He could hear the belted notes of some pop song streaming from under the wooden door and although he should have been well away from this place, this building, he couldn't resist the very human urge to investigate. Creeping silently so as not to disturb the woman inside who was singing with such gusto, he made his way to the door and inched it open. A foggy glass panel blurred her image and the running water of the shower didn't alert the girl to his presence until he slid the shower door open.
She swung around turning off the water in one fluid motion. He stepped into the rectangular box oozing bravado and confidence.
"Well it's not going to be over when you sing." He chuckled. The shock at being caught naked in the bathroom by a man had not only deprived her of speech but also a sense of humor. The man smiled even though she hadn't understood or appreciated his joke. "Well, you're so skinny… you couldn't possibly be the show stopping fat lady." She slowly slid away from him until she was trapped up against a tiled wall, trying to cover herself up as she went. Her chest was heaving more rapidly as her mind began to process the fact that a man in a purple suit had appeared in her shower. He watched her blank expression morph into fear and then… something else.
"Who says I want to stop the show?" she panted. The man threw his head back in shock, letting out a series of hearty guffaws.
"Hmmm…" he said smacking his lips in what seemed to be a habitual twitch. "You're quite a pretty young thing. Quite a bit of spunk, but you've stopped singing. With such a pretty voice we wouldn't want you to stop…" Just as his voice took on a menacing tone, she tried to bolt. His gloved hands tangled in soggy brown hair, and he slammed her up against the slippery wall. She struggled for a few instants, then went still as unfeeling leather gloves began to close around her throat.
"Please," she strangled out. He only leered. Her green eyes opened wider with fear as, from deep in a coat pocket, he pulled out a small but lethal looking knife.
"Do you want to know how I got these scars?" he asked while she gasped for air. "You see my…it's not important," he said licking his lips again. "Because people are going to be wondering the same thing when they look at you." His face was mere centimeters away from hers, he could feel the steam rolling off her forehead and cheeks. "It would be a shame to ruin such a pretty mouth." Her breathing was ragged and her eyes dilated as he ran the knife down the side of her cheek, over her neck, down past her collarbone.
"Sing," he commanded as he applied pressure and the knife slid into the skin over her sternum. A whimper escaped from pink lips and he watched as her body tensed and her hands clenched. "Now that's hardly even a noise." The knife slid lower, deeper. She tried to squirm away from the pain, but the hand on her throat and cold tile on her back wouldn't give. She was stuck. The cut of the knife proceeded down across her navel and scraped over hip bone then suddenly let up. She opened her eyes in surprise and she locked eyes with her eccentrically garbed and made over captor. "Now that… was better." He cackled, sliding the blade back and forth over her stomach. Each time it passed over her exposed flesh rivulets of blood streamed down her body. Water mixed with blood to become a pink liquid that pooled on the shower floor. She cried out while he laughed. He savoured her pain while she sang out a melody that only he could wrench from her body.
Finally her eyes slid closed blood loss and pain taking a toll on the small body beneath the Joker's sadistic hands. She slumped from his grasp to the floor. He pulled out his calling card, turned on the shower water, and exited the tiny cell and the apartment that contained it.
He couldn't believe he lost him. The Joker had escaped his clutches once again and now he was left wandering the rooftops of Gotham trying to locate the murderer who always seemed to be two steps ahead. Sirens echoed off buildings a few blocks away, and Batman tried to locate any sound out of the ordinary which could aid him in finding his quarry. A child was crying in an apartment three floors below him, a cab driver was yelling at the blue Mercedes in front of him, the sounds of Gotham were just that, sounds. Nothing was out of the ordinary; even a couple was having sex in a flat right beneath his feet. Her boyfriend must have surprised her in the shower because she had been gustily singing ABBA before the interruption. Now the girl's moans were approaching screams. He was just about to jump off the roof and scout a different part of the city for his nemesis when the cries lost their huskiness and gained the high pitched sound of agony.
Within seconds he had swung off the roof and into the small apartment shattering glass as he went. A flash of a too white face and a red smirk rushing through the front door was enough to alert Batman that he had been careless. A small bomb, fuse sputtering with fire, rolled next to his black boots. Leaping away from the explosive he hurtled over the couch, ran into the bathroom, and slammed the door shut right before the bomb detonated. Smouldering ashes and blackened furniture could be seen through the hole in the door. Trying to get a feel for his surroundings, the caped crusader surveyed the wreckage then glanced around the room he was standing in, and there on the floor of the shower was a sight he had not expected to see. The woman's skin was dead white stripped with crimson.
Rushing over Batman grabbed a towel off the rack, wrapped it around the dying girl, and exited the way he came, blood and water streaming behind him.