This story is set as a before Joker became the joker story. It's not a full back story, but I envisioned Joker always being a little stir crazy on the inside but he hid it and just lurked in the shadows till he was fed up with it all. Hope you like the story.
Vice
She was laying there. Red was smeared across her hands. It had soaked through her shirt and on to the floor. Her eyes were closed, she almost looked peaceful. A glimmer of a smile still etched to her face. He felt no remorse; he felt freedom as he made his way out of the building.
Jack and Jill went up the hill
To fetch a pail of water.
Jack fell down and broke his crown,
And Jill came tumbling after
Couple weeks before, he skipped across town doing his daily jobs assigned to him. It was survival money. He never had much to begin with. He worked for a client who was very persistent in getting their money. If he did a good enough job, he would bring home extra cash at the end of the week. He didn't hate his job. In fact, it was one of the things that pleased him. How often do people love the work they have to perform?
He was always intrigued by the way people screamed, the way people squirmed, the way people begged when the pain became unbearable. Humanity was such fragile thing. No one knows who they really are until their life is on the line. People can theorize and predict who they'll be in a desperate situation, but they don't know till it happens to them. Most people, he had tormented, were pathetic, pitiful even. Every thug acted like a predator when really they were a rabbit. They were all cowardly and they all had their vices, he noticed.
Sometimes, he enjoyed his job a little too much and would only become dissatisfied when his partners in command told him to stop. His partners in crime weren't anything special, just the low-level class criminals, working to survive. They all had jobs that made quick and easy money by causing pain to someone else.
The sun was setting as he made his way to an apartment complex. He didn't live in a flashy place. The apartment was in the Narrows of Gotham City. Most of the attendees were either coke-heads, whores, or other criminals. He saw the low light of the bat symbol reflected in the sky.
What a joke, he thought. He didn't fear the man who only came out at night. What kind of man dresses in a costume anyway? He wondered how a bat would behave if he got his hands on him. Who was the weak coward under that costume?
He scoffed to himself as he made his way inside the apartment complex. The draft of moldering filth filled his nose as he walked through the building and up the stairs to his floor. Once he reached the fourth floor, he ready his keys as he approached his dwelling. The lights flickered above his head and he heard moans coming from the next-door neighbors and shouting from down below. He felt the twitch in his hand wanting to pull the gun out of his back. Not for protection. He wasn't afraid. He was eager. There was a thrill within him at the sounds of animosity.
The feeling quickly fled as he turned his key into the lock and walked in to the apartment. It was dark except for a dim lamp left on, on a side table. It wasn't much light but he could see enough to know everything was where he left it.
He threw off his leather jacket on to the couch. The apartment wasn't very big, but it didn't need to be. He didn't own much and what he owned was only what he deemed to be a necessity. He flipped on the TV across the room, the channel set on the local news. It was always on the news. He listened to the reports briefly before turning his attention to the bedroom. Heading over to the bedroom, he rolled up his blood-stain sleeves and made a sound of disgust as he took witness to the scene.
He ripped the covers off the warm body of the woman lying there dead asleep. He ripped her arm from her, stirring her perfect slumber. He saw the injection wound on the inside of her elbow and dropped her arm back down in disgust.
Drowsy and confounded, she rubbed her eyes. "Jack is that you?"
"Yes." He answered shortly, already walking away from the situation.
She didn't have the energy to get up and follow him, but instead fell quickly back into unconsciousness.
It was early morning, when she woke up to an empty bed. Her body felt clammy and her eyes felt dried. She willed herself up, treaded out of bed in her tank-top and shorts to the living room. He was there. He was all tidy and clean already. He stood straight, with his face pulled down in reflection at the TV.
He was getting ready to leave again to do whatever he does, she was never sure.
"Jack, it's too early to leave me," she spoke softly from across the room.
"You foster in this shit hole. There's no point in staying while you lose yourself to your addiction," He remarked coldly, not taking his eyes off the TV.
"I haven't lost myself yet, I'm still here."
"You won't be for long, you always revert back to your vice," he stated with contempt.
She remained quiet for a few minutes. She knew he didn't like that she was a regular user. It was a habit she could never quite kick. She craved it and would run back to it. It was her safe net, when everything was too heavy to bear. He called her weak because of it. He stole it away from her when he could. He would lock her in their room for days and let her deal with the withdrawals. It seemed to be a continuous pattern that happened again and again.
