Ok, this is my first real fanfiction, so please R&R! I'm not quite sure where I'm going with the story yet, so your input is greatly appreciated. Plus I like criticism, but please don't be too harsh, 'cause I'm really shy about people reading my writing.

Also, sorry if there is a bunch of tense changes. I'm really bad at that.

I trudge the streets of Gotham City, my head down, examining my plain Converse's, it's tongue flapped out over the glowing white laces. I walk into the setting sun, past all the cranky businessmen and women hurrying home before dark. They are scared of the muggers and drunks lurking in the shadows, waiting for the unsuspecting prey to wonder alone down the dusk, dirty streets. I'm not worried; I'm nearly home. My building towers above the rest of them, one of the tallest for miles, excluding Wayne Enterprises.

I dodge traffic and cross the street, too eager to get out of the heat to wait for a red light. Nearly there now, closer to the dungeon I call home.

Most wouldn't call it a dungeon, and my friends think I'm crazy when I even imply my dislike. I share a building with Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne, the prince of Gotham. He lives only a floor above me and most think this is a miracle, a gift, whatever. Well, I did too, at first. Then when I realized what a pain it was to get past all the paparazzi and screaming fans outside the lobby on the occasion that he would publicly get into his limo or scratch his ass, I realized that I lived in hell. But that didn't stop everyone at my school from begging for me to let them come over because we have "so much in common" or we're "bff's!". Hey, I'd gladly switch places with them any day.

I enter the building in peace, nobody there to stalk my apartment complex. I saunter to the elevator, taking my time now that I know I am safe from the murderers or rapists or, worse, fan girls. I push the button for an elevator and wait patiently.

Then Bruce Wayne himself steps out of the elevator. I won't lie and say I don't find him attractive. He's gorgeous, his beautiful brown eyes, his chocolate-colored hair, his muscular body. The very sight of him is breathtaking, and although I try not to judge one too much by appearances, I couldn't help but fall in love the first time I saw him. He smiles slightly when he sees me.

"Emily," he greets and nods a little.

"It's Emma," I hiss under my breath, but plaster on a smile and step into the elevator.

I push the button for my floor and as the doors slide closed calm music and mirrors greet me so I'm reflected millions of times. I peer at myself to occupy the time, looking deep into my jade eyes. Straight brown hair frames my pale face. I got layers to try and make my hair look at least a bit thicker, which did virtually nothing. Then I land on my floor and step into the silent, boring hallway.

The floors are covered in red carpet and I always feel like I wandered into a Ritz or Hilton hotel. There are small tables with plants on them and each door leading down has a number on it. I reach in my pocket and pull out a small silver key, which unlocks the first door on the right. Then I enter my dungeon.

Naturally I call out "I'm home!" and when there's no reply I shut the door and drop my backpack where I'm standing. Then I trudge through the living room with Micro suede couches and a plasma TV, which hangs above a fake fireplace. I enter a short hallway and turn left into my room.

There are still unopened boxes from when we moved in five years ago, stacked in the corner next to the closet. My clothes litter the floor and my bed consists of a mattress with no frame. "I'm sorry," my mother always says, "We've just been so busy. I'll call someone tomorrow and have them put it up for you. Ok, sweetie?" But, as you can tell, I still sleep on a mattress.

I have a laptop on my bed and a pile of books in an open box. I empty the contents of my pockets on my bed, then jump down next to them. A huff escapes my lips as the air is knocked out of me, but I shake my head slightly and open my computer.

"Spam, spam, spam." I read off my e-mail and send each message to my beloved spam folder, which now has a total content of 487. Then I reach Anna's letter, the one I get every Friday announcing the evening's plans. I already know it's bad news by the cheeriness of the title:

Evening of fun!

Oh, my dearest Emma, I cannot wait until tonight. I could not think of anything TOO exciting, so I'm coming over at seven and we're staying up all night watching movies!!!! Go order pizza!!!! 3 3 3

XOXOXOXOX

Yours Truly

Oh God.

I look at the clock in mild horror. Six fifty-five, leaving five minutes alone before I'm joined by the Ellen DeGeneres act-alike; hyper and very rich. I shut the lid and run into the bathroom to take care of personal business. I hear a knock at the door while I'm washing my hands. I shake water droplets everywhere and run to answer only on her fiftieth knock.

