I was terrified.
Pinned roughly against a dilapidated wall; cold steel pressing sickly into the delicate flesh of my throat. One wrong move or action and crimson life would spill from me. The thought of what I had done to become the object of such peril shattered into fragments and evaporated completely. The hard, disfigured, chalky face did that. Those menacing eyes were unwavering and the carved cheshire grin contradictory. Coherent thought impossible, I could not break my gaze from his. Endless possibilities swirled there and the small chance that I had been forgotten was proven false.
He remembered.
Of course he did. He never forgot anything. Ever. Countless individuals had learned this lesson. I should not have thought I was an exception. The years had made no difference. It was silly to think that it would have. Every interaction could only be described as crazy, mad. Maybe that is what I was, crazy and mad. I couldn't help myself then or now.
I could see it. It was so clear. My greasy head of hair pulled back neatly, my scrawny, threadbare form hurrying down the street, and desperately trying to be invisible. It didn't work. It never did. They were always there. They always found me. Like clockwork they surrounded me and began the customary pleasantries: spitting insults, disgust over my stench; shoving, slapping until I was too battered to stand. They never noticed that I tried. That I was as clean as a child my age could be considering my circumstance. They didn't care. It all rolled down hill and I was below them. I was too poor, too small, and too weak to do anything. I should be dead in a gutter somewhere. That's what they had said and they never failed to remind me.
Saliva, grime, blood and tears mixed together. My face was pressed against cruel, unyielding cement with limbs coming at me in all directions. In this chaos, that is when I saw him. Somehow he was always there watching when they beat me. I didn't understand why. I was of no consequence, and now that I think of it, I was probably nothing more than a passing amusement. That boy, who was older by some years, happened upon the spectacle once and never failed to miss it from that day forward. Always watching, always amused…always smiling.
He was the only one who ever took notice.
"Well, if it isn't the little kitty-kitty, all grown up, and she found her claws."
The blade expertly shifted in his hand to idly trace my jugular with its point. His gaze shifted to the dead man a few feet away and my eyes followed. My own knife was protruding from his throat- the apparent cause of death. That was right; I had snuck into the Joker's current residence and proceeded to get his attention. All my practice had paid off. There had been no time to rejoice in hitting my mark, however. I had been immediately knocked from my perch…as if…I had been expected. A cackle accompanied my sudden realization and I refocused upon the mad man who had me in his clutches. I do not know how but his smile grew wider. I in turn felt the color drain from my face. Oh god, he had been expecting me. What was more, he knew, that I knew, that he knew.
What had I done?
"Boys, what should we do with the pretty kitty, hm?" Joker began conversationally as he glanced back at the waiting henchman before adding, "You know, I must ask. Why poor Toodles?"
He knew very well why, of that I had no doubt. I couldn't stop my eyes from drifting back to that dead face, my stomach twisting as I did so. That face was engrained into my memory. I could never forget it. Not his, not any of theirs- ever. The more I stared, the more I wished that I had done something beyond embedding a blade in his throat. Toodles should have been made to suffer beyond what he had. I hated him. I hated them. I hated…
Happily, I looked away.
"Old friend," was my clipped response.
"Really?" Joker made a great show of surprise before he regarded me again with that smile.
"I thought I knew all your friends."
Friends, what a laughable word! That was something reserved only for the useful, the important, and the rich- friends. I was back again. I could see them huddled all around me, inflicting their damage, and there he was. That pudgy, freckled thing with offset features, large ears, spitting and kicking me in the back; he had even pissed on me once or twice. He was always next to the tall, lanky boy with glasses. I had thought that a poor decision. He had shown that he was deficient in smarts with all his clever insults. His choice of beating-buddy had only made this more apparent. He would have been more aptly named Dopey instead of- Toodles?
I could not stop the laugh that suddenly burst from me. I tried but it came out strangled and a bit hysterical to my ears. The fear that I was trying to keep from overrunning me undoubtedly had a part in that. I found myself once again looking upon the abhorrent, tinged now with a twisted pleasure. Toodle-oo…Toodles.
A prick on the neck properly redirected my attention.
"Found my little joke, kitten." His hot breath kissed my face. The softness of the comment followed by the flick of tongue at the corner of his mouth was unsettling. I could not interpret the look in his eyes and a feeling infinitely worse than dread filled me. I tried to break away but he held me fast.
"Ah, uh, uh, uh," Joker warned tapping the knife on my cheek. I was yanked from the wall and his grip was like ice on my arm. We moved toward the center of the room and his men.
