He watched the Batmobile swerve dangerously close to the edge of the cliff, and then, as Batman struggled to maintain control, it came to a halt across the middle of the road. Thick black smoke poured from beneath the Batmobile’s hood and from underneath the chassis. The Polarizer braked the Edsel to a stop far enough away so that the costumed heroes wouldn’t be able to capture him easily. He let the engine run, but got out of the car, carrying the remote-control unit and the bag of money.
“You’ve faced many ingenious foes, Batman,” The Polarizer called, “but none so clever as I. Who else has been able to manipulate you at will? Who else has discovered the means to defeat you through your own oversight? Who else has been able to prove that you are, in fact, Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson?”
Robin looked at Batman in surprise. “Batman, you were right! He knows our identities! But what does he mean about an oversight?”
“Quite simple, Robin,” said Batman. “It must have occurred to him that Batman must need to purchase large quantities of electronic components and other materials in order to build his many crime-fighting aids. Think how much time we spend maintaining the Batplane and the Batmobile in top working order, as well as keeping them up-to-date with all the latest instruments and weapons.”
“Of course, Mr. Wayne,” said the Polarizer. “It would take someone with a personal fortune as large as yours to pay for all that.”
Robin shook his head. “Then The Polarizer had some way of knowing which wealthy individuals in Gotham City were always buying electronic components and other parts.”
“Yes,” said Batman. “I think that behind that hideous mask is someone who, until a short time ago, worked for one of the city’s major supply companies.”
The Polarizer laughed. “I salute you, Batman. You’re quite as shrewd as legend has it. But you must give me some credit, as well. After all, I certainly don’t wish to draw unwanted attention to myself. If I did work for such a company, I wouldn’t be foolish enough to quit just as I began my career as The Polarizer.”
“Perhaps not,” said Robin. “But I don’t understand how you’ve wrecked the BATIVAC and the Batmobile.”
The Polarizer laughed again. “Forgive me for keeping that a trade secret,” he said.
“It’s simple enough, Robin,” said Batman. “Before delivering the components to us, he merely rigged them all with small amounts of plastic explosive, which he could detonate at will with his remote-control unit. In that way, he seemed to reach down into the very Batcave itself. As for the Bat-signal, that was even simpler. He didn’t need to destroy anything, but merely control one or more key components from a distance, to make the Bat-signal flash in dots and dashes.”
“And now I must leave you here,” said The Polarizer. “Replace the tens of thousands of components in your computer if you wish, although it would take years to examine them all one at a time, to guarantee that each one is safe. And remember, you rely on other complicated hardware, too. Someday, perhaps, every electronic system in the Batplane will fail when you’re flying over the ocean at 25,000 feet. You will never be able to trust your sophisticated machinery again.” He threw back his head and laughed. It was a sound that was not altogether sane.
“I’m not frightened.” said Batman. “We’ll soon have you out of circulation. I placed a Bat-Tracer on your car back at the Daily Gazette building. When you drive home, it will let me know exactly where you are. If you abandon the car when you get back to Gotham City, then you’ll be very conspicuous on foot. The police department will pick you up in a very short time.”
The Polarizer laughed again. “Why, I’ll merely destroy your tracer the same way I destroyed the Batmobile,” he said.
“I used a Bat-Tracer that I constructed more than a year ago,” said Batman. “That was before you began sabotaging the electronic components. Your remote-control unit will have no effect at all.”
The Polarizer stared at his enemies for a few seconds, realizing that Batman had spoken the truth. If the Dynamic Duo were stranded on this little-traveled hillside, so was he. He dropped the remote-control unit to the ground, and began running up the road, still clutching the bag of money.
“After him, Robin!” shouted Batman. While the Boy Wonder sprinted after The Polarizer, Batman took a rope Batarang from the damaged Batmobile. He flung it with practiced skill, and the Batarang looped through the air and twisted its rope around the bag containing the Daily Gazette’s payroll. When the Batarang returned to Batman’s hand, he gave a hard yank on the rope, and the bag pulled free of The Polarizer’s grasp.
“What?—” huffed The Polarizer, short of breath.
“We’re going to end this adventure the old-fashioned way,” said Robin. He struck The Polarizer hard in the solar plexus, doubling him over. Then Robin landed a single massive blow to the point of The Polarizer’s chin, and the costumed villain went down in a heap.
“Need any help, Robin?” called Batman, who had put the payroll money safely inside the Batmobile.
“I think he’s under control. I’ll just tie him securely to be sure—”
The Polarizer had regained his breath, however, and rolled away a short distance. He staggered to his feet, obviously confused and in pain.
“We’re placing you under arrest,” said Batman. “I’ve already called Commissioner Gordon on the radio in the Batmobile, and the police will be here in a few minutes.”
“No jail,” muttered The Polarizer, panting for breath and backing away across the shoulder of the road. “I won’t go to jail.”
