Batman Arkham Knight (15 page)

“You’re not here,” Batman said. “Go away.”

“Who’s more twisted, old friend? The man who sees mirages, or the man who talks to them expecting an answer? But you look like you
want
to talk. So pull up a chair and let’s chat.”

The sudden bursts were growing louder. Were they… explosions?

“Hey, I’m talking here, Bats. Eyes on me. So, there’s something I always wondered—does that armor you wear breathe, or does it get sweating hot in there? And how the hell do you go to the bathroom? I mean, it’s gotta take at least—what?—an hour to peel it off, and another to put it back. By that time the bad guys probably made it all the way to Central City.”

They
are
explosions.

Why are there explosions?

“Excuse me. Talking. We’re having a conversation. Anyway, I’ve been wondering. How’s your little pal, Robin? Not the dead one I bludgeoned, but the still-currently-alive one who I still need to kill. He feeling good? His head ready for some two-by-four action? By the way, have his parents ever put two and two together, and figured out that he puts on a mask and fights crime at your side? I’m betting they’d be pretty pissed if they knew.”

There shouldn’t be explosions, unless…

Batman’s eyes opened fully. He was standing, and he recognized where he was. This wasn’t a movie house. He was in a warehouse. The Ace Chemicals warehouse. He had never left.

Another explosion. Closer this time.

He began to run. The Joker was still standing in front of him but Batman smashed through the illusion and picked up speed when he saw the Batmobile parked in the courtyard beyond, its motor running, waiting patiently for him.

The explosions were louder and coming closer.

Batman remembered pouring the neutralizing chemicals into the vat of fear toxin. If it worked, the toxin would be so diluted as to be minimally effective.

If not…

The Batmobile’s sensors detected him coming closer, identified him for who he was. Its hatch slid open and the gears shifted from park to drive. Batman jumped and somersaulted into the driver’s seat.

“Go. Fast. Now.”

The vehicle roared with power and lurched forward, building up speed with every passing second, still running on autopilot, its AI avoiding collisions. Through the rear-view mirror he saw the explosions closing in behind him.

“Faster!” Taking partial control, he pressed the gas pedal as far down as it would go.

Walls fell behind him, shattered in the explosions that were taking down the warehouse. Debris rained on the Batmobile, obstructing his view, but he pressed on, urging it ahead, trusting in its ability to maneuver. He saw something in front of him and remembered there’d been large doors meant to let in sixteen-wheelers filled with cargo. But the doors were closed now. Scarecrow meant to lock him in and blow up the place around him.

“Armor bullets… six degrees east. Prime and launch. Now!”

His cannons opened fire. Dozens of armor-piercing bullets obliterated the doors that were meant to seal his doom.

Not today.

The car raced through the doors and sped down the ramp. Behind him, one by one, the row of warehouses that had been Ace Chemicals was consumed in a ball of bright blue flames.

He punched his comm and left a message for Gordon to meet him at the G.C.P.D. lockup, then he switched the car back to full auto-pilot, leaned back, closed his eyes, and breathed in deeply. The trip to lockup would take approximately fifteen minutes. The last few hours had been hell.

He could use a few minutes of down time.

* * *

He cast his thoughts back to better times, back when his parents were alive, when they’d take him on vacations to Gotham City’s Gold Coast resorts. But his mind kept returning to the chalk-white face of the Joker. Instead of hearing the calming calls of seagulls, all he heard was that madman’s insane cackling.

What the hell was his nightmare all about? He knew the Joker was dead. DNA analysis proved it was him. His flesh and bones were incinerated. He may have been insane, but he was still human. Flames dealt with him as they would with flash paper.

The cackling stopped, and the Joker’s grinning maw disappeared. The rational Batman accepted that the Joker was gone for good. So why the hallucination?

He wanted to avoid the answer, but his analytical nature—that thing he so depended upon—wouldn’t let him. Batman’s nightmares were the result of being infected by the Joker’s damned blood. He was the fifth victim, and the nightmares he was experiencing were the beginning of what might be a rapid mental and physical breakdown.

No matter what he did, he was going to become unstable. The Joker’s blood was going to win. He’d suffer delusions from which he couldn’t break free. He’d resist as long as he could, but he couldn’t fight it forever. There was no antidote for the Joker’s blood. It might be a matter of hours, or days, but he would succumb.

