Hello and welcome to my little universe in here. To all who think that this is me restarting all my stories, sorry I may never touch them again. To all who think that this will be pure comic/movie verse…wrong. This is from my own little reality and flames will be promptly deleted. I'll say this once and maybe every few chapters. If you don't like then go to another story. There are many out there just waiting to be read. I'm just putting my little slice of fan fiction out there for anyone interested to read.

I'll apologize in advance for any grammar or spelling issues, I was up all night with this story ripping at my brain trying to get out.

I don't care if you don't like it, this is my world. I'm not going to change it just because you don't like a character or if someone doesn't seem like they should. I could make the joker a cop wearing lipstick and the batman a talking pink rock…but I won't. I probably couldn't do a good Ledger joker if a gun was pointed to my head so I won't butcher that and try. To anyone offended then hit the back button and leave. Simple. Very easy to do. Anyone still reading then hey sit down and enjoy the show.

Disclaimer: I do not own batman or the joker. I do not own Gotham city or any of its inhabitants except my characters Alex, Mae and Sara.

I was dreaming of the dolls again. Their eyes slowly looked from one side of the room to the other in a slow jerking motion as if sand had rusted the gears inside. All of a sudden the eyes stop and stare just to the other side of the room and a soft keening sound slowly rises from their frozen painted mouths. It reminds me of the whine from a frightened dog whimpering in the dark.

I can't move to see what they see my body and eyes frozen; only staring at the dolls with their frozen eyes and frozen faces. Then they begin to cry, big fat red drops of crimson mortality slip from their gazes as the sound becomes louder and louder. It becomes almost deafening until I awake screaming. My eyes search the room in the darkness for some unseen boogeyman in the shadows.

I rush to the bathroom and grab the sink for dear life before running the cold water to try and slap the dream away. After a moment I turn on the light and covering the left side of my face look up. I stare blankly for a moment trying to remember that I'm awake and not still part of the dream. My golden-yellow eyes stare back at me looking tired and alone. My long red hair is a mess and full of knots and tangles. My pale skin seems paler almost sickly in the light. Once I recognize myself I lower my hand and stare at the marks on my left side. A long violent scar that begins at the corner of my mouth and winds its way up to just equal to my eye stares back at me. It glows red against the paleness of my skin, not quite the red of my hair but almost crayon red from its freshness.

I wish I could tell you that I did this to myself; slowly cutting up through muscle and skin only stopping when the blade slides from my grip from the slickness of the blood upon it…but I can't. I wish I could tell you that I stopped the bleeding and called for help…but I didn't. I could tell you that I didn't make a noise while it happened and never begged for my life…but I can't. The police should have been called to come save me and make everything better…but they weren't. The paramedics who stopped me from bleeding out and rushed me to the hospital to be fixed up by the doctors…they never came.

Instead my face had been carved up by someone I never once trusted. He poured vodka on my wound before leaving me screaming on the floor. A junky from the other side of the room ripped off his shirt and used it to stop my bleeding. I was quickly sewn up by a guy flying higher than a kite who sang the entire time he did it. I was then thrown onto the streets still bleeding and screaming in pain. Never once did I set foot inside a police station to be saved, never once did I call my uncle the cop for help.

After that night I hid, running from place to place in fear, only coming out when the infection set in. I was found by an off duty security guard who threw up before calling for help. After the paramedics came I passed out dreaming of the bleeding dolls eyes and screaming.

But then again I pull myself back to the mirror and the scar on my left side. I would never cover it up because I don't care what people think of it. I don't fear the scar. I don't hate it. The day I told anyone in law enforcement who did it will be the day my sister's life ends. I can't do that to her. But maybe if I tell you how I ended up with this mark, this slice of reality on my face, then you'll understand. It's how I ended up in Gotham chasing the smoke and mirrors that was my sister. How I need to save her before she is really truly gone.

/ 6 months ago \\\\\\\

Six weeks. My sister vanishes for six weeks and now she's in my living room begging me for help. She's back on the drugs, I could tell instantly but of which kind I'm not sure. Her 120 pound body is shaking and twitching softly as if electricity is running through her body. Her 5'3" frame seems hunched over with the weight of the world on her shoulders.

She looks like a walking skeleton to me; the bones in her hands seem to pop out at me when she moves them. I look to her face trying to catch a glimpse of the chubby cherub of my sister but see a gaunt face smothered with thick makeup. Her eyes are murky and clouded no longer shining with the light she once had. Her once dirty blonde hair was dyed a cheap pink and hung unevenly in choppy sections around her face. I can remember thinking 'where is my little sister and who is this stranger in front of me'. Then a small crooked smile crosses her face and I remember the girl she used to be.

A memory pops into my head of just a month before she disappeared. We were sitting on my couch watching reruns of Looney Toons. She was talking about which college she was going to attend in the fall. She was just out of a drug treatment center and had kicked her habit of pain killers, I was so proud of her.

Now she's standing before me twitching softly as her hands shake while she speaks. She needs my help to get into a new apartment. Not a slum lord's room but an apartment owned by a drug treatment center. She needs me to come with her for the meet and greet to show that she has family to support her. She wants to show the landlord that she has someone to keep her from shooting up in the bathroom or over dosing in the living room. She promises that all I will have to do is show up and take some pamphlets on the programs at the drug treatment center. And I would have to sign her into the programs and maybe take her to her first few sessions. She promised to get clean, she begged for help.

"Please you know I need help again." Mae began. Her twitching was slowing but her eyes continued to dart around the room into all the shadows as if searching for some unseen boogeyman. "Please help me. I've left Alex and I want to get clean, he can't find me there. I'll be safe."

"Mae, you've been with Alex the past two years. You eat, sleep and breathe this man. How do I know that you won't bring him back?" My eyes pleaded with hers and I took a deep breath. "If I do this, a big if, he has to be in your rear view for good this time. I mean it."

Mae took a shuddering breath and spoke those three little words that broke my heart and stripped me of my defenses. "Please save me." Tears fell from her eyes and her makeup ran down her face. She began whimpering like a frightened child after that. My fate was sealed. Two days later I made arrangements with the drug rehab center to pick us up and take us the six hours by plane that it would take. Then I packed my life into a small suitcase and travel bag. My home was left in the care of my policeman uncle as I left to fly my sister to the waiting arms of salvation.