Ghostwriter

Chapter 21

Red Hood stays up that night, watching the sky thicken until night falls like a dark omen over the cityscape. Gotham's power grid kicks in and the city shines flashlights out of every lightbulb, each searching for one thing or another. His hood gleams when the light from a nearby neon sign touches it. He knows what he searches for.

Tonight, nothing specific. Sure, he's got a business meeting with a couple of gangsters from all around the world tonight. Some blood might be shed, but probably not. They know better than to not pay up.

The current big game, taking down the ever-growing problem of Transfuse, still bugs him. He should scour for new leads and new angles and other new crap. Barbara keeps going on about how she suspects they've infiltrated lower levels of local governments in order to pass code laws, so that's something to look at.

They've analyzed the 'Compliance' and found that it is basically heavily concentrated LSD, nicotine, and coconut oil (and maybe a little bit of food coloring and perfume essences). In essence: addiction, hallucination, and more addiction. Tim calculated that it could make the average grown man medically addicted within minutes of inhaling the drug for the first time.

So 'Compliance' evidently needs to be sought out and destroyed, which means locating the next shipments.

That's all physical.

None of it even comes close to mentioning the intangible answers that he's searching for. Most the answers he discovered years back: he knows who is. He knows what he wants. He knows what he believes is right, and how much he's willing to sacrifice for it. He's not some hippie teenager on a quest of self-discovery. Jason knows all about his life.

It's his death that he's questioning.

Who's at fault? Who's to blame?

The Joker? Batman? His mother? Himself?

Then comes the burning question of why?

A madman's sick enjoyment is the only answer he'll ever get.

Antigone grazed on the topic earlier, probably not knowing the depth of the horror she asked about. No one really knows. Only Jason, the Joker, and a certain crowbar.

Antigone isn't stupid, and Jason knows that. She knows what the scar on her shoulder means. She knows that her soulmate died, even if she refuses to accept that he resurrected (though by the look on her face after he touched her mark, she may be thinking that through a little more).

At some point he'll have to tell her the whole story. It's the only real way to get her to believe. He's postponing that talk for as long as possible. Jason doesn't want to think about that night. Ever.

Laugher coils around his mind like a snake and Red Hood shakes his shoulders. He can almost feel the blood dripping down his forehead and getting into his eyes. Red Hood shudders and stands up. He needs to find someone to hurt and fast.

Given that this is the infamous Crime Alley of Gotham, the opportunity presents itself within minutes. A child screams.

Red Hood rushes towards the noise. A couple of large men, each drunk and holding sharp objects, surround a small girl who clutches her bleeding face. Perfect.

Red Hood's vision funnels and he takes out his gun. He lands in front of the girl. The men take a step back, but it's too late. His gun has gone off. They're dead.

Too easy.

He sighs in frustration and turns around, his entire posture just begging for a fight. The girl doesn't notice that, though, and she runs to him and clutches his arms. She buries her head in his torso and cries about her mommy and daddy. The laughing returns and for a split second he thinks he's being touched by someone entirely different.