Still, Batman hoped, he would maintain control, however tenuous, until after he stopped Scarecrow. Saving the city was all that mattered now.

And when he was done, when it was over, he’d make sure this new Batman–Joker hybrid, or whatever he was supposed to become, would never happen. He would not allow himself to become the madman who destroyed Gotham City.

He activated the comm and hailed Alfred.

“I’ve been worried about you, sir. I’ve called repeatedly, but didn’t hear back.”

“I’m okay now.”

“Sir, what about Scarecrow? Or this… Arkham Knight character? They’ve got tanks and missiles. Their forces are all over the city.”

“I’m sorry, Alfred. There have been, umm, complications.”

“What is it, sir?”
As if sensing a moment of fear in Batman’s voice, Alfred responded.
“What’s wrong?”

“There was an explosion. My suit tore. A small tear, but enough to let in some of Scarecrow’s toxin. I’ve been exposed.”

“My God, sir. Are you all right? I still remember what happened in Arkham Asylum when Scarecrow—”

“Alfred, it’s okay,” Batman said, his voice firm. “I had a reaction, but it’s over now. And I need you to know I’m not sure how long it will be before—”

Darkness.

Explosions.

In the void a distorted white face. Blood red lips. Oily green hair. Mad, insane laughter.

“You want to know how long it will be before you go mad?” that hideous voice said. “The short answer is, it’s already done. You’re already there. Welcome to the loony bin.”

“You’re not here,” Batman said. “You’re dead.”

“You know, I’ve really got to hand it to Scarecrow. I’ve never been a fan of his concoctions, but this new batch… it’s intoxicating. It brings out the ‘me’ in you.”

“I’m not you. I’ll never be you.”

“Yet you’re talking to me like I’m really here. And in a way I am. You can’t leave me behind, or escape me now, because I’m in you.
Inside
you. Kinky, huh? I’m flowing through your veins. Wherever you go, you take me with you. I had you at first blood. You getting my meaning yet?”

“Sir. Master Bruce. Sir. Speak to me.”
Alfred’s voice shook through Batman’s thoughts, shattering the visions.
“Sir! Master Bruce! Wake up, Master Bruce. Wake up.”

“Alfred?”

“Yes. And, sir, perhaps it’s time to come home.”

“I’d like that, but I can’t. At least not now. I have to see Gordon at lockup.”

“I know I can’t change your mind, sir. God knows I’ve tried and failed when the stakes were high. But I want you to think of me whenever you see anything out of the ordinary. Think of me. Think of your parents. Think of being normal.”

“I’m not sure what that feels like. Never been down that road before.”

“You have, sir. You just don’t remember it.”

“Think of you. Got it. And if I can I will. Thank you, Alfred. For everything.”

There was a long pause. Then, finally, Alfred spoke.

“No, sir. Thank you.”

Batman hung up and realized that the Batmobile was only a block away from the G.C.P.D. lockup.
Good.
The sooner this ended, the better it would be for everyone.

* * *

On the other end of the call, Alfred breathed in deeply, sat down, then did everything he could not to cry.

The nightmare hadn’t been real.

He hadn’t brought Gordon to Panessa, hadn’t shown him the prisoners. But when he saw the commissioner standing by the Bat-Signal, waiting for him, he felt a twinge of guilt. But he shrugged it away. To save Gotham City, he needed to know how Scarecrow’s toxin worked. Isolate that, and he might develop a cure that would save the millions who had yet to be contaminated.

He might even be able to save part of his own soul.

“Jim,” he said as he approached, dreading what was to come.

* * *

“When you contacted me I thanked God. The explosion at Ace Chemicals… I knew you were there, but I had no idea if you…” He stopped. Batman was alive, but Gordon had known him long enough to know when something was bothering him. There was something he wanted to say.

“What is it?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Barbara,” Batman said suddenly. “Barbara’s been kidnapped by Scarecrow.”

“That’s impossible,” Gordon insisted, but a flash of dread began to take hold. “She left Gotham City. I spoke to her hours ago, and she told me she was on the bus.”

Batman nodded. “I know that’s what she told you. It wasn’t true.”

