Night of the Return of the Joker (Part 2)

"So, the priest saw that I was different and recommended me to the Godfather, asking him to hire me as Evans’s tutor because he wanted me to solve Evans’s problem?"

"Neither Carmine nor I could be sure whether the Court of Owls was still watching Evans. But now it seems our vigilance was justified. They truly hadn’t given up; they still regarded Evans as a key figure in the Water Source Plan."

Father Daniel sighed and said, "This generation of the Court of Owls is far inferior to the last. They acted too hastily and left too many flaws behind. I lived in that church for decades; I knew every brick and tile there like the back of my hand."

"The freeze Gotham suffered was nowhere near enough to split open such a huge crack in the church floor. They were controlling Alberto, making him test whether the Fine Wine had truly matured."

"Looks like the blow Batman and I dealt the owls didn’t make them behave."

"That move was actually quite effective." Father Daniel paused, then said, "It should be said that it was the most effective one in decades."

"But it still wasn’t enough. Remember when I told you that neither Falcone nor I knew the answer? That wasn’t an excuse."

"The Court of Owls may have been an important piece on the board, but they weren’t everything. They weren’t even the king and queen."

"Falcone and I spent our entire lives unable to glimpse the truth behind this darkness."

Falcone shook his head as well. The ember on his cigar gradually faded, making the old theater even darker. He said, "When I said I hadn’t found them and hadn’t waited for the opportunity, that was the truth. There must be something else behind the Court of Owls."

"If the true mastermind behind it all has always existed, then it won’t matter how many owls we kill."

"I saw the possibility of finding the real culprit in you and Batman." Falcone turned to Schiller, his eyes buried in the shadows of his sockets, dim and unreadable. "That’s why I wanted to establish a secret society. But its true purpose isn’t to deal with the Court of Owls. It’s to confront him, or the darkness behind organizations like his."

Schiller leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. With a sigh, he said, "I know. Anyone who has lived in Gotham for decades couldn’t possibly have no suspicions at all. But I didn’t expect you to be so persistent."

"We don’t care where you came from or what secrets you carry." Father Daniel turned to Schiller. His gaze was not as sharp as Falcone’s, but always calm and gentle. He said, "If you, or someone else, one day finds The Truth, please don’t forget—"

"Many people have worked for this city. Most of them failed. Those who don’t belong to Gotham will eventually leave."

"A lawyer friend once told me something: in this world, you don’t have to reach the finish line to count as having won."

"All right, our stories are finished. Now it’s your turn." Father Daniel smiled toward the stage. "Our play is called ‘Easter,’ while you named yours ‘Return of the Joker.’ Does that hold some special meaning? Can you tell us about it?"

"The thing beneath Gotham Cathedral isn’t called a Fine Wine pool. The substance inside is called the Dionysus Factor. It truly can make people immortal."

Schiller’s words were startling. Both Falcone and Daniel looked at him. After a pause, Schiller continued, "But it isn’t an antidote. It’s poison—the deadliest poison in the world."

"It can create the craziest madmen in the world. I prefer to call it—Madman’s Blood."

"From the sound of it, you seem to know a great deal about it."

"Gotham isn’t the only place in the world that has this substance."

"I had almost forgotten your background. You’ve seen this stuff elsewhere? You told me before that you were absolutely certain you could keep Evans safe. I hope you weren’t lying to me."

"Of course not, Godfather. Don’t worry. It all started when Evans came to me."

"When he came to ask for my help, he seemed deeply troubled by his relationship with his father. I thought Alberto was about to resurrect then, so I made a suggestion: he should use certain methods to hide in the asylum."

"Although I told him it was to show a willingness to yield and ease the relationship between father and son, the real reason was that I wanted to observe him over a long period. I needed more definite evidence."

"You had already noticed something was wrong back then?"

Schiller shook his head. "I had a feeling, but no evidence. Evans showed no abnormalities at the time, but my intuition told me something was off."

"So I had him come to Arkham Asylum, where I worked, and share a room with a clever fellow."

"After those heavy rains, his behavior should have become obvious, right?"

"Yes…" Schiller’s voice gradually sank into memory as the three of them looked toward the stage.

In the pitch-black hospital room, moonlight streamed through the window and spilled across the floor. The metal rails of the bed gleamed faintly. Schiller stood before Evans’s bed, staring at him as though sensing his emotions.

Falcone asked Schiller, "After you confirmed it, what did you do?"

"Actually, I did nothing, because I knew he would expose a flaw eventually. And sure enough, he did."

The theater’s old curtain closed, then opened again. Dust rose into the air, and the scene onstage became Sheldon’s office.

Schiller was crouching before Sheldon’s desk. He forcefully pried off the bottom drawer, which was filled with cassette tapes.

"What are those?" Father Daniel asked curiously.

