The Phantom of the Opera (Part Two)

"Though the process was complicated, in summary, the Court of Owls did something inhuman."

"They forged this personality of yours, but never told you the truth, making you believe you really were Falcone’s son."

"But Falcone believed his son had been replaced, and that you were a monster they had forced on him, so he hated you."

"Falcone lost his son, and you lost your father. It really was a tragedy."

"But there was one truly innocent person in this story…"

Alberto lowered his eyes and said with self-mockery, "When Evans was awake, I could see everything he saw and had his memories, but he couldn’t see mine. So he knew nothing. He still thought he really had a brother, and even missed him terribly."

"If you truly seek revenge against Falcone, Evans will lose both his brother and his father at once. Though Falcone never saw you as his son, Evans truly saw you as his brother."

Alberto fell silent.

He was a personality created out of nothing, rootless duckweed adrift on the water. Falcone thought he had stolen his rightful place, while the Court of Owls saw him only as a tool to carry out their plan.

At his funeral, not a single person mourned his death. If that floating duckweed had only one root, if only one person truly missed him after he died and created proof that he had once existed, it was his brother Evans.

Seeing that he had stopped speaking, Schiller turned his attention to Batman. "Although your Avengers have split into two halves, it’s fine. We can talk about something happier. How badly do you think the Court of Owls is about to suffer?"

"That madman intends to go after the Court? What reason does he have to do that? What ability does he have to do it?"

"Don’t you understand yet? He’s completely different from the lunatics you saw on the streets who went mad because of the rain."

"Even so, I don’t think he can take on the Court of Owls alone."

"Let’s make a bet. I bet the Court of Owls is going to have a miserable time."

As he spoke, Schiller picked up the remote and turned the television back on. After a while of boring drama, the news broadcast began.

But before the anchor had reported more than a few stories, terror suddenly appeared on his face. Then, with a bang, a hole opened in his head.

A burst of laughter rang out, and that familiar figure appeared before the camera again. His first words were, "Oh! I’m a criminal! I killed someone! What should I do?"

"Batman! Come arrest me! I know you must be watching from some corner. Come catch me, this murderer…"

Batman clenched his fists on the hospital bed. He immediately wanted to rise, but then the Joker leaned close to the camera and said, "Did you clench your fists? Are you desperately trying to get up, wanting to run over here and punch me?"

"But you can’t do that…" He limped back a few steps, then walked over to the male anchor’s corpse, grabbed him by the collar, and dragged him before the camera.

"Look, someone died here. He was shot to death with a handgun, and I just so happen to have a handgun in my hand."

"But you can’t arrest me. Do you know why?"

"A bullet flew into his head, and then I appeared on camera holding a handgun."

"But no one saw me fire the gun. I’m just an innocent passerby who happened to be carrying a handgun with the matching bullet caliber, passing by a corpse killed by a handgun bullet."

"What are you going to do? Come beat me up? Beat up this innocent passerby?"

"What?" The Joker tilted his head and put a hand behind his ear as though listening.

"You say I just admitted that I killed someone? That I just said I was a criminal?"

"But so what? I also said I was a frog, or a woman, a stripper…"

The Joker wiggled before the camera, spun around, and blew the screen a kiss.

"See? That’s how it goes. If you come beat me up, then I’ll—boohoo…" The Joker began fake crying, pounding his chest and stomping around as he wailed. "Then the audience will see a freak in tights beating up a weak and pitiful passerby…"

"Oh, wait." He suddenly froze, then scratched his hair. "No, that’s not what I came here to do. Well, playing with the Bat is so much fun that I almost forgot the important business."

He let out another string of wild laughter. "Do you know Gotham Grand Theater? Of course you do! I prepared a biiiiig surprise for you there!!!"

"Did you hear that? Great Comedian Jack is starting ticket sales now! Tonight at midnight, twenty dollars a ticket! Show your ticket stub and get a bucket of brain-pulp popcorn too!!"

As he spoke, he stepped back, tore a small slip of paper from the scripts on the anchor’s desk, and said, "Look, this is the ticket!"

Then he awkwardly tore all those scripts apart and tossed them into the air. The scraps drifted down like scattered blossoms as he said, "Hurry and call here to buy tickets! Right now! If you’re even a little late…"

A burst of laughter rang out before he continued, "You’ll miss the greatest comedy performance in history!"

The screen returned to static. Schiller yawned and walked to the desk in the hospital room, muttering to himself, "What was the TV station’s number again?"

He pulled out his phone book and dialed. Once the call connected, he said, "Hello? Is this comedy performance artist Jack?… Oh, you’re being modest. I think that performance of yours just now earned you the title of artist…"

"Yes, I’m here to buy tickets. Midnight tonight, right? I’d like three tickets, uh… perhaps four. One of my friends has multiple personalities, so he needs two tickets. What? Buy three, get one free? Because I’m the first customer? That’s wonderful, thank you."

