Author's Note: I wasn't going to post this until it was finished, but in loving memory and celebration of Heath Ledger's 33rd birthday today I had to upload at least the first chapter 3 This story is still in progress of being editing, so look out for changes here and there.

Assistant District Attorney Rachel Dawes stared at the little red tag attached to a decently sized box of chocolate on the ground in front of her door. Picking it up, all the tag said was "From: Your Secret Admirer." Immediately she thought of Bruce Wayne. Then again, he probably would've gone for something much more extravagant than a relatively non-expensive box of Godiva.

Going through a mental list of possible admirers Rachel unlocked her apartment door and set the chocolates on the dining table along with her briefcase and coat. That Harvey Dent who's running for the position of her boss has been paying an awful lot of attention to her as of late, Dr. Crane as a joke, any one of the mob bosses to get her attention away from them. She frowned; what if the chocolates were poisoned? Without a second thought, Rachel grabbed the box again and threw it into the trashcan.

"That kind of thing won't work on me," she said to herself smugly.

Sighing, she got back into work mode: the Joker killings. She opened her briefcase and pulled out the reports from each crime scene. It all started over half a year ago a week after the train crash. A man wearing clown makeup was reported seen killing a group of gang members, leaving a joker card on one of the bodies. Every few days since then he's killed another member or members from the Mob, leaving the card and his victims' faces with Glasgow smiles, occasionally robbing a bank or two a month. To Rachel, it's as if he's building his fame and trying to fight against the rise of Batman. By now, the entire Mob is terrified to even go outside because of the masked vigilante. Not this clown guy; he's using the fear to his advantage.

The problem is that no one in the Gotham City Police Department sees him as much of a threat compared to the entire Mob. Now that Carmine Falcone is locked up in Arkham, every notable gang is attempting to rise to the top without being caught by Batman. Why is the "Joker" just now appearing? Where did he come from? Who is he really? These types of questions the public keeps asking, and the only person that seems to be attempting to answer them is Rachel.

The next morning on her way out, the assistant D.A. flipped through her mail. It was when she got in the car that she came upon the red envelope addressed to her in the same handwriting as the Godiva box's tag. No return address or name other than hers. With a raised eyebrow, she opened it and pulled out the contents: a letter.

Dear Miss Dawes,

Did you like the chocolates? Godiva seems to suit you: lovely, smooth outer shell and a mysterious yet delectable filling on the inside. There are many different kinds in there, you know. I ended up getting a box for myself and trying each one. Which one is your favorite? Mine is the white chocolate raspberry-filled star.

Your secret admirer

P.S. If you do respond, simply write on the back and place the envelope back in the mailbox, I'll pick it up and respond in time for mail in the morning.

The recipient of the strange letter was at a crossroads. Should she take the letter down to the Department to get fingerprints, or respond herself trying to figure out who this person was? Not wanting to bother her colleagues, she decided to quickly write back and do as he (it could very well be a she, she mused) said to reply. The suspicion of it being a joke was starting to seem more likely than someone she knew.

Dear Secret Admirer,

Who are you? How do you know me? As for your question, no I did not end up eating the chocolates. I threw them away, actually. One has to be prepared when faced with mysterious objects from an unknown source.

Rachel

The clowns jumped at the loud, abrupt laughter that ensued upon reading the letter. It was hilarious that she automatically threw away his oh-so-generous gift without a second thought. She probably assumed the chocolates were poisoned and that this was one big joke. Naturally, she was right. The poison injected was simply a very powerful sedative that would cause the victim to be in a comatose unlikely to ever wake. He knew, though, that she was far too intelligent to take it, hence the letter. Her curiosity and paranoia would be her downfall.

"Yo, Boss!" A voice behind him called him to his attention. He turned, annoyed, and pressed a knife into the interrupter's gut.

"Didn't your mother tell you to never distract a man when he's reading? It's very rude, you know," he growled and turned back to the letter. He pulled out a new piece of paper and a pen, replying. Once he was done and placed it in the mailbox, he sauntered back to the car and they drove to the now ruined Narrows. The Joker had a visit to make.