He would come in during her withdrawals and tempt her with her affliction. If she cracked and caved in to wanting it in his presence, he ask her how bad she wanted it and make her suffer for that amount she admitted. She be tired by the end of his little games to even think of her substance and she could go clean for a week or so before she could think of it again.
He loved her unyielding mind. She knew he loved her pain from the withdrawal and all she loved was the ability to feel. He could never understand why she felt the need to have it. The world didn't seem to faze him the way it fazed her. He criticized the world and all its stupidity as it pretended to be orderly.
She saw the world fractured as she endured her own struggles, why should she care about the world. The world never cared for her. She lived for what got her by in life. The high, the ecstasy, the great escape. It made her giggly and she felt the world that was upside down, right side up. She could get by. She could endure until she needed another escape. He saw her cravings as a weakness, a master of her will. She thought he didn't even see his own noose caught around his neck.
"Clean yourself up, Jill. I already cleaned up your mess," He said deadpanned as he turned to grab his jacket about to leave.
"Jack!" She called out to him, coming over to him. He waited, watching her particularly, his face solemn. She placed her arms around his slim waist. "Will you be here tonight?" She asked a hint of desperation in her voice.
"Depends," he answered, drawing out the word, teasing her feelings.
"That's not an answer I want to hear."
He gripped the back of her neck in a swift motion, making her head lean away. "I don't care what you want. Wretches don't demand. You'll fall to your knees for anyone who offers your escape. You're a slave to it. You aren't free."
"Do you believe you are free, Jack?" She remarked coolly to him, unfazed.
His faced twitched in annoyance and they stood tense. He knew what game she was playing at. He had no owner. He was free, nothing had a hold on him, but her face spoke otherwise. His mind flashed to an image of beating her till she wiped that look off her face. The fear that would gaze her features, the look of astonishment lighting her eyes. Blood would spill from her face. The thoughts rushing through his head sent a chill of excitement through his bones. His mind snapped back into place as he watched her eyes become soft. She gazed over his face and brought her hand to the wrinkles on his forehead and then traced them slowing to the frown lines of his mouth.
"You never smile anymore," she stated.
He eased his grip on her neck and rubbed his thumb across her skin thoughtfully, feeling her relaxed pulse. "Everything is too conventional to have anything to smile about." He stated as he dropped his hand from her throat and walked out the door.
Up Jack got and home did trot,
As fast as he could caper;
And went to bed and bound his head
With vinegar and brown paper
He arrived home, late at night, carrying in some Chinese takeout. He wasn't surprise to find her awake. She hasn't been sleeping as much lately. It had been a couple of days since her last injection. She sauntered over to him as he placed the take out boxes on the table in the kitchen.
He paid her little mind but it was obvious she wanted his attention. She stood in the entrance of the kitchen, gazing at him as he started eating. Finally having enough of her silent presence, he glared up at her.
"What are you gawking at?" he said roughly.
"Do you know what today is?" She questioned back, calmly.
"Thursday," he answered shortly.
Her face showed displeasure as she came to the table sitting down across from him. She didn't say a word as she began eating her own meal. He didn't question her further. He didn't know what went on in that head of hers most of the time.
It wasn't until he was done eating and placing the empty box in the trash that she spoke up again.
"It's our anniversary," she mentioned, monotone.
He paused for a moment at the sink rinsing his hands. A smirk was plastered on his face. "Ain't that for married folks, dear?" He said, mocking her feelings for him. He remembered briefly how they met.
It was about two years ago. They had met at one of Falcone's clubs. He had been in the back, barely drinking, when her face had stopped by. He knew she was shitfaced. She wasn't all that attractive that night. He was mildly annoyed at her persistence. She had tried to get him to refill her drink and his. He knew it was part of Falcone's strategies to get guys to waste money on booze for themselves and the mistresses he hires.
He didn't fall into the trap. Instead of flirting with her back, he played with her. He coolly mocked her advances to insult her. She didn't start crying or yelling like a typical woman tend to do when upset. Instead, she giggled. She had stayed by his side the whole night still persisting to do her job. He had left that night not spending a dime on her, but he had came back a few weeks later.
