Two Hearts to Make a Maniac
Epilogue
Harvey Dent, Gotham's White Light, dead.
Batman, Gotham's Mysterious Vigilantly, hunted.
That's what I'm being told. Harvey Dent was found dead at the building Rachel Dawes had died. Part of me didn't believe it. I wasn't sad or happy he was dead. I was indifferent, strange feelings for me since the past week I've been nothing but angry.
And Batman, the hero seemingly turned villain. They say he's killed five people. It makes me laugh. Here he is, the hero, bound to throw away his heroic façade just to protect another man's reputation. A man who was so easily turned to the darker side. Pathetic, and it only prove my point further. There's no freedom for a hero, but there is for a killer.
That's what I've been telling every doctor that comes to visit me. I've been locked up in Arkham Asylum for one week. I've only had a few doctors, one stops seeing me throwing a new one in. Each of them keeps saying that I have Stockholm syndrome, they are truly idiots. But I don't voice that. Usually I just scream at them and tell them to get away. They're arrogant bastards, just like Dr. Crane. I'm glad the Joker came into my life and helped me kill him.
Now, the Joker or Jack, I haven't spoken to him since we were shoved into a police car. He only said one thing to me, but it keeps me hopeful I wont be staying here long. He said: "Don't worry, just be patient.". I know sooner or later he'll break out, whether or not he takes me with him at that moment is optional.
I don't know why I'm so skeptical of him, maybe it's just my nature. Though, I do love him. There's no doubt, and I've begun to think he does as well. I haven't voiced that to the doctors, they'd probably just go crazy on me. One of the several reasons I hate it here.
It scares me slightly, this place. The walls are stark white, as are the clothes. Just like the first asylum I was shipped off to. Another is that some of the people here remind me of the ones at the other asylum. Though, I thank god, there is not someone who looks like Polly. Maybe, I could handle someone who did look like her on the outside world, but no here. This place just brought back unwanted memories.
The door to my cell opened up and a plump man trotted in. Strange. My last three doctors had been girls. He pulled up a chair from the corner of the room and sat in it. I on the other hand, did not move from my spot on the floor. He wore a white lab coat, black slacks, and a white dress shirt. His sleeves were far too long and cover his hands. He had medium, tangled, blonde hair that hung down. His face was chubby, and he had a very prominent nose.
"So Rebec-"
"DON'T FUCKING CALL ME THAT!" I screamed, but he did no flinch, not like the others.
"Fine, Ebby. You've scared all of the other doctors away, so now I'm here." He explained.
"Whoopee-freaking-doo." I grunted crossing my arms and leaning against the wall.
He gave me a glare before looking down at a file he held. "Most of the doctors are convinced you have Stockholm syndrome, what do you say to this?"
"You’re the doctor, how do you think I feel about this?" I countered.
"Why did you do the things you did?" He asked bluntly. It's probably the eleventh time I've been asked that.
"I did it, because there is no freedom in going by the rules. There is no freedom in being the hero. Look at Batman! He's being hunted like a dog now! And what for? No one really knows but him. Still, he was once beloved, admired. Now he's hated. He has no freedom. Me on the other hand? Before I was tossed in this hell hole, I was free. Free from the rules of society! I do not feel ashamed for what I did, because I did it on my own will. That gave me freedom. Now, when you consider thinking I have Stockholms you think about that." I snapped angrily.
Something along the lines of approval seemed to flash in his eyes. I did not even get to question it before the door to my cell slammed open, and the man was knocked over the head. Standing up, I smiled. The Joker stood there, his make-up faded, and in normal clothes, mine in hand. He was grinning wildly. I couldn't help but laugh and jump up, wrapping my arms around him in a tight hug. He hugged back just as furiously.
Without speaking, we ran out of the cell. No one was there. Not a single soul as we ran through the halls. We kept laughing a as we ran. Out of the asylum, across the street, to the van, and back to the hideout.
As quick as possible we gathered all the money that was laying around the hideout. There were several bags just spread out amongst the house. I changed back into normal clothes, the Joker took off his paint, and we hopped back into the van. At least ten bags of money filled the van.
We zoomed out of the city, away from it all. Laughing, occasionally kissing, and feeling inexplicitly free.
Batman, Gotham's Mysterious Vigilantly, hunted.
That's what I'm being told. Harvey Dent was found dead at the building Rachel Dawes had died. Part of me didn't believe it. I wasn't sad or happy he was dead. I was indifferent, strange feelings for me since the past week I've been nothing but angry.
