Wild Cards

Chapter 15: Curtain Call

Flinging the cab door open and rushing into the crowded streets, I race downtown to the building that houses the set of The Murray Franklin Show. Running like my entire life depends on it. 

Because it does. My future with Arthur does. 

Pushing through the throng of people waiting in line to get into the studio, I step up to the ticket booth window, muttering multiple "excuse me's" and receiving scowls and obscenities in return. 

"Hello, sorry," I begin, out of breath, as I stare at a young woman with her blonde hair tied back in a tight bun. "I need to get in there. My friend is performing here tonight and I need to see him."

The woman raises one eyebrow in a disbelieving manner. "Sorry, ma'am.  No ticket, no entry," she relays robotically.

"Please," I beg. "I really need to-

"Next!" she yells rudely, and a burly man behind me shoves me out of the way.

I exhale in absolute despair as I'm booted to the back of the crowd. 

What do I do now? He's so close yet I can't reach him. Can't stop him from doing something he'll regret for the rest of his life. If he intends to live, that is...

Just the thought of losing Arthur tonight makes me shiver in fright. The chilly breeze certainly doesn't help to calm my nerves in the slightest. Wearing my favorite short-sleeved, midnight blue dress without a jacket may not have been the best idea. But I was in a hurry and preoccupied with the time limit ticking away in my head. 

Realizing there is nothing more I can do for him, more silent tears drip down my mascara-ruined cheeks. I sigh and choke back a sob as I begin the trek home to my apartment, hoping but highly doubting I'll be able to catch the program on my television in time for Arthur's curtain call. 

As the night grows darker and colder by the minute, I come across a small gathering of Gothamites, standing in front of an electronics shop, watching the multiple TV screens in the window. I walk over to join them and am startled by the sound of Arthur, my Arthur, laughing uncontrollably. 

I peek around shoulders and soon find myself viewing a clip of him on stage, at Pogo's, suffering through one of his untamable outbursts. He finally regains his composure, a few chuckles escaping here and there before he repeats one of the jokes he had told me previously. About hating school as a kid and wanting to be a comedian. However, no laughs from the audience, in the tape, accompany it. 

Abruptly, more realizations begin to dawn on me in quick succession. 

Arthur had told me that the crowd loved it. That he did really well and it all went okay that night. But it didn't. 

At the hospital, he said that they played a clip of his routine on Murray's show. I had congratulated him, but something had seemed off about him. As if his dream had come true, but not in the way he imagined it. And now I know why he was so disconnected in that moment. Why he was so numb and emotionless. 

They used him to make fun of him. To humiliate him for laughs. My beloved Arthur was nothing more than a punchline for these people. These brutal, selfish, heartless monsters.

Once the clip ends, Murray Franklin introduces the next guest, announcing him with the name "Joker."

The curtain is pulled back to reveal a flamboyant, dancing clown in a vibrant red suit, with a stark white face and blue diamonds painted around his eyes.  The tip of his nose is bright red and so is his mouth, curved into a huge smile. His curly, shoulder-length hair is slicked back and has been dyed emerald green.

My jaw drops in shock at his new, confident, and frankly sexy, persona. I've only witnessed this side of him a few times, but now it's on full display for the entire city to see.

He twirls with glee, shakes Murray's awaiting hand and kisses the other guest, Dr. Sally, unabashedly. A twinge of jealousy spikes within me, although I know it's all for show and payback. My attraction to this Joker character, this incredibly fearless and smug version of Arthur, has my heart pounding frantically in my chest. 

As the interview begins, the audience laughs at Murray's cracks at Arthur's expense, to which he just smiles, laughs and puts on a happy face. But I know him better than that. I know something wild and vicious will come to fruition soon enough, due to my newly acquired knowledge of his track record. 

Right on cue, Arthur makes a joke that's deemed inappropriate and is chastised for it. And then... he casually confesses to killing those three Wall Street guys. On a live television broadcast for everyone to hear.

I audibly gasp, along with the citizens standing around me. I notice that more people wearing clown masks have stopped in their pursuits to listen to the bright screens. 

Arthur begins to rant and rave about the corrupt system and the unfairness and injustice of it all. His feelings of betrayal, ignorance and isolation all come pouring out of him. His hatred of Thomas Wayne is revealed, along with his disappointment in Murray Franklin, who only invited him on the show to boost his own ego and humiliate a mentally ill loner. 

With my eyes glued to the screen and more tears rolling down my face, I watch as my beautiful clown starts his final joke. Murray begins to demand the police be called immediately, but Arthur is able to utter the deadly punchline, pulling out a small revolver and squeezing the trigger, aimed directly at Murray's head.

I know I should be terrified. Angry and afraid. Horrified and disturbed.   

But for some innate reason... I'm not.

In fact, I feel... euphoric.  Because I understand the joke. Murray Franklin got what he deserved. And it's fucking hilarious to me.

I begin to laugh softly to myself, no longer worried about Arthur being hurt. Nothing can hurt him anymore. No more pain.

He's finally free. And maybe, just maybe, I can be, too.