The next time he saw her, she was less drunk. She had been sober, working on a new victim. He interrupted the scheme she was playing, scaring her clientele off. He wanted to see who she was without the influence. She didn't seem to remember him and as she switched her game onto him, he played the same round on her. He insulted her in a roundabout way. It was all for pure amusement. He loved to see people squirm under his presence, to push their buttons, to watch them fall at his feet. Even sober though, she did not recoil from the hot stove once she was burn. She pushed on, talking, egging him on. She had stayed rather calm as he spoke to her.
The next thing he knew was they were banging in the public restroom. Then from that moment on, they were seeing each other. An odd fling for when the moment suit him. She didn't seem to care for the start of it. The more nights they spent together, the more she grew fonder of him and the more he found out about her habits.
She wasn't much of a pretty face, but she was a glutton for punishment, he soon found out. It seemed she loved to have her heart broken. That she adored his insults. She loved his roughness. She ached for his indifference. But everyone has their breaking points. She turned to drugs when she has had enough and wants a high in order to escape for a while.
He thought it was pathetic, her need for a drug so useless. Any vice that a person craves is weakness. Games were too easy when finding out a person's weakness. Then they can be bought, they can be sold, they can be tamed, they can be controlled. No one should be contained by their limitations. If the world was free, everyone would go mad. It would be beautiful to watch everyone tear each other apart for their vices.
"I got you a gift."
Her voice drew him back to the present from his thoughts and memories. He was intrigued by her statement. He gave her a questioning glance, but her face was directed at her food.
"I left it on the coffee table," she replied to his silent response, her back to him.
Curious, he shook off his hands wiping them on his pants. He headed to the living room, finding a crisp brown envelope lying on the table. He picked it up leisurely, examining the regular looking envelope. He opened it, pulling out a clean white document.
"What the fuck is this?" He asked bewildered. His eyes were narrowed as he read his name displayed on the sheet.
"A death certificate," came her reply. She was standing beside him now, her eyes looking at his face. Her posture was relaxed as if this was a normal gift to receive.
"What's my name doing on it, wretch?" He asked, his thoughts were racing. He didn't know if this was real. What game was she playing at.
"You're dead, Jack. You're body was discovered at Gotham Bridge. You jumped," she stated, her voice even.
"You call this a gift? Whose body was it?" He questioned, his voice dripped in malice.
"A man who looked like you, Falcone owed me a favor."
"How did you get this over the police's heads?"
"Simple really, the coroner and forensic pathologist are owned by Falcone. From what the world knows of Jack Napier, he died two days ago. And what Falcone knows is a debt is paid and thinks you left town."
"Jill, what did you have to pay to have this done?" He asked, anger was growing inside of him. He knew that all of this effort wasn't for free. There was always a price to be paid.
"Why can't you just be happy for once, I did this for you," she stated, her tone whining.
"FOR ME?! You honestly believe that I don't know that this comes at a price?" He was getting frustrated with her.
"Yes, I did it for you. You're always talking about how everyone is a slave to something or to someone. That no one can ever be free in this life. I've set you free, don't you see. The price isn't your concern. You have no more vice. I separated you from your name, your death. I set you free from society," She said, her voice serious as her face was glaring back up at him.
He grabbed her by the neck, pulling her to him. His face held in a scowl, his hands tight around her throat. Images of choking the life out of her flooded through his mind. Her hands were grabbing on to his jacket for support. His breath covered her face.
"What am I free to do now?" he spoke lowly, his lips in a tight frown. The feeling of malice dissipating quickly from his body as it had come. She was going to get it sooner or later.
"To do as you please."
He kissed her rough then as they spent the rest of the night, pleasing himself.
When Jill came in how she did grin
To see Jack's paper plaster;
Mother vexed did whip her next
For causing Jack's disaster
He had gone off the grid for a while. He no longer had an identity, which also meant, he didn't have a job. Everyone thought he was dead; well the little of who, who knew his name. He didn't really see how this would work out in his favor. Jill never really planned ahead.
He was going to have to make cash somehow and work for a new employer that required his services and skill set. He was making his way to his and Jill's apartment after a long day spent really nowhere. He had just been wandering the streets.
He knew something was amidst as the building he stepped into was awfully silent. He headed to his floor, his fingers twitching for the gun at his back.
Their apartment door was ajar and he readied his gun in his hand. He didn't know if this was an ambush or was a robbery, but something in his gut told him that this assault was intentional.
