Lordlink13: So this is my second attempt at writing this story. The first version wasn't going anywhere, and I feel like I completely destroyed the Joker that Heath Ledger portrayed in The Dark Knight. So, I'm trying again, and I've changed a great deal. As a reader, I would like you to give me reviews - if not for positive reasons - but to at least tell me if you think the Joker is suddenly going out of character. I'll see what I can do and all, but I might do that on purpose because that's how the story's gonna go. It might just be one little thing, so please, don't yell at me for trying my best. I hope you enjoy this version.
Gotham City…I don't really understand what possessed me into turning to that master-crime city. A woman of the age twenty-four shouldn't be spending her life in a city that was so filled with criminal masterminds. The Mob for one, and then the other criminals. The "Super" criminals. At least I bothered to research such things.
Who am I? The name Shadow should be enough for you, since it's enough for me. I used to be Sara Reynolds back in middle school, but then, a certain tragedy occurred, and that was the end of Sara Reynolds. Shadow is the only one that remains. It's not a personality disorder; it's merely a change of personality in order to survive.
As I remember, it was the eighteenth of June when things for me really picked up. I was lying on my bed in my cheap motel room, flat on my stomach, arms wrapped around my pillow like it was a teddy bear, listening to my iPod at softest volume. The alarm clock on my nightstand read 2:47 in the morning. I was simply too restless to sleep, and I had a massive headache that throbbed painfully.
I blamed the agitation on my move from a small town to a large city. The sounds weren't the problem. I could deal with the cacophony of cars, taxis, and delivery trucks, added with the police sirens in the distance. Even the gunshots and shouts of my drunken neighbors didn't bother me. I was used to this, having worked for several top gangsters in different cities for years, ever since I was twelve. That makes twelve years of crime-life…boy, I find that depressing.
I rolled unto my back, causing my bed to creak, to look up at the ceiling fan. I watched it for several minutes, not knowing what else to do. I've been lying awake since ten; I don't think I was going to get any sleep at all.
Finally, I sighed and turned off my iPod, wrapping the earbuds around it and setting it on my nightstand. I sat up and stretched before dangling my socked feet over the edge of the creaky bed. After slipping my feet into my sweet Skechers – I tend to love the little things; I can usually be easily amused – I reached for my jacket and wallet before leaving the motel room.
Out in the small parking lot, I stopped by my ride – a beat-up Toyota – and decided against taking it. It was a stolen car, taken from my ex. He was so obsessed with his beloved Toyota; I don't know why I bothered to date him. Not like I had any luck with men in the first place.
I walked down the road from the rundown motel, deciding to create a mental map of the city. Since I came to Gotham, I might as well make an attempt to make myself at home. In case I was attacked, all I really had was a pocketknife. I knew I should have taken my handgun, a Glock G21, but I just didn't want to turn back and get it.
After about fifteen minutes, I found myself coming onto a rowdy street. Cars filled the parking spots on either side of the street, some parked crooked as if the drivers were in a hurry to get to the nearest nightclub. There were quite a few on this street; they must have a great deal of competition, but then, if a drunk was thrown out of one, he could just walk into the next one. Nightclubs…not my kind of thing, but I thought I'd go in anyway. It would give me something to do, play a few games of poker or something.
I headed for one called The Stacked Deck, and as I neared the door, I moved out of the way in time for a bartender to throw out one guy.
"Get lost!" the bartender yelled at the poor man, who wallowed in a puddle on the street. I didn't pay much attention to the man, but rather watched the bartender. He caught sight of me and said, "I'd advise you to go elsewhere, ma'am. It's probably too dangerous for a lady like you."
"Thanks for the concern, but I wasn't heading in there anyway," I told the bartender, giving him a nice smile. He nodded gruffly and then headed in.
"Hey, Ryan! Get out of the puddle! You'll never catch a woman like that!" I turned my attention to a trio of men hanging around a gray SUV. They were laughing at the man in the puddle – Ryan was his name – and I just continued to walk by, changing my mind about possibly entering the nightclub.
"Hey 'ere, Babe!" I slowed down and looked over my shoulder at the man Ryan on the ground. He was smirking, reaching out his wet hand toward me. "Wanna 'elp me up, gal?"
"Not particularly," I responded and then continued on my way.
"Hey, sugar!" one of the other guys called. "Why not coming for a ride with us?"