Robin tried to wrap him with his strong silken cord, but again The Polarizer retreated. “You might as well give up now and make it easy on yourself,” said Robin. “There’s a nice, warm cell waiting for you in Gotham City Jail.”
Behind his mask, The Polarizer’s eyes grew large. “I told you,” he said, “I won’t go to jail.” He held his hands out in front of him, as if he were trying to ward off something terrifying.
“Robin,” said Batman quietly, “obviously this man is mentally disturbed. Don’t say or do anything to upset him further.”
The Polarizer made a cackling sound. “Disturbed, am I? Are you calling me mad? Is that what you say about all the villains who defeat you? Well, I’m not mad. Is it mad to refuse to be locked up in some horrible penal institution?
“Be careful, you’re near the edge!” warned Batman, but it was already too late.
The Polarizer had backed up as he delivered his final speech, and finally his foot slipped over the unguarded brink. He tottered there helplessly for the space of a heartbeat, and his terrified eyes flicked from Batman to Robin. Then, suddenly, he was gone. He did not utter a sound as he fell, but Batman and Robin both heard the sickening dull thud as The Polarizer’s body hit the rocks far below.
“Should we go down after him, Batman?” asked Robin.
“I don’t see his body,” said the solemn Caped Crusader. “But I don’t think anyone could have survived that fall. In any event, the police team will scour the area when they get here.”
Batman and Robin moved away from the edge of the cliff. They sat in the Batmobile while they waited for the Gotham City Police units to arrive. “He must have been a brilliant man,” mused Robin. “After all, he did figure out our secret identities, but they’re safe again now.”
For a few moments, Batman seemed lost in thought. When he spoke up, there was a sadness in his voice. “How ironic, Robin,” he said, “that such a genius should have forgotten one of mankind’s oldest proverbs: A sound mind in a sound body. The Polarizer couldn’t hope to defeat us because he had followed only half of that ancient advice. It wasn’t enough for him to wreck our modern devices because in the end it was that centuries-old piece of wisdom that conquered him. Wisdom, Robin! When all is said and done, the greatest force on Earth is still the human mind.”
—With thanks to Doug Wirth
Idol
Ed Gorman
1984
Knock.
<
br /> “Hi, hon. Just wanted to tell you that—”
His mother peeks around the edge of his bedroom door and says, “Gosh, hon. You’re kind of old for that, aren’t you?”
Her voice and eyes say she wishes she had not seen her seventeen-year-old son doing what he’s doing.
Pause, then: “Are you OK, hon?”
“Why wouldn’t I be OK?”
“Well—”
“I’m fine. Now get the hell out of here.”
“Hon, I’ve asked you not to talk to me that way. I’m your own mother. I’m—”
“You heard me.”
She knows this tone. Is afraid of it. Has been afraid of it ever since he was seven or eight years old.
He is not like other boys. Never has been.
“Yes, hon,” she says, already starting to cry useless tears. “Yes, hon.”
they don’t know my loneliness, they see only my strength. they don’t know my loneliness.
1986
Open window. Autumn. Smell of leaves burning. In the distance a marching band practicing on the edge of campus. Smell of leaves rich as marijuana smoke.
He lies in his white undershorts on bed in this tiny off-campus apartment. Next to him girl sits stroking his chest. She is naked except for pink bikini panties.
“It’s all right. Really.”
“Sure,” he says.
“It’s happened to me a lot. You’re probably just tired.”
“Just shut up.”
“Please,” she says. “I really like you. Isn’t that all that really matters?”
He slaps her, startling her as much as hurting her. Startling her.
i am beginning to understand my problem, i don’t cause the headaches, he does. the impostor,
the impostor
1987
“So how do you feel about this man?”
“You know how I feel, doctor.”
“Angry? Resentful?”
“Of course. Wouldn’t you?”
Pause. “Tell me about the headaches.”
“What time is it?”
“Pardon me?”
“The time, doctor. The time. I forgot my watch.”
Sigh. “Two-ten. Why?”
“I’m in sort of a hurry today.”
“We’re not through till three.”
“You, maybe. I’m in a hurry.”
“You know your mother wants you to stay here for the entire session.”
“Screw my mother.”
“Please. Tell me about the headaches.”
“What about them?”
“Do you know what triggers them?”
“No.”
“Think about it a moment. Please.”
Sigh. “Him.”
“Him?”
“The impostor.”
“Ah.”
“Whenever I see him on tv or in the paper, the headaches start.”
Writes quickly in his notebook. “What do you feel when you see him?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Literally, nothing. People think he’s me. It’s as if I don’t exist.”
He thinks: how seriously can you take a shrink who has three big warts on his face and who wears falling-down socks with battered old Hush-Puppies?
Anyway, he is beginning to suspect that the shrink may well be a friend of the impostor’s.
Yes. Of course.
My God, why didn’t he think of that before?
He stands up.
“It’s only two-fifteen. It’s only—”
But he’s already going out the door. “Goodbye, doctor.”