"How do I collect the tickets? The TV station mailbox? All right… I’ll put the money there then…"

"Well, I wish you a successful performance. Thank you, goodbye."

After hanging up, he found Batman and Alberto both staring at him. Schiller shrugged. "He’s going after the Court of Owls anyway. Why shouldn’t we go watch the show?"

"And even though your Avengers unfortunately split into two halves, you still need a farewell dinner, don’t you?"

At eleven at night, outside the theater, Schiller stepped out of the car. Before he could enter, he spotted an acquaintance. He warmly approached and shook Gordon’s hand. "Detective Gordon, you came too."

Gordon said irritably, "Even though Gotham is full of lunatics, this one is too insane. Do you know how many emergency calls the Police Department has received in the last few hours?"

"Oh? What happened?"

"That lunatic told Gothamites to call the police for help!" Gordon was so angry he laughed. He emphasized, "He fucking told these Gotham people to call the police for help!!!"

"That’s a good thing. It means tonight will be Gotham’s most normal night."

"Normal?" Gordon paused, then heard Schiller say, "Detective, I know you don’t approve of fighting violence with violence, but in Gotham, the best method is to fight madness with madness."

As the two spoke, a long luxury car turned into the alley. It stopped before the theater, and the driver got out to open the door. Falcone emerged, spotted Schiller and Gordon, and walked toward them.

The Old Godfather adjusted his cufflinks and said as casually as if making small talk, "Tickets were a little hard to buy, weren’t they? When I called, he actually told me there were no tickets left. Quite interesting."

"You haven’t been refused in many years, have you?"

"That is true. But when he heard I had some influence in the mob, he decided to give me special treatment."

Then Father Daniel stepped out of the car as well. He made the sign of the cross over his chest and said, "Thank Carmine. He brought my share, or I really wouldn’t have been able to buy a ticket."

Schiller said to them, "You go in first. I’m waiting for two more friends."

Everyone except Schiller went inside first. After a while, the Batmobile slowly drove over. Batman stepped out, with Evans following behind him. Evans said happily, "Gotham hasn’t staged anything in a long time. Who’s performing today? Is there a program? Can I see it?"

"I’m guessing he gave you a lecture on the history of European theater, modern opera, vocal technique, and so on during the drive." Schiller walked over and said quietly to Batman.

"More than that. He gave me a personal demonstration too," Batman said with a straight face.

"How was the singing?"

"Alfred would like it."

"You mean he’s too old-fashioned?"

Evans caught up just in time to hear Schiller’s last sentence. "Hey! How can you say that? That’s called respecting the classics. I’ve always thought those so-called modern operas were practically sacrilege…"

The three entered the theater together. Inside, they faced an enormous poster depicting a group of plucked owls hanging above a pot of oil. Beneath them were two hands holding a knife and fork, seemingly ready to feast.

"Opera and painting?" Schiller murmured beneath the poster. "Is it artistry hidden within the personality? Or the lower layer’s yearning and fantasies for art?"

Schiller shook his head. He finally understood why Harley Quinn in the original story had gone mad. The Joker’s insane personality was the finest research material for any psychologist. Once you encountered him, it was difficult not to analyze and explore him.

Holding a theater map, Schiller said, "My manor isn’t far from here. A neighbor gave me a map before. Let me see… ticket window… oh, this way, turn left."

Turning left along the side of the poster, they found a ticket window on the right. There really were some popcorn buckets there, though they clearly did not belong in this old theater. After all, no one ate popcorn while watching an opera.

Was this incoherence born from the personality’s lack of understanding of art, or from the chaotic thinking brought by madness? Schiller could not help beginning to speculate again.

He leaned forward and looked inside the ticket booth. Suddenly, a mannequin sprang up from the floor and lunged straight at him. Schiller looked it over and found that it was likely an old puppet left in the opera house warehouse, something once used as a backdrop in stage plays. Only now, a smiling face had been drawn on its head.

Schiller reached out, pulled the puppet over, and inspected it from top to bottom. Somewhat disappointed, he said, "Where’s the line? Why isn’t it saying that classic line?"

While he studied the puppet, Evans took two buckets of popcorn from the ticket window. He looked inside and said in surprise, "Why are these popcorn buckets full of paper balls? Where’s the popcorn?"

Batman stood behind the two of them, feeling completely out of place.

Evans handed Batman a bucket of paper balls. "There isn’t any real popcorn, but this will do."

"Didn’t you say new operas were a desecration of the classics? Are you really planning to hold a bucket of popcorn while watching an opera?" Schiller turned and asked him.

"I just like eating popcorn. Whenever I go to the movies, I can never buy any. My father wouldn’t let me, because there might be a bomb hidden inside."

Batman opened his mouth. He desperately wanted to remind Evans that the bucket he was holding had a far greater chance of concealing a bomb than one from an ordinary movie theater.

Schiller seemed to see what Batman wanted to say. "Why don’t you understand yet? He wouldn’t pull such a boring prank. If it isn’t spectacular enough, it might as well not exist."