Endless Night: Atlas Shrugged

So what turned Chick Young from a mischievous street urchin into a major super criminal working for Mr Freeze? According to Cosgrove as we made our way across the city rooftops towards safety, it was big money of course - back handers from Mr Freeze bought Young as easily as they bought Glasgow City Council. But what of his face, how did it become so distorted? This apparently was a result of a psychological trauma brought on in Young by the betrayal of Rangers for Celtic Minded money which presented as a form of Bells Palsy thus his new nickname, Two Face. After the boot he took from Cosgrove they should be calling him Nae Baws but we'll see if that catches on.

Cosgrove's ability to pick locks impressed me and pretty soon we were secure in Purcell's west end hideout waiting for him to return home. It was a long wait and while we waited, hidden in a closet, we got into an quarrel on objectivism with me arguing that man cannot change another man's mind: a man can change only his own mind. In saying that, one man can expose another man to falsehoods in the hope that the man will make his subjective beliefs consistent with these newly-acquired falsehoods. I told him this was the philosophy of my journalism and quoted Ayn Rand and Cosgrove broke my nose. I was holding my head back and complaining about his temper when we heard the noise of a door being unlocked.

Purcell entered the room and we could hear him sit down by the harpsichord and begin to play a haunting tune which I recognised from my school days. For a moment I was transported back to those stern days when I was taught in a non-denominational school by a strict presbyterian teacher who insisted on imparting knowledge instead of the fairy tales and incense I so longed for. That knowledge stirred within me, the tune, it was Auguries of Innocence by William Blake. Purcell began to sing,
'A robin redbreast in a cage. Puts all heaven in a rage.'
Was he referring to me and my costume? The red corduroy breast couldn't be more obvious and here I am in a cage of my own misfortune, siding foolishly with another lunatic who rails against the establishment. Purcell continued to sing, his voice betraying a melancholy which seemed to possess his very soul.
'The bat that flits at close of eve. Has left the brain that won't believe.'
That does it, 'the bat'? He knows we're here, is he singing this song to warn us? The song went on.
'The wanton boy that kills the fly. Shall feel the spider's enmity.'
Oh, that does it, this was too much of a coincidence. He sang on as I felt the icy chill of danger spread down my spine.
'Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.

Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.'

And with that he collapsed sobbing onto the keys of the harpsichord and I was just about to leave our hiding space and run to him, the feelings for him from the past welling up inside me, too hard to control now but Cosgrove grabbed my shoulder and motioned for me to stay and just as well he did because then we heard another voice from outside in the room. We both peeked out the closet and Cosgrove gasped, 'Mr Freeze!' just as I at the same time exclaimed, 'The Spider!' and we turned and looked at each other - he was one and the same, it was Willie Haughey!