* * *

He could see Gordon trying to sort it out, to figure out what the hell he was talking about. And he knew he had no choice. The floodgates were open. Gordon had to know the truth. All of it.

“I need you to come with me. I’ll explain everything once we get there.”

“Get there? Get where?” Gordon said, his voice growing louder. “No. No way. I’m not going anywhere until I know where you’re taking me.”

“Jim, do you trust me?”

Gordon paused before answering. His eyes seemed to grow dark with suspicion.

“I don’t know. I used to, but now I’m not so sure.”

“Well, you have to trust me. One more time. One last time.” Batman opened the door to the roof and headed to the stairs. “The Batmobile’s parked in front,” he said. After a moment more, Gordon followed.

They drove in awkward silence. They’d been good friends for years, but now Barbara’s shadow stood between them.

* * *

He’d spoken to her. She said she was on the bus. Why would she lie to him? What was she doing instead of leaving the city? Why would she stay behind?

Barbara was a librarian. Beautiful as her mother. Intelligent. Alive with energy. But ever since…

Gordon let the thought fade. Barbara had been confined to that wheelchair for years now. What could she be hiding? Why wouldn’t she leave when he told her she had to? Gordon stared at Batman. Without knowing why, he had something hateful swelling in his gut.

The Batmobile pulled to a stop. Gordon looked out and knew where they were.

“The Clock Tower building? Why the hell are we stopping here?” The Tower only housed Gotham City’s richest. Even on a Commissioner’s salary, he couldn’t hope to afford its smallest apartment. There’s no way that Barbara…

Batman opened the door and started to get out.

“Jim… Commissioner. I know you want answers, and without any more delays. But I have to ask you to wait, if only for another few minutes. I want to make sure the penthouse is… I want to be sure there was nothing left behind.” He got out of the car and was about to shut the door behind him, but instead he leaned in close. “Please. Wait here another minute.”

He slammed the door and entered the building, leaving Gordon with that growing angry feeling at his core.

* * *

He’d been to the Clock Tower a thousand times, but never like this. He opened the door and entered, saw Barbara’s overturned wheelchair and gently picked it up. Her files were scattered everywhere. Monitors were shattered. Batman stood absolutely still in the middle of the room, staring ahead.

“Oh, my God. What is this?”

The voice came from behind. Gordon hadn’t waited. He stepped out from the freight elevator and entered Oracle’s office.

“That’s Barbara’s wheelchair—she was here,” he said. He turned to Batman, still not understand what he was seeing. “Crane did this, to get to me, didn’t he? What was she doing here?”

“This isn’t your fault, Jim.”

“Of course it is. I should have been here. I should have made sure Barbara was on that bus.”

“You don’t understand, Jim. Barbara’s strong. Stronger than you realize.”

“What do you mean? She’s not like us. Batman, what the hell do you mean? Quit playing your goddam games and tell me.”

* * *

Fear joined rage in the pit of his stomach. Gordon was standing in the Clock Tower, but he was in another time, as well. He hadn’t been in the Clock Tower back then, but he’d seen all the pictures. He knew every second of the terrible massacre.

Barbara was drinking tea. Earl Gray. The doorbell rang. Probably Colleen from across the street. This was their yoga night.

The doorbell rang again.

Barbara went to answer it.

The Joker pushed his way in, flanked by a couple of his goons. He wore a wide-brimmed hat and a blue aloha shirt. A camera hung from a strap around his neck. He was holding a gun.

“Candy-gram,” he said, laughing.

Barbara stared at it, at first not quite understanding what she was looking at. But then, before she could register shock or horror, he squeezed the trigger and shot her in the stomach.

Gordon flinched. He was part of Barbara’s agony. He grabbed his gut and collapsed as she crumbled to the ground screaming in pain. Unable to help the daughter he so loved, he could only cry.

The Joker stepped over her as she grabbed her bloody wound. Her eyes were wide and afraid. She was fighting unconsciousness. The Joker leaned close to her face and whispered softly to her.

“Don’t pass out yet, Barbara. C’mon, show a little spine.” He laughed, then moved even closer to her. “Show some spine. You see what I did there? It’s a joke because I can see spine, right there through your open wound, and I can see bits and pieces of it strewn all over the floor.