Chapter 28
"The sane are madder than we think."
G.K. Chesterton
Matthew chewed slowly.
The heart was warm. Still pulsing between his teeth. Still full of laughter.
He swallowed it.
Blood ran from the corner of his mouth. His breathing slowed, and a silence fell like ash over the room.
Batman stood frozen. His eyes wide behind the cowl. Even with everything he'd seen… this? He didn't know what to say. Or do. Or feel.
Damian's hand hovered over the hilt of his sword, half-raised, unsure if this was the moment to strike—or step back.
And Harley…
Harley just stared at Matthew like her own world had died. Not the world she mocked. The world inside her. Her eyes were open wounds. She looked at him like he was a ghost… or a god… or both.
Matthew looked around, confused. He blinked once. Then smiled softly.
"Batman," he said, voice calm, gentle. "What are you doing here?"
His tone was casual. Friendly even. Like nothing had just happened. Like he hadn't just devoured a man's heart with his bare hands.
They all froze.
This was not recovery.
This was collapse.
Batman saw it. Knew it. This was the worst outcome of all. Matthew wasn't in pain. He wasn't angry. He was… at peace.
Because the mind, when shattered, sometimes doesn't scream.
It smiles.
Matthew looked at Harley and wiped his mouth with the back of his bloodied hand.
"Come on, crazy pants," he said. "Let's go home."
No more words. No more chaos. Just that.
He walked away—calm as moonlight—Harley following behind him like a shadow that forgot how to scream.
---
Back at Harley's apartment, the world outside still burned with sirens and madness, but inside… everything was quiet.
Matthew opened the door, stepping in casually. He looked around, squinting.
"Harley, where did I put my clothes?" he asked, glancing at the couch, the chairs, the floor.
No answer.
He turned around.
Harley was on her knees. Right there by the front door. Her eyes were red. Her lips trembling.
She folded her hands together like prayer, looking up at him.
"I didn't know," she whispered. "I didn't know they were your parents, Matthew. I swear. I was in love with him. With the Joker. He—he told me to hold the guy and I—I just did it. I didn't even think. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was so stupid, I didn't even ask questions. I didn't know—"
Her voice cracked and died. She started sobbing again.
Matthew sighed. It was deep. Bone-deep.
He walked to her slowly, knelt, and slid his arms under hers. He lifted her to her feet like a child and stared into her bloodshot blue eyes.
"Look at me," he said.
She didn't.
He spoke again—firmer. "Harley. Look at me."
Her gaze met his. And what she saw broke her again, but quietly.
His eyes weren't crazy. Not anymore. They were just empty. Hollowed out
Matthew cupped her cheek, brushing a tear away with his thumb.
"I know," he whispered. "And I understand."
She shook her head, mouthing the word no, over and over.
He smiled, barely.
"What happened… happened a long time ago. And killing you isn't going to bring them back. I mean, sure, I killed the Joker. He was a lunatic. He deserved it. But you…" he paused. "You're not him."
She blinked.
"You help me. You kill with me. You patch me up. You make dumb jokes. You call me names. You're annoying as hell." He smiled again. "But you're not evil."
Harley sniffled.
"You were in love," he said. "And afraid. That's not the same as being a monster. So stop the pity party, crazy pants."
She let out a small, broken laugh. It wasn't happy. But it was real.
He gently set her on the couch and draped a blanket over her.
"Okay, sleep time."
She looked up at him.
"Goodnight," she whispered.
He bent down and kissed the top of her head.
"Goodnight."
She closed her eyes, the last of her tears soaking into the cushion beneath her cheek.
---
Matthew walked to the bathroom, stripped, and stepped under the cold shower. The blood ran down the drain—thick, dark, slow.
He didn't feel much of anything.
Not anymore.
Minutes passed. The water stopped.
He emerged, dressed in black pants and a plain black shirt. His white hair, still wet, clung to his face. He pushed it back with both hands and exhaled.
He glanced at Harley, curled up like a child on the couch.
Without a word, he laid himself down on the floor beside her, using his arm as a pillow.
---
Back in the joker place
Robin stood silently. He had seen a lot for someone so young. Blood. Death. Pain. But Matthew?
What Matthew became?
That haunted him.
"Father," Damian asked, still watching the doorway where Matthew had vanished, "wasn't that… a good thing? That he's okay now?"
Bruce didn't answer at first.
He was staring at the Joker's broken body—smashed, crushed, ripped open. Unrecognizable. A skeleton in a clown suit.
He finally spoke, softly.
"No. It's not good."
Damian turned toward him, frowning.
Bruce's voice was quiet. Cold.
"I've seen men go mad. I've seen men break. But this?" He shook his head. "When someone shatters that completely and just… smiles?"
He looked toward the door.
"That's when you know they're gone."
---
Back at Harley's place, Matthew lay still.
Harley's breathing was soft. Asleep, or trying to be.
He stared at the ceiling.
There was no scream left in him.
No more rage.
He had chewed through it. Swallowed it whole. It was inside him now—like a parasite with a smile.
And as the night dragged on, and the stars above the broken city dimmed…
He closed his eyes.
But sleep didn't come.
Only silence.
---
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