"We can't have you leaving so soon, you just got here." He tossed me forward and I nearly tripped over the recently departed.
"What to do…?" he paused to consider me. "Ah, I know. Let's play our old favorite."
I knew exactly what he meant by old favorite.
"I'll go sit over there, and the boys here can stand in for your friends." All of this was indicated with great flourishes and that damn smile.
That smile, it haunted me, tormented me. I both loathed and envied it. I wanted to rip it off his face, to sit and watch as he was beaten. I wanted to not care- to not be afraid. I wanted to hate him like I did them; but I couldn't. My helplessness was maddening, enraging. All too quickly I was there again, in my mind's eye, curled in a ball enduring blow after blow after blow. Someone grabbed a handful of hair and yanked my head back. In that moment, a foot collided with my face. Horrible pain shot through my cheek and jaw. I spat blood. I saw his grinning face and I snapped. My hand shot out and I snatched the next oncoming foot. It was unexpected and I wrenched as hard as I could. There was an outcry, followed by a sickening crack, then applause- mocking applause.
My chest was taut and I glared at the clown prince of crime.
"No," I defied, "I didn't come here for them."
He laughed at me. "Oh, who did you come for?" he asked seemingly oblivious.
"You." My voice trembled as I uttered my response.
There was maybe five seconds of silence before the room erupted in laughter.
"Yer gonna need something better than that toothpick, doll," a short grisly man advised between cigarettes.
"Chances be better with us," added another.
"I don't know, I bet she could last five minutes."
"Yeah, five with you," the first countered.
That got a few chuckles.
"I think yer underestimatin' Jericho."
The first man, Jericho, shrugged.
"She could do it with a gun," a new voice piped in, adding after a moment, "maybe."
"What do you say, boss? Should we give er a gun?"
"She can have my gun," a ruddy skinned man next to Jericho interrupted.
My breath caught in my throat as I came under his leer.
"For a favor," he added.
The other men around him bristled and conversation ceased. He didn't seem to mind and took another swig from his flask.
"What do you say, sugar?"
I was spared from answering by the boom of a gun. Those who had been nearest drew away, and the ruddy man crumpled a slug in his face.
"Now," Joker began, "where were we?"
His eyes were dangerous and his circus of henchmen fell back into the shadows disappearing. I watched him warily. My pulse was racing and my momentary bravado was quickly deteriorating.
"You got me all to your lonesome and look at you." He gestured at me with the gun. "All out of bite."
"What are you going to do to me?"
"That would be telling."
"You've never minded before," I countered. "Isn't that one of your most infamous games, dangling the choices of fate before your victims?"
He chuckled, circling behind me. I refused to turn around despite the fact that everything within me screamed to do so. For good or for ill, I was stubbornly withholding such a demonstration of fear.
"Has anyone ever told you that you have unhealthy interests?"
"College funds are unhealthy interests," I snapped back.
"Such venom." His voice was directly behind me now. "Should I blow one up?"
"What!" I spun around then, coming face to face with the Joker. "No!"
"That's not what your tone implied."
I shook my head.
"No, I didn't mean-"
"You killed Toodles," he stated slyly.
"He deserved to die," I argued.
"And they don't?" His voice was averring.
Those three words hung heavy in the air. I couldn't refute them.
"Tell me, did they ever stop for you?" He leaned in closer. "Did they ever notice you?"
What happened next could only be described as volatile. It was like someone had flipped a switch in my brain and every sensible, self-preserving thought ceased to exist. I saw red and the only thing I knew was that I wanted him to hurt. I launched myself at him, my hands going for his face, his eyes, anything. He easily caught them, subduing me completely with the reappearance of his blade. I glared.
"I found you, kitten."
My anger was immediately doused by my fear. He pulled my emotions like strings. I was a marionette and he the puppet master. A cold chill traveled down my spine and arms. I was still helpless. His gloved hand gruffly grabbed my chin and forced me to look back up into those haughty eyes and superior grin.
"How're you at dancing?"
To say this question caught me off guard was an understatement.
"Dancing…?" I repeated dumbly.
"Ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?"
My mind was having trouble processing the gap between blowing up colleges and dancing. It seemed random, pointless, but I had learned that was never the case with him. Abruptly he released me.
"Which will it be?" He opened his suit jacket to reveal a holstered gun and numerous knives. "Bullets or blades?"
Neither recommended themselves to me, especially in the hands of a killer. I had to make a choice so I went with the one I could possibly walk away from.
"The devil."