The Devils Jester Lives

After several minutes of pure tormenting silence, Charlotte asked the musicians to continue, and so they did.

The music sounded like nails on a chalkboard - that's what Pierre thought as he stood in the center of the old mansion's hall.

Guiseppe's trumpet blared, Paula's clarinet squeaked, and Giana's thumping bass made the chandeliers rattle.

It was one hell of a racket.

Pierre scanned the crowd of revelers with narrowed eyes.

A bunch of lost souls gathered to celebrate God knows what.

The death of Father Genesis?

Or their so-called "victory" over the Joker? Pierre snorted.

They had no idea what kind of shit they were really in.

A few weeks ago, all these people wanted to lynch Genesis.

Now they were acting like he was some kind of saint.

Pierre shook his head in disgust.

Hypocrites, every single one of them.

He raised a hand, and the noise mercifully died down.

All eyes turned towards him, their faces a mixture of grief, joy, and who knew what else.

"Dear friends," Pierre's gravelly voice cut through the silence like a knife. "We're in one hell of a mess."

He opened up a beat-up old Bible, letting it fall open to a random page.

Pierre wasn't particularly religious, but he knew how to play to this crowd of fanatics.

"Genesis is gone," he went on, not even glancing at the words on the yellowed pages. "And we still didn't avenge him..."

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd.

Pierre didn't care.

It was time they knew the truth.

"As for the Joker..." He trailed off, letting the silence stretch out as he pretended to study a passage.

In reality, his mind was elsewhere, prowling down a dark corridor of memories and violent encounters.

Pierre could still taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth from his last run-in with that psychopath.

Could still hear the Joker's mocking laughter echoing in his nightmares.

A shiver ran down his spine.

"The Joker is still out there, I suspect." Pierre finally continued, snapping the Bible shut with a loud whump. "Biding his time. Watching. Waiting to make his next sickening move."

He leveled a hard stare at the assembled masses. "Don't think for one second that he's gone for good.

That twisted son of a bitch is probably cooking up something worse as we speak.

We were fools to think that we could beat such pure evil easily.

I believe The Joker controlled us like a Puppeter does with a marionette.

And we, fools of this mansion marched by his will and killed a woman on behalf of his twisted agenda."

The crowd exchanged nervous glances, the jubilant mood from earlier rapidly evaporating.

Good.

Pierre wanted them to feel afraid, to understand the terrible gravity of their situation.

As if on cue, Pierre noticed the two revived fellas materializing again in the hall- Jezebel and Ezequiel.

He gave them the slightest of nods.

They'd have to fill him in on whatever fresh Hell was about to unfold.

The party petered out soon after, the guests slinking away with their tails between their legs. Once the hall was empty, Pierre beckoned the two specters over with a gruff, "You two. Over here. Now."

Jezebel drifted closer, her form semi-translucent.

Up close, Pierre could see the wounds on her body, still healing magically.

He swallowed hard and averted his gaze.

"Why the long face, Pierre?" Her voice was an ethereal whisper that raised goosebumps on his arms. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Pierre scowled at her lame attempt at humor. "Cut the crap. What is it you need to tell me?"

Ezeqiuel spoke up, his tone somber. "It's about the Joker. And Hosea."

"That crazy bitch?" Pierre practically spat out the words. "I understand that she isn't the Joker."

He clenched his fists, fingernails digging into his calloused palms.

"You were mistaken about Hosea, that is for sure," Jezebel interjected, her voice tinged with sadness. "She is not the true villain here.

Merely another Abyssal Gift holder."

Pierre opened his mouth to protest, but Ezeqiuel held up a ghostly hand. "Let Jezebel explain. You'll want to hear this."

And so she did. Jezebel wove a haunting tale about their final moments, about the illusions and deceptions the Joker had employed.

She spoke of his true, monstrous face being revealed briefly before their souls departed their broken bodies.

"...A smile painted with the blood of innocents," Jezebel murmured, a faraway look in her dead eyes. "That was the last thing I saw of this realm.

The Joker's real face, not the mask he shows the world.

The Joker is a man, not a woman."

A heavy silence hung in the air.

Pierre could feel the weight of it pressing down on him like a tombstone. Finally, he found his voice.

"So what you're saying is...Hosea didn't actually do anything wrong?

She was just another poor bastard caught up in this whirlwind of crazy?"

Jezebel and Ezeqiuel nodded in unison.

Pierre cursed under his breath, guilt gnawing at his insides. Because of him, because of his mistake, an innocent woman had been persecuted. Thrown to the wolves, so to speak.

"We have to make this right," he growled, fists clenching again. "Tell me what to do."

Ezeqiuel spoke again, his voice little more than a whisper riding on a chilly draft. "There is a way to reveal the Joker's treachery to the world. But...it requires a sacrifice."

Pierre's eyes narrowed. "Whatever it takes. I'll do it."

Over the next hour, the two ghosts laid it all out.

There was a dark ritual, a perverse ceremony that could be performed.

One that would allow Hosea's tormented soul to be reborn, to enter this plane again, and finally clear her name.

The key was burying her in the mansion's basement, because the graveyard basement seemed to hold resurrection properties.

"Are you sure about this?" Pierre couldn't keep the waver out of his voice. "Summoning...Her? After what happened last time?"

"It's the only way." Jezebel's tone was firm. "We have no choice but to place our faith in the ritual.

The truth must be brought to light."

Nodding slowly, Pierre acquiesced. He would carry out this insane plan, no matter how risky or depraved.

Redemption beckoned, and he would be damned if he didn't try to grasp it.

His footsteps echoed through the deserted hallways as he made his way down to the dank, musty basement.

Jezebel and Ezeqiuel's ghastly forms trailed behind, leaving no footprints in the thick layer of dust and grime coating the stone floor.

Pierre's skin prickled with a thousand invisible eyes watching him as he descended deeper underground.

Mad shadows danced in the corners of his vision, driven to frenzy by the guttering flames of the lantern he carried.

At last, he reached the heavy oak door leading into the deepest chamber. A cold sweat trickled down his brow as he unlatched it with shaking hands.

Beyond this threshold lay...what? Damnation? Salvation? There was only one way to find out.

Steeling his nerves, Pierre stepped across the threshold into the inky gloom, leaving the door ajar behind him. The lantern's feeble light reached just far enough to reveal the newly desecrated graves...

Genesis and Amos' bodies were missing...