1988
He sits in his room with the white kitten his mother bought him to cheer him up after he quit college a few months ago. He lazes warm and drifting in the soft May sunlight the same way the white kitten with the damp black nose and the quick pink tongue lazes.
“Kitty,” he says, stroking her, You’re my only friend. My only friend.”
He starts crying then—sobbing really. He doesn’t know why.
i saw him on TV last night, waving, accepting their applause, he’s convinced them now. everybody, they really think he’s me. they really believe it.
1989
“I’d like to talk to you.”
“I’m in a hurry.”
“I’m serious about this.”
He’s never seen his mother like this. No “hon.” No backing down. Almost angry.
“All right.”
“Upstairs.”
“Why?”
“Your room, come on.”
What is going on here? She seems almost . . . crazed.
So up the stairs.
So past where the white kitty with the damp black nose and quick pink tongue lies on the landing in the sunlight.
Into his room.
Throwing open the closet door.
Pointing.
Voice half-hysterical.
“I thought you told me you were getting rid of all this stuff.”
Feeling himself flush. “This is none of your business. You have no right—”
“I have every right. I’ve put up with this since you were eight years old and I can’t handle it any more. You’re a man now, or supposed to be. Get rid of this silly junk and get rid of it now!”
Instead of becoming angry, he just stands there, allowing himself to understand the truth of this moment. The real truth.
So the impostor has gotten to her, too.
His own mother.
Sensing this shift in his mood, she seems less certain of herself. Backs away from the closet.
“What’s wrong with you?” she says.
“Did you let him touch you?”
“Who? What are you talking about?”
“You know, mother. You know very well what I’m talking about.” Pause. Stares at her. For a forty-two-year old woman she is quite attractive. All those aerobic shows on daytime tv. All that eating of fruit and lean meat and almost never any bread. Certainly no desserts. “You did let him touch you, didn’t you?”
“My God, are you—”
But then she stops herself, obviously realizing that would be the wrong thing to say. The very wrongest thing to say. (Are . . . you . . . crazy?)
He grabs her, then.
By the throat.
Choking her before she has time to scream and alert the neighbors.
It is so easy.
His thumbs press down on her trachea.
Her eyes roll white.
Spittle silver and useless runs down the sides of her mouth as she tries to form useless words.
He watches the way her breasts move so gracefully inside the cotton of her housedress.
Harder harder.
“Please,” she manages to say.
Then drops to the floor.
He has no doubt she is dead.
the impostor has taken over every aspect of my life, i have no friends (sometimes i even suspect that it was really he who put the white kitty here) i have no prospects for a career because nobody believes me when i tell them who i am i have no—
he leaves me no choice
no choice whatsoever
Same Day (Afternoon)
He has never flown before. He is frightened at takeoff, having heard that the two most dangerous times aboard a plane are takeoff and landing.
Once in the air—except for those brief terrifying moments of turbulence, anyway—he starts to enjoy himself,
He had never realized before what a burden she’d been, his mother.
His thinks of her back there in his room, crumpled and dead in a corner. He wonders how many days it will be before they find her. Will she be black? Will maggots be crawling all over her? He hopes so. That will teach the I impostor to mess with him.
He spends the rest of the flight watching a dark-haired stewardess open a very red and exciting mouth as she I smiles at various passengers.
Very red.
Very exciting.
> Same Day (Evening)
The city terrifies him. He has checked into a good hotel. Thirty-sixth floor. People below so many ants. Stench and darkness of city.
All those people in the thrall of the impostor. Terrifying.
He has come here without an exact plan, but as he lies on the firm hotel bed eating donuts and drinking milk the late news comes on and the very first story gives him a beautiful plan. A wonderful plan.
Tomorrow the impostor will receive an award from the mayor.
So easy to—
so easy
tomorrow the world will know, my long struggle will be over and i will be able to assume my rightful place, tomorrow.
Next Day (Morning)
Warm spring day. The rear of the city jail where the impostor often brings the criminals he apprehends.
Smell of city—gasoline and smoke and filth and loneliness—sight of city: the helpless, the arrogant, the predatory.
His room, he wants to be back in his room . . . (the gun sweatily in his hand as he hides behind a parked car) but suddenly now the impostor is here—
—leading a prisoner into the rear metal door—
—the impostor; so confident-looking—
—in full costume—
—going into the door as—
—the gunfire starts
Two quick cracks on the soft still air
Two quick cracks
(you bastard—father-of-mine—you’ve been fooling people too long; I exist now and you do not)
crack of pistol . . .
(and you do not . . .)
Same Day (Afternoon)
Around noon the story was on all the news media, bulletins on the networks, even.
And the would-be assassin (shot to death by police) was identified.
So a neighbor came over to see how his mother was doing after hearing such horrible news
and knocked and knocked
and went and called police
and
They find the body with no problem. Good-looking fortyish woman strangled to death, stuffed into a corner of the bedroom.
One cop, the mournful sort, shakes his head.
The Further Adventures of Batman Page 34