Summary: Sequel to "Queen of Hearts." Porphyria, the previously nameless narrator of the previous two stories in this series, has been betrayed by the Joker, and decides to stay with Bruce Wayne while she works out what to do next. But the Joker isn't about to let her, or his arch nemesis, Batman, rest. Just so there's no confusion: there will be no love triangle here. My heroine has only one true love, twisted though it may be, and she's not going to get it on with Bruce. Kay? This is more gruesome than the last one, by the way, but not until the later chapters. Consider yourselves warned! Also, please take note that I've shifted the 'category' for all three stories to 'The Dark Knight,' now that the option's there.
"Porphyria"
Prologue
"You've been trapped in a building rigged to blow up, and in a roomful of gun-toting madmen before – I think you can handle a premiere."
I glared at Bruce Wayne from the opposite seat in the limousine. "It's not the same kind of fear, and you know it. Don't make fun of me."
Bruce laughed gently and opened the door. I waited just long enough to make him uncomfortable, then stepped out onto the carpeted runner. The high-pitched adrenaline from the crowd had been unpleasant enough from inside the car, but now it was overwhelming. I swayed on my feet, but didn't fall. Bruce turned to me, his breezy, nonchalant smile firmly in place, and offered me his arm. I took a deep breath and looped my arm through his, then allowed him to lead the way.
I had agreed to this outing only after extreme coaxing on Bruce's part. His insistence that I appear in public, on his arm, was part of his plan to eradicate the dissent that the people of Gotham felt toward me. I was not hopeful, and in fact was concerned that my being seen with him would do more harm than good. He had a reputation to protect; I did not. Still, he was persuasive, and unrelentingly stubborn. I was weary of arguing with him.
There was, however, a stroke of providence that I had not foreseen: Bruce Wayne, with his extraordinary wealth and notoriously impulsive nature, was a greater draw for the wandering eye of the crowd than I. I was grateful for his company then. I did not know exactly what he'd told the public to convince them that I was no longer a threat, but his word – and his money – carried far. Already I was little more than a curiosity to them, a footnote in Gotham's checkered history, and now the most recent consort of the eccentric billionaire who watched over them in secret by night.
The walk from the limousine to the opera house was brief, but agonizing. I clung to Bruce's arm and focused on breathing, doing my best to ignore the stares and endless questions, spoken and unvoiced, of the glitterati as they passed us on either side. For his part, Bruce maintained the illusion of well-mannered arrogance that he had practiced for so many years. Underneath it, I felt his tensely coiled attention to detail, and his protective attitude towards me. He introduced me as a 'friend' and gave those who asked a false name. I shook hands and smiled and chattered politely. Suspicious apprehension bubbled to the surface more than once, but it did not last. These people were too occupied with their own petty delinquencies to concern themselves with ours. I allowed myself to relax, just a little, and smiled more easily.
Just one variable remained in question: The Joker. I had never told him that Bruce Wayne was the Batman, although I'd known it along. My reappearance in Bruce's company could reveal all to him. It wouldn't take him long, with his uncanny intuition and deep understanding of human nature, to puzzle out exactly what had happened to me after the night he'd tried to murder me. I mentioned this concern to Bruce; he brushed it off. When it was time, he would deal with The Joker himself.
We took our seats in a private box overlooking the stage, and as the lights dimmed, Bruce leaned toward me and put his hand on mine. "Are you all right?" he whispered.
"No," I answered. "But I'll manage."