Out of the Belfry, into the Fire

Epilogue: Let it Snow

Now Jonathan Crane would have thought it a joke to be considered what some would call fanciful in the sense of the hopeless romantic as much as someone suggesting that he had a sense of humor enough to delight in coincidences, but had he been either of those things, he caught the word "charming" as the first word to come out of his mind from his otherwise frazzled mood. As he blinked against the brightness outside of Arkham Asylum to the sight of the first snow of the season, it was almost as if it was falling like confetti in solemn celebration of his release. Summer had been long, sweltering, and hard work. Autumn had nearly lost him again to despair, but here winter was. Cold though it may have been (he felt the damp nip against this bare fingers and his nose), he felt warmth on the inside like a fire in a cozy cabin.

He was not used to positive imagery. In the past all his poetic whims came solely from shadow and irony and woe, from the hopeless darkness of the demonic creature in the ocean depths, to the shrill, thin shriek of a banshee in the empty wind. It was a whole new thing to feel the beauty of St. Elmo's Fire and of the hope of angels singing on a still night. It was still something that he did not speak of. Not so much because of the awkwardness of it, but because he was so rusty at putting such thoughts into words.

As he took his first free step on the ground outside the gate with the guard not blocking his path, he felt like a sailor stepping for the first time on land after a voyage of terrible storms and hardship where land had become but a fairytale. Yet here he was, still unable to fully acclimate himself to the idea that this was no dream that would be taken out from under his feet. He stepped on solid ground. He might have considered the notion far longer had it not suddenly been for a shout from beyond the gate.

"Hey, Professor!" called Harley waving.

That brought his head down from that strange dizziness in a second as he blinked with a start at Harley.

She had told him she would meet him on his first day out.

He shook his head and smiled, walking more to his nature. Soberly with no real funny business. Funny business was Harley's department. He still felt a little muddled, but found his way into the cab easy enough with a second call from Harley. He did not even look back at the asylum as they drove off. There was nothing to consider or any last thoughts to add about Arkham.

He had allowed Harley to plan the day for him. Her chirping was like that of a little bird. He listened to the itinerary with arms behind his head.

Well, half-listening to her. She could have planned for them to stop at the petting zoo before having an ice cream sundae, and then taken him to a heavy metal concert and he really would not have cared. Okay, maybe he would have cared a little about the heavy metal— as the scientist of the brain he was, he knew the powers of ancient pounding rhythms brought back in the form of modern so-called "music".

Right now he was half-listening to oldies Christmas songs on the taxi driver's radio. Christmas was tomorrow, actually. And although he usually despised such songs and their supposed nostalgic aura, he soaked them with a near giddiness that he never had before. He almost caught his lips mouthing "let it snow" along with Bing Crosby.

He was more than a little giddy, he was almost drunk from a natural feeling of being out and free. Freer than he had ever been, actually, with a future, although a little daunting in its unknown possibilities, he was ready for it. For the first time in his life, he actually allowed the fear of that unknown abyss to pass as nothing. Fear was power, that may have been true, but to stare at the abyss was to immobilize a person and to become stagnant.

Harley too had already expressed that she would not let him face that future alone, anyway. They might as well stick together as long as they understood each other.

And courage...

True courage was one thing in his spineless life before this day that he had never allowed to strengthen him. To ignore fear was bad for a person but to live in it was death. To wallow in the past and shudder at the future was about the worst thing a person could do to himself. To live in the present was true balance, and although all these things felt awkward, if not corny, in Jonathan's mind so rusty and musty with all the dark corners and black basements he had hid himself in for most of his life, he had come to accept that his old brooding thoughts on power and fear were just as cliché.

At least trading one cliché for a healthier one was better than allowing a gothic world to consume one in the clichés of a life of despair. In fact, in some ways, the truisms of a defeatist and sadist were far sillier than those of a well-balanced optimist. Being hopeless was far weaker than allowing oneself a fool's hope within reason.

After all, was not that what he had always seen potentially in Harley? When she gave up her foolish optimism and false hopes for sobriety in a real life instead of losing herself in the madness of loving the Joker, was that not one of the reasons why he had been so afraid of her when he found out that she was Lunabat? Was it not what made her more admirable? More of a lost "Lenore"— if the gothic blindness of his past had wanted to see it that way?

It was interesting the sort of balance they discovered despite being so different in their personalities. They found the same conclusion. Like deep and high pitched sound waves finding the perfect volume from their respective opposite ends. Between Harley finding balance in moderation and Jonathan finding balance in loosening himself from the tight bonds of hopelessness, they formed a completeness of understanding of the mind of a human being. As Jonathan considered this between restaurant outings and park visits on their strange little day together that some might have viewed as a date between a boyfriend and a girlfriend, he found it more interesting still what they formed meeting in the middle like two clichés coming together to form a solid meaningful phrase. Like two halves of the same creature becoming whole.

In fact, he told Harley so.

In fact, it was that telling her so that despite his old snubbing of marriage, and unity between man and woman in general, that had not long after that encouraged suggesting just such a union. It surprised him nonetheless that no less than a year later they were married and living in an old house in a lovely college town in Maine as though Providence had meant it to be. He often found himself bewildered by it, but he tried not to question it. After a while, he did not even desire to question it. Three happy, healthy children caused one to decide better of questioning such things.

Although he would not go so far as to say that he ended up living happily-ever-after like some silly fairytale as Harley had originally wanted to say of themselves, he, in his sobriety at Harley's side, said one cozy Sunday afternoon, "Together with you is as happy a life to be thankful for as a person can hope for."

"So it's a levelheaded happily-ever-after," Harley laughed in full seriousness as she felt the original phrase too long and unnecessarily complicated.

Jonathan shrugged looking serious aside from that small tug of amusement at the corner of his lips and an unhidden twinkle in his bright hazel eyes.

"I can live with that," he answered back as together they sat in the window and watched the falling snow.

-Fin