I stopped again and glared in their direction. With my headache throbbing, I wasn't in the best of moods.
"We could leave ol' Ryan here, wallowing in the puddle," another said.
"What 'bout the boss?" the third man asked, looking worried. I narrowed my eyes, suddenly interested. Did I catch onto a crime boss in Gotham already? Someone to offer my services to?
"Boss won't mind as long as it's a pretty girl," the first man said. "He just might want a piece of her too."
"But the boss would want her first," the third man protested.
"Such a worrier," the second guy murmured.
The first man only grinned and motioned with a hand toward me. "So, how 'bout it, gal? A ride in the car?"
I finally turned to face them and smirked at them. What morons. Did they think they were so tough for a single girl? I must look like just any other girl they've seen and played with. For a moment, to be honest, I was tempted to run, but I stood my ground. Sara would have run, but Shadow wasn't letting this guys go by unpunished.
I squared my shoulders and then headed across the street, making the trio snicker. My hand reached into my pocket with my knife, getting it ready by snapping it open while I swung my arm, to cover it up.
However, I was only halfway across the street when there was a loud bang. I stopped as the men jumped in surprise and fear. They turned to see a man with his hand on the hood of the SUV, leaning against the car. I blinked in surprise, my tired eyes automatically scanning the man up and down, taking in his features.
He wore a purple suit with a blue button-shirt, a green vest, and a funky-looking tie. From the distance I was, I could see his face was white and black where his eyes would be. His mouth was red, but the lipstick – or whatever he used for his mouth – reached upward and farther out than a normal grin.
My jaw almost dropped in surprise. My first night in Gotham City, and I had seen the most-wanted criminal mastermind. The Joker? Seriously?!
He cleared his throat, looking at his men slightly under his brow, giving the three guys at the other end of the car a menacing look. Then, he raised his forehead and turned his head slightly to the side, playing with his mouth. "Well?" he demanded in a sinister voice. "Were you waiting for, ah, for me? Why isn't, ah, the car turned on?" He knocked on the hood with his gloved knuckles, as if to make sure that his men understood.
"Sorry, boss," the worried guy said as he moved forward to reach the driver's side.
The Joker moved faster. He went up and grabbed the guy by his throat before slamming him against the car. Something appeared in his gloved hand, and he placed it close to the man's lips.
I shivered at the thought of what he might do to the poor man. You'd think that the idea of running for my life now while I still had the chance would have crossed my mind, but I was too…stunned by how fluently the Joker had moved, almost teleporting to his next place.
The Joker was speaking to his man, and he was talking loud enough for me to hear him halfway across the street. "Tell me…Greg…why isn't the car on?"
The man, Greg trembled as he faced his menacing boss. "I…we…I mean…"
The Joker jerked the object in his hand – a knife – into the man's mouth, and Greg burst into tears. With the Joker's back to me, I couldn't see his expression so I couldn't tell what he was feeling.
"Please, boss…" Greg whimpered. "I…I'll explain…"
The Joker took the knife out, and then stroked the crying man's cheek. "Sh-sh-sh," the Joker hushed him. "Of course you'll explain."
Greg choked on his tears. He raised his hands as if he was going to grasp the Joker's jacket, but the Joker struck him, knocking him down to the ground.
"Ten seconds, Greg," the Joker growled, pulling a handgun out of his pocket.
Greg scrambled on the ground as he quickly said, "Yes! I'll explain, boss, just let me-."
"Nine!" the Joker yelled. "Eight! Seven!"
"We-we were distract-."
"Six, five, four, three, zero!" the Joker yelled, and then he pulled the trigger. I flinched as Greg collapsed dead to the ground. My eyes averted to the Joker to see his shoulders shaking, his head low.
Suddenly, the Joker burst with laughter. It was a macabre laugh, one that sent shivers down my spine, making my body tremble. As I watched, trance-fixed, the Joker pressed a hand to the car door as if supporting himself while he chuckled like some madman. But then, I can't say he laughed like a madman, since he was a madman.
Then, just as sudden as he had begun, the Joker straightened, his laughter ceasing, and his smile gone. He tapped the window with the gun and then pointed it at the next man. He waved his other hand to urge the man forward.
The chosen man gulped and then took a deep breath. When he had gathered his courage, the Joker looked bored; checking the handgun to see how much ammo was in it. It was an obvious warning to his henchman that he should hurry up with the explanation.