"Recordings of phone calls he wiretapped from me. He’s dead now, so they’re useless. I thought I’d better take them back."

Seated in the chair closest to the stage, Schiller watched as the lights of Sheldon’s office reflected off his glasses again. Then he stood from the desk, took a tape recorder from the cabinet, found a blank cassette, and recorded his own voice onto it.

"The goods from Plantation Number Nine go through Old Wilkin’s route—the one that passes through three streets in the East End. Their shipments are too large, so their drop-off point is in the basement of a nightclub. If you need it, I can put in a word with him…"

"You’re worried about that? There’s no need. As far as I know, that underground chemical plant in the West End also belongs to Falcone…"

Then Schiller crouched down again and placed the cassette against the side of the upper drawer.

Hearing his own name, Falcone smiled. "Don’t tell me you were planning to scare off the police with that trick?"

"Quite the opposite. The police might be scared off by the Godfather’s name, but one person won’t be. I went to all that trouble to provide him with clues."

Then Schiller stared at the scene onstage and said, "I waited a long time before Alberto finally exposed a flaw. Maybe he was dissatisfied with Sheldon’s hesitation, or maybe he thought victory was assured and wanted to silence him."

"Alberto must have found an excuse to speak with Sheldon alone, then pushed him downstairs during the conversation."

"But he still didn’t do enough. If I hadn’t cleaned up after him, forget Batman—even the police would have found something."

Onstage, Victor pulled open the hallway window. He looked down, saw Sheldon’s body, and hurried downstairs.

But if he had looked up, he would have seen Schiller’s busy figure above.

"There was one thing he did well. He had Sheldon call Victor in advance and summon him over, then timed it perfectly so Victor became a witness and also fell under suspicion, confusing the police."

"At the time, I didn’t know Victor would come. If I’d known Victor would call me over with another phone call, I wouldn’t have gone back to the asylum. I could have simply waited beside the administrative building."

"The asylum is a long way from Gotham University. How did you make a round trip in just a few minutes?"

"That isn’t important."

Seeing that Schiller did not want to answer, Falcone did not press further.

"Afterward, when the police summoned me, I had no choice but to propose another possibility to distract them and keep them from interfering. After all, the stage should have belonged to Batman next."

"When the patients went mad, did you already guess that it was the effect of the Fine Wine?"

"No." Schiller denied it. "Before I came into contact with the substance myself, I didn’t jump to conclusions."

"But Alberto gave me an Easter egg. It confirmed that the substance inside was the same as the one in the patients’ blood, and then I knew what it was."

"So what did you do?"

Schiller shrugged and said lightly, "I gave him an Easter present."

Moonlight from the theater windows fell across the old curtain. As it slowly closed and opened again, the stage expanded, and a rich scent of wine drifted out from Gotham Cathedral.

Batman looked around. From the dark alleys nearby came mad howls, as though they were hymns for a ceremony of rebirth.

After that burst of manic laughter, Batman saw a figure crawling out of the green pool. He wore a crazed smile, like an evil ghost just born from Hell.

Batman’s muscles tensed. He knew the force of that explosion had been enough to kill Alberto. Yet Alberto had climbed out of the pool again, which meant there was definitely something wrong with that green liquid. Perhaps a monster had been born within it.

Alberto crawled out, his wet blond hair plastered to his forehead. His face was deathly pale, his mouth stretched wide, and those green eyes were completely consumed by madness.

Batman drew another Batarang and cocked his gun, clearly prepared for a fierce battle. But events still exceeded his expectations.

Once that rich wine scent spread, countless bursts of mad laughter rang out through the streets and alleys surrounding the cathedral. One crazed figure after another began closing in.

Batman looked around. There were at least a hundred of them, and every one of them wore the same crazed smile as Alberto, advancing on him like the living dead.

"I told you." Alberto’s voice had become incomparably hoarse, like a blade sawing through wood. "I have resurrected, and I will live forever…"

As Batman silently stared at him, another familiar voice sounded behind him.

"Do you feel anything special, Batman?"

Batman turned. Just as he expected, Schiller Rodriguez stood behind him—his Psychology Professor who insisted he was an ordinary man.

Batman took a deep breath. "Don’t tell me this was you again…"

"You need to answer my question first. What do you think of him?"

Batman turned back toward Alberto. "What do you mean, what do I think?"

"Hmm… Do you remember his laugh?"

"No. What does that mean?"

"It seems he isn’t the one you’re looking for." Schiller said regretfully.

"What?" Batman turned toward Schiller, who had walked up beside him. Schiller said, "If you feel nothing else when facing him, then he isn’t the opponent fate has chosen for you."

"Batman." Schiller’s tone lowered. "If one day, mad laughter echoes in your heart, then you will know you have found the right person."

"And this one…" Schiller looked Alberto over and said:

"He ruined my Easter present. Now, beat him up."