Disclaimer: I do not own the character of The Joker. That is all. *BEEP*
CHAPTER 1
The criminal smiled with a crooked grace, like a twisted angel that appeared from the darkness. His pale tongue darted out to lick nervously at his scars. He was going to have fun tonight.
Finding the house was simple enough, a phonebook had led him there easily. He giggled at the building excitement as he shuffled towards the powder blue house. There was no car in the cracked driveway. A crippled bike lay haphazardly on the front path.
The air sizzled with the electricity of a thunderstorm that had yet to break. The heat of the summer in Gotham was somewhat dulled by the evening breezes. Many home owners had opted to leave their windows open; unwilling to spend extra money to cool their homes at night.
The lean predator eyed the vicinity and formulated his plan. A window to the left of the unlit street light had been opened. A screen covered the opening, but he had broken through much stronger materials. The man snuck a glance inside, seeing a lavishly decorated, but otherwise empty room. He chuckled lowly before the slicing the screen slowly with a short knife. When the thin barrier had been disposed of, the Joker slid his knife back into its concealed holder. No one had ever found all his knives, nor had anyone ever been given a chance.
He paused, hands on the sill; listening to the sound of the night. A neighbor had the television blaring with what appeared to be an infomercial. His house was the only one with a light still on.
A challenge: he thought gleefully. He would have to be in and out silently; a job that could also be satisfying. Using his sinewy arms, he snaked his way into the darkened home.
The darkness within him reacted to the surroundings. He was at home in the silent dimness. Pictures hung on the wall, perfectly straight and with matching frames. He slowly examined each one, pausing at the last picture. A smiling family shone from the glass. The Joker grinned; his prey now identified. A middle aged man with slightly grayed hair was hugging a young woman. She was perhaps 15 years old, not even a threat.
He surveyed the room. It was gaudily decorated which led him to believe there had been no motherly influence in the house for years. Dust had settled on shelves, but the coffee table was dust free. People used the room often, but did not care about it enough to thoroughly clean.
He made his way to an open kitchen. Appliances were all pushed into corners and were covered by the same sheet of dust. A newspaper sat on the counter; it was almost a week old. He frowned a bit, and shuffled into another hallway. The dark man ogled the stairs and crept up slowly, listening cautiously for creaks.
The landing at the top gave him a view of four doors. The closest was the only one opened, and revealed a pale yellow bathroom. A nightlight shaped like a ladybug had been plugged in but did not give off light. The second door was on the left of the hallway, while the third and fourth where opposite and farther apart.
He closed his eyes, and giddily spun around with one hand extended. When he opened his eyes, his left hand was extended towards the third door. Now that he had chosen a target, he quickly made his way to the door frame. Because this was most importantly a paying job, he needed to be precise. The intruder placed an ear to the door, hearing nothing, and opened it slowly; still listening intently for sound of alarm.
Slipping into the room he surveyed another dust filled room. But whereas the rooms downstairs had been lived in, this room seemed to be a museum. A small bed with a faded space themed bedspread had been made neatly. The bureau had a few small trophies from a soccer team. The plates were from over five years ago.
He scanned it again, his photographic memory cataloging anything else he could find useful. He closed the door carefully and proceeded to the fourth door. Again, he listened and found no noise. This time, the room had been lived in recently. The king sized bed was unmade and drawers where opened and emptied.
The criminal growled, stalking over to the nightstand where he could see, only by the light of the alarm clock, a small note had been left. In frantically slanted, but clearly masculine handwriting, the man read "Dear Dolores, I wish I could have stayed. But our lives are in danger. I can tell no one, not even you, where I have gone. Please stay safe. When you find this, know that I love you but cannot stay. Be safe," the words became even more scribbled with obvious emotion; "I love you."
Ripping the note into tiny shreds consumed his full attention. He deposited the bits into a nearby trashcan.
He frowned, feeling anger stir inside. His target was gone, leaving no immediate destination. He would appear to have failed his boss, meaning no payment. He growled and sauntered out of the room, preparing himself to exit the house.
His mind was full of dangerous thoughts; blood, death, and darkness. He was hell-bent on storming out when he heard a low hum from the second door. He stopped short in front of it, grinning deliciously to himself. Perhaps his night could be saved.