He swung to door open, quickly, looking around with the gun held high. The apartment was trashed. It was empty except for the limp body lying in the middle of the floor.
Jill
His mind registered quickly and came towards her, his guard up. He glanced over her body, noticing the blood spilling from her stomach from a bullet wound. Her hand was holding it and he noticed her shallow breathing. She was still alive.
But he knew she wouldn't be for long. The wound was too wide; the bullet was fired in close range. The blood was still fresh. This had happened within the last half hour. He heard a low moan of pain before her eyes flittered open.
"Why…. you look…. so grim?" She stated, breathy. The corners of her lips were twitching up.
He didn't say anything as he watched her struggle to breathe.
"You were always…. So serious," she whispered, her voice slowly fading as her eyes closed feeling the pain.
"You couldn't pay it, could you?" He stated, already he knowing the answer. He knew exactly what this was about.
Her smile widened as she placed her hand that was holding her wound on his face. He didn't flinch at the warm, wet touch of her hand. Blood never bothered him so much. Her hand rested at his cheek longingly for a moment as her eyes stared softly into his griming features. Her thumb lifting as it ran over his lips along his cheek spreading the blood along.
She giggled half heartedly as she lifted her hand to the other side of his face tracing the blood along the other side of his cheek. He let her toy with him as he watched her place her hand back on her wound, grimacing. Her lips were still turned up in a smile though as she opened her eyes once again at him. Her eyes becoming harder for her to focus and harder for her to keep open.
"Now, I can finally see your smiling face," She stated softly, her strength slowly fading.
"You're imbecile," He stated, contempt seeping through his tone.
"And you're free," she spoke with a small smirk, a soft giggle leaving her mouth before her eyes finally shut. Her breathing slowed and then stopped suddenly, her chest no longer rising.
He scoffed. She was an idiot, but somewhere deep down; he didn't know why she would giggle at death. She had always been a glutton for pain. He raised himself from her dead body on the floor. He didn't feel remorseful or sorrow. He knew she be taken from him one day. He figure it be by her vice, by her addiction.
He strolled over to the bathroom; he could still feel the stickiness of blood she left on him. He needed to clean it off before he got going and leave her before the cops come. Upon flickering on the bathroom light and staring at himself in the mirror, a laugh escaped him as well.
Now he knew why death was so funny to her as he stared at his blood stained reflection, she drew a smile in her blood on his face. What a way to go… laughing… he thought.
His face settled into a blank expression but his reflection was grinning back at him. He had no one now. No one knew him. He could be what he wanted to be. He could be a man without rules. She was right, he was free.
He was free from his identity, free from the criminal world, free from working, free from everybody, and he was especially free from her. He smirked; what a great gift in deed. Now he saw the light. She was freeing herself from him. He was her vice and she was his.
How exquisite. He ran the water in the sink, rinsing the blood off his face, but frowned at his reflection staring back at him. He missed the red smile she gave him. An idea flooded into his head at that moment as he took the switch blade from his back pocket.
Without hesitancy, he sliced his cheeks open and up. He gave himself a crimson smile and he laughed at the result as the blood dripped down his face. It was becoming clear to him as he felt the freedom of Jill's revelation. He was no longer a man governed by rules. He was free and he thought it was about time all these shitty people of Gotham experienced the same freedom as he did or suffer for their vices.
He laughed menacingly at his thoughts as he gathered some of his belongs from the apartment and disposing of anything that was once his from Jill's apartment. He left Jill's apartment walking over her distastefully, with bandages on his cheeks. He'll sew them up later, he paused before leaving, looking over at the woman he use to know
She was laying there. Red was smeared across her hands. It had soaked through her shirt and on to the floor. Her eyes were closed, she almost looked peaceful. A glimmer of a smile still etched to her face. He felt no remorse; he felt freedom as he made his way out of the building.
He could hear sirens off in the distance. He smirked as he walked away from what use to be. He noticed the bat symbol in the sky. He snickered.
It was time to show Gotham how pathetic they really are. Especially, the batman, a guy appearing as a vigilante for this desperate city. The batman was a bigger joke than he was. A joke….He bet he could rid the batman easily. Everyone has a vice after all. The batman would be no exception and he was going make it his mission to find it.
Hope you liked it. Please Review
Disclaimer: I don't own DC Comics or characters or the nursery rhymes of Jack and Jill