waved, or, if they were near enough, reached out and shook his hand. As he reached the end of the isle he turned and faced the multitude that had come to celebrate this happy event.  He thought the only thing that could make this day more satisfying for him would be if Commissioner Gordon, Alfred, and his parents could be here to enjoy it with him. With his eyes beginning to tear up at the thought of his absent loved ones, Bruce leaned towards Dick and asked, “You’ve got the ring, don’t you?” A look of horror spread over Dick’s face. He just couldn’t resist playing the oldest trick in the book on the groom as he shook his head to indicate he did not. Then the horrified look melted into a grin, as he pulled the ring out of his pocket and showed it to Bruce, who’s heartbeat had sharply accelerated for a moment, but now began to return to normal. Bruce got even, by saying “I wish you would have fixed your hair, it’s really standing up in back.”
    In the balcony above, where Cody Turner stood capturing the event on camera, the organ, which had been playing traditional inspirational church music went silent for a moment, which alerted everyone to the fact that the ceremony was about to begin. Everyone turned towards the back of the church waiting for the Bride. After waiting fourteen years, and after all they had gone through, including staring death in the face more than once together, this was the moment that they and so many of their friends had hoped for. With the exception of Chase Meridian, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house, as Vicki walked forward, in rhythm with the traditional Wedding March, clutching her bouquet and smiling through her tears of joy at her husband to be.
    After the ceremony, the reception, held at the Gotham Pavilion for Performing Arts, was a huge success, considered to be the social event of the season in Gotham City. Don Henley, of Eagles Fame, and a fine solo artist in his own right, was the featured artist. He had been selected not only for his music, but also because of his efforts and ideals concerning environmental issues, with which Bruce and Vicki both agreed. His list of songs included the appropriate, “For my Wedding,” to which Bruce and Vicki danced alone together, and “My Thanksgiving,” as well as many of his well known hits, such as “Dirty Laundry” which he played at the request of Chuck Martin, Jerry Fontaine, Sid Lancer and the rest of the Channel Six news crew.
    Barbara was out of the hospital and getting around well in her wheelchair, with the help of Richards. She was thrilled when Bruce took her aside and told her the news about Dick becoming the new BATMAN. Her husband was, unfortunately, unable to attend, as the Giants had a big game coming up against Houston on Sunday. Other than the fact that she couldn’t walk yet, she seemed to be doing fine and was making sure that everyone got to see the latest pictures of little Alfred. Jim and Elizabeth Hurly had flown up from Houston, but their son had not wanted to make the trip, preferring to spend Thanksgiving with some of his school friends. Denise Ferguson and the entire Wayne Manor Research and Development Department were there, as was Doctor Melvin Slaughter, along with Brad and Amanda Wolicek. Selena Kyle was there too, with her eleven year old daughter, Helena. She introduced Bruce and Vicki to her only child, and as she shook Bruce’s hand the girl displayed a certain charisma and intensity about her that caught Bruce a little off guard. It was as if the young lady was measuring him up, seeing perhaps if he lived up to her mom’s description of this man from her past.
    “Helena’s a star gymnast,” Selena said proudly as the young girl continued to study Bruce’s face. “She’s hoping to go to the Olympics next summer. She‘s already won several prelims.”
    “A star gymnast, huh?” Bruce replied, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Helena. Your Mom and I are old friends.” Selena’s eyes watered, noticeably, as she watched her daughter shaking Bruce’s hand. Vicki, who was right by Bruce’s side the whole time, commented on what a pretty young lady Helena was, and that they hoped to have as fine a youngster in their family someday.
    Alexander Knox, who had cried like a baby during the ceremony, stood at the urinal in the men’s room, puffing on a cigar and speaking on his cell phone to someone back at the Gotham Globe . He was completely oblivious of the “No Smoking” sign on the wall directly in front of him. “No you idiot, I’m not coming in today, it’s Thanksgiving! No, I won’t be in again until Monday!” To his right a very short man stepped up to the urinal trough and unzipped his fly. Knox flipped his phone closed with his free hand, and immediately recognized the man to be Danny Devito. “Hey Danny,” Knox said, “You a friend of the Groom?”
    “Well,” Danny replied, as he began to relieve himself, “I was here for the diabetes bash at Wayne Manor and I got to know him and his wife a little. He’s a pretty nice guy. Anyway, I got an invite to come to the wedding and I figured what the hey, I’m a big Don Henley fan, so why not? Who are you, by the way?” Danny asked.