The door opens to reveal a short blond with wide blue eyes and a Prada clutch in her manicured hands. She smiles to reveal straight white teeth.

"Emma, darling," she says, throwing her arms around me and faking a poor British accent. I stare into the hallway over her shoulder, my eyebrows pressed together and my lips in a line. A woman walking by laughs. Finally Anna unhooks herself from me and enters my humble abode. "Where's the pizza?"

"Haven't ordered it yet."

She pouts momentarily. "Didn't you get my message?"

"Yeah, but I was-" I began, but was cut short by her cell gluing itself to her ear. She holds up a finger to keep me from continuing.

"Yes, hello, I'd like one… two… hang on." She looks at me expectantly. "One pizza or two?"

"One!" I exclaim, unsure of how we could possibly eat two pizzas alone. She nods.

"Yes, good idea. I've been trying to cut down on the pounds." She pats her flat belly and begins talking again. I shake my head as if to say "what the hell is wrong with you?" then leave the room and enter the kitchen.

As I suspect, a note sits alone on the granite countertop, next to the stainless steel refrigerator. I read it while I reach in for some sodas.

Emma

Your father and I have gone to California for a week or so. So sorry, urgent business. Money is on the coffee table. If you have any questions Mr. Johnson is aware you are alone.

Oh, that's reassuring. My mind flashes to an image of the creepy old next-door-neighbor with barely any hair left except for a whiff in the front that he insists on brushing back whenever there is an awkward silence.

I have my phone but only call for emergencies.

Be back soon,

Mom + Dad

I stopped being surprised by these random trips long ago. I grab two crème sodas and find my way back to the living room. Anna shuts her phone.

"Yes," she says and grabs a soda. "Thanks, darling."

"What's with this 'darling' nonsense?" I ask as I pop the lid off my soda and lean against the back of a couch.

"Nonsense?" She snaps. "Plenty of fine women say darling." I hold back a "but your not a fine woman" and nod. "Besides, you are darling." She's doing her girly thing again. I nod as if in agreement, then pull myself over the couch and sit next to her. "So what shall we do until the pizza gets here?" She asks.

I shrug. I want her gone, but I'd tried dismissing our Friday plans once before. Let's just say, I have no intention of repeating it.

"Oh I know! Let's go through your parent's room! They aren't here, right?" She jumps up and moves towards their room. I don't bother trying to stop her, but I'm not exactly thrilled about her acting like I don't care about anything at all. Besides, I'd been through their room once in eighth grade. Finding a few condoms in their bed-side table was enough to make me never want to go in there again, or search for anything dirtier than that. But I'm sure that if Anna finds something nasty she'll call me in right away. I rub my face in my hands then place my fingers over my mouth and breath between them and go to my happy place of elementary school fairs and horse rides on my grandpa's farm.

I am distracted from my thoughts when there is a knock at the door. "Anna, pizza!" I call, hoping that will keep her from making too much of a mess in my parents room.

"Get it!" She calls back. I stand up meekly and grudgingly walk to the door. My hand wraps around the doorknob and I turn.

The door is shoved towards me from the person on the other side. It hits me in the head and I let out a short scream of surprise as I fall to the ground. Three men in clown masks run through the now open door, and following them slowly is a clown in a purple suit, his mask more frightening than the rest. The first clown grabs me and lifts me up, then holds my hand together behind my back. I don't scream or fight, but I try to wrap my mind around the situation. Before I know it I'm being dragged out towards the hallway.

"Wait," comes a voice, high-pitched and harsh, yet at the same time quite as if he doesn't want to draw attention. He walks around the clowns and looks at me square in the face. I gap at him. I know him. My father warned me once to beware this insane man, and showed me his picture. He drove Gotham into a frenzy only a few months ago, but I never expected he'd escape Arkham, let alone go after me. "Who else is here?" The Joker asks me, and I realize then I'm in more danger than I've ever imagined I could possibly be in. The Joker has me in his grasp. He's the puppeteer and I'm his brand new puppet.