"Sorry, boss, but we were distracted," the man begun.
"I heard that, ah, from Greg," the Joker said, in a bored tone, waving the gun aggressively.
The man's courage failed for a few moments. The Joker looked at him from under his brow, counting down his fingers of his free hand. The man saw the fingers ticking off, and he quickly said, "Look! The woman's still there! She distracted us!"
The Joker straightened instantly, and then he was standing directly in front of the man, pressing his weapon against the man's forehead. He brought his lips close to his henchman's ears, and he whispered something as his eyes wandered over to look at me.
The moment the Joker's eyes fell on me, I became aware of my headache which seemed to have grown intensively painful. I raised my hand to rub where it hurt the most, but I didn't cover my eyes, suddenly curious as to what the Joker was going to do.
His lips had stopped moving; they were still slightly parted as if he was in the middle of saying a word. Then, his tongue came out and slid along his bottom lip as he shoved his henchman aside, walking toward me.
I didn't know how to react. The Joker sauntered over to me, walking a strange hunched over gait, with his chin held low slightly. With the knife in his hand, he pushed his long hair back, licking his lips as he did so, his hair flashing green in the dim light from the nightclubs around us. As he neared me, I was able to get a closer, more detailed scan of his features. The smudged white makeup proved that he was out, working as the terrorist criminal that he was; as if his henchmen hanging around weren't enough evidence. Coal black mascara surrounded his eyes. His mouth had two gruesome scars which explained the unusual, menacing Glasgow smile.
"Well, well, well," the Joker said with a grin, "Aren't we ah-trac-tive?"
I couldn't stop myself from saying it. I was feeling frustrated and angry because of the headache, and I didn't like how the madman was looking at me. "I believe that out of the two of us, I'm the only one attractive. You, on the other hand, are definitely not!"
The Joker stopped as one of his men suddenly said, "Ouch." The Joker quickly turned and shot the other man down, leaving only one left – the one who had explained that I was distracting him and his dead fellows.
The Joker turned back to me and narrowed his eyes. "Attractive…with an attitude." He continued to walk toward me, but seemed to sense my anger so he kept his distance as he began to circle me, like I was his prey. "I like that," he continued.
"Sorry, not up for anything you might be thinking of tonight," I told him, following him with my eyes. I didn't trust him. No one in their right mind would trust a man like the Joker.
The Joker grinned as he came to a halt in front of me. "Is that, ah, what you thought I was thinking?" he asked me. He giggled softly as he twirled his knife carelessly in his hand. "Believe me, Tiger, I was thinking of something better."
His knife-hand came close, and that's when I reacted. I snapped a hand on his wrist and jerked it down, twisting it. The Joker reacted a split-second behind me. His free hand grabbed my head, and he forced my head down. I turned into him and elbowed him hard with my free arm.
The Joker didn't grunt in pain, instead he laughed like he enjoyed the pain. He grappled with me, trying to free his knife-hand and jerking my head down. I panted with the effort; the Joker was strong. I felt his foot smack mine, but I shifted my weight to keep it there. He wasn't going to knock me down that easy.
Somehow, the Joker slipped out of my grasp, and he came around, grabbing me from behind. He shoved me to the ground, but I fell into a somersault, rolling back to my feet easily. I turned to face him, to see him tilting his head to the side; his eyes curiously alight as he watched me.
"Not just any ordinary girl," he murmured. The Joker grinned as he approached me again.
"You're not going to try that again, are you?" I asked him, taking a step back.
"No, I don't like to, ah, to repeat my methods," the Joker told me. He licked his lips, and then, his head gave the slightest of nods.
Someone grabbed me from behind, covering my mouth with a hand before I could scream…like I was one to scream in the first place. It had to be the Joker's last standing henchman. With my arms still free, I jabbed him in the ribs with my elbows, causing him to release me. I spun on my heel and struck the man in the jaw, hitting him hard enough to knock him down to the ground.
That's when I ran for it. Laughter echoed down the street behind me, the kind of laugh that sends chills up and down your spine, but I continued to run, my heart pounding with sudden fear, my head throbbing.
I didn't stop running until I was out of breath, which didn't take too long since I was somewhat out of shape from slacking off. As I bent over, my hands on my knees, panting, I made a mental note to self: Get back into shape. If I couldn't outrun a pursuer, I wasn't going to survive for very long, particularly not in Gotham City, the most dangerous crime-city.