    A young man, who seemed to have had a few too many beers, staggered up to the urinal on Knox’s left, while Knox was introducing himself to Danny, “Oh, I’m Alexander Knox, I run the Gotham Globe newspaper. We had a big picture of you on the front page after that miracle thing at Wayne manor.”
    “Yeah, that was a good picture of me, too. I’d shake your hand, but as you can see, uh, I’m a little busy right now. Hey,” Danny got a big grin on his face, as he asked, “you aren’t the newspaper guy everyone talks about, who paid that guy who was loafing and he didn’t even work for you, are you?” The look on Knox’s face changed from a big smile to an absolutely crestfallen expression as Danny began to laugh, “While I was up here, four weeks ago, I said no way, that had to be just a joke, it couldn’t be true; but it is? You‘re the guy?”
    As Knox zipped up, the guy on the left who had been listening, started laughing, shaking as he did so, and forgot, momentarily, to watch where his stream of urine was pointing causing him to accidentally splash Knox’s shoe. “Whoops, sorry about that,” he said, laughing even harder after seeing what he had done.
    Zipping up his fly, Danny said, “Well, looks like I’m empty, better go fill up again, huh? Nice to meet ya, Knox.” While he washed his hands, Danny said, “I guarantee ya, that bit about paying the guy that didn’t work for ya will wind up in a movie, or at least a book.” He tossed the used paper towels into the trash and walked off, still chuckling, while Knox stood at the sink, stunned, looking down at his shoe. Passing behind him, the inebriated young man with the poor aim, said, “I didn’t mean to piss on your shoe, man, but that story is like the funniest thing, I mean, like, I never thought I’d meet the guy that it actually happened to...” He began to laugh again, as he weaved his way out of the restroom.
      Looking up at the mirror after wiping off his shoe, Knox spoke to his own reflection, “Not in a movie, please God, not in a movie.”
    Andre was thrilled with the catering for this event. He had assisted with the set up of the buffet and had approved wholeheartedly of the way in which the traditional Thanksgiving feast standards had been prepared. Speaking with Bruce, he clapped his hands joyfully, and said, “It ees seemply wonderful! Zey have done a job zat even I would be proud of. Zee Turkey ees tender and flavorful. Zee vegetables are not overdone, zee candied yams have just zee right amount of cinnamon, and zee dressing...magnifique!”
    “Does that mean there’s a good chance you won’t be killing anyone from the catering crew today?” Bruce asked, with a wink.
    “Eef zey attack Vicki, zen zere weel be one more dead turkey here today, otherwise zey weel be okay.”
    After the reception, while the new Mr. and Mrs. Wayne were being pelted with rice as they ran to the waiting Bentley appropriately adorned with cans tied to the back and a big “Just Married,” written across the rear window, Vicki told her new husband that this was without question the happiest day of her life. She bent down and got in, scooting across the back seat, making room for Bruce who slid in after her. She hugged him tightly and kissed him hard as Richards put the Limo’s transmission in drive and began to pull away from the waving crowd of friends, one of whom was Batman, debuting a brand new, radically redesigned costume today in honor of his old friend. The limo stopped abruptly as Andre ran in front of the car, desperately waving a paper sack in the air. Richards rolled down his window, and shouted, “I almost ran over you, you dolt! What do you want?”
    “I made some turkey sandweeches for zem,” Andre said, as he tried to catch his breath, “een case zey geet hungry waiting at zee airport.”
    “You’re always running after people trying to make them eat,” Richards fussed, and added, “They most certainly aren’t thinking about food right now.”
      Vicki rolled down her window and said, “Here Andre, give that to me. You’re so good to us.” He smiled broadly, bent down to the window and handed her the paper sack, which she took and in return gave him a kiss on the cheek. Andre paused to stick his tongue out at Richards before happily walking away. As the Bentley began to move again, Vicki looked deeply into Bruce’s eyes, and asked, “Are you really going to be able to resist the urge to become Batman again, Bruce? Can you honestly give it all up?”
    Bruce reached out and pulled her close. Placing his lips against her ear, he whispered, “No problem.” Through the Bentley's rear windshield he caught sight of Barbara in her wheelchair and Dick in the new costume, waving goodbye. “For me, Batman is history. You‘re my future, that‘s a promise.” 
      Although his voice conveyed confidence, Bruce's expression, which Vicki couldn’t see as he continued to hold her, indicated that deep within him a battle continued. Yes, he had the best of intentions, but he wasn’t entirely sure he could keep his promise forever.       

Batman: Revenge - Epilogue  (18+) Tying up the loose ends, nine years later #1481215 by George R. Lasher

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