And Batman, the hero seemingly turned villain. They say he's killed five people. It makes me laugh. Here he is, the hero, bound to throw away his heroic façade just to protect another man's reputation. A man who was so easily turned to the darker side. Pathetic, and it only prove my point further. There's no freedom for a hero, but there is for a killer.
That's what I've been telling every doctor that comes to visit me. I've been locked up in Arkham Asylum for one week. I've only had a few doctors, one stops seeing me throwing a new one in. Each of them keeps saying that I have Stockholm syndrome, they are truly idiots. But I don't voice that. Usually I just scream at them and tell them to get away. They're arrogant bastards, just like Dr. Crane. I'm glad the Joker came into my life and helped me kill him.
Now, the Joker or Jack, I haven't spoken to him since we were shoved into a police car. He only said one thing to me, but it keeps me hopeful I wont be staying here long. He said: "Don't worry, just be patient.". I know sooner or later he'll break out, whether or not he takes me with him at that moment is optional.
I don't know why I'm so skeptical of him, maybe it's just my nature. Though, I do love him. There's no doubt, and I've begun to think he does as well. I haven't voiced that to the doctors, they'd probably just go crazy on me. One of the several reasons I hate it here.
It scares me slightly, this place. The walls are stark white, as are the clothes. Just like the first asylum I was shipped off to. Another is that some of the people here remind me of the ones at the other asylum. Though, I thank god, there is not someone who looks like Polly. Maybe, I could handle someone who did look like her on the outside world, but no here. This place just brought back unwanted memories.
The door to my cell opened up and a plump man trotted in. Strange. My last three doctors had been girls. He pulled up a chair from the corner of the room and sat in it. I on the other hand, did not move from my spot on the floor. He wore a white lab coat, black slacks, and a white dress shirt. His sleeves were far too long and cover his hands. He had medium, tangled, blonde hair that hung down. His face was chubby, and he had a very prominent nose.
"So Rebec-"
"DON'T FUCKING CALL ME THAT!" I screamed, but he did no flinch, not like the others.
"Fine, Ebby. You've scared all of the other doctors away, so now I'm here." He explained.
"Whoopee-freaking-doo." I grunted crossing my arms and leaning against the wall.
He gave me a glare before looking down at a file he held. "Most of the doctors are convinced you have Stockholm syndrome, what do you say to this?"
"You’re the doctor, how do you think I feel about this?" I countered.
"Why did you do the things you did?" He asked bluntly. It's probably the eleventh time I've been asked that.
"I did it, because there is no freedom in going by the rules. There is no freedom in being the hero. Look at Batman! He's being hunted like a dog now! And what for? No one really knows but him. Still, he was once beloved, admired. Now he's hated. He has no freedom. Me on the other hand? Before I was tossed in this hell hole, I was free. Free from the rules of society! I do not feel ashamed for what I did, because I did it on my own will. That gave me freedom. Now, when you consider thinking I have Stockholms you think about that." I snapped angrily.
Something along the lines of approval seemed to flash in his eyes. I did not even get to question it before the door to my cell slammed open, and the man was knocked over the head. Standing up, I smiled. The Joker stood there, his make-up faded, and in normal clothes, mine in hand. He was grinning wildly. I couldn't help but laugh and jump up, wrapping my arms around him in a tight hug. He hugged back just as furiously.
Without speaking, we ran out of the cell. No one was there. Not a single soul as we ran through the halls. We kept laughing a as we ran. Out of the asylum, across the street, to the van, and back to the hideout.
As quick as possible we gathered all the money that was laying around the hideout. There were several bags just spread out amongst the house. I changed back into normal clothes, the Joker took off his paint, and we hopped back into the van. At least ten bags of money filled the van.
We zoomed out of the city, away from it all. Laughing, occasionally kissing, and feeling inexplicitly free.
♠ ♠ ♠
I would like to give thanks to everyone who has kept me going. My subscirbers, commenteers, and everyone who has told me that they love my story. I loved to write this story, it was fun and envigorating. And most of all, I would like to give thanks to the wonderful actor, Heath Ledger for playing an amazing Joker. He has certainly set the bar higher for actors every where. His death has saddened us all, but he is in a better place now.Once more, thank you to everyone, Hopefully the sequel, will be just as liked.
-Babylon