"O My Sociopath"
I wrote this a few years ago, when The Dark Knight first came out in theaters, and now that it's sequel has finally been released, I decided to go over each chapter and update it to fit more with my current writing abilities. I think it fits rather nicely into the interim between the end of The Dark Knight and the beginning if The Dark Knight Rises, especially since they imply that the Batman abandoned the city for some time, and we know nothing about the Joker's fate beyond his capture.
You can find the original version on my profile - titled Big Smile Please - it is unfinished, whereas this version IS FINISHED! (cheers) So please tell me what you think - I'd really appreciate it! Thanks guys!
Chapter One
"The World's a Stage"
Theme: "Psycho Killer" by The Talking Heads
Katherine was walking home after work one day, alone, when her life changed. The night was dark enough to spook her into carrying her keys in her hand and her umbrella in the other, like a club. Every movement in the shadows scared her, frightened her, and sharpened her paranoia until it made her heart race with nerves.
Anything out of place was enough to set her alarms off: a sewer rat, hungry and greedy, scurrying down one of Gotham's many alleys; a drunk kicking an empty beer can; the weakly flickering lights of a far away bar. Even a flash of the half-spent moon in a puddle caught her eye in the wrong way, a spook in the night.
Anything that seemed out of place.
'Hello.' She thought as her feet halted without permission, backing up until she once again stood in front of the dingy, grimy side street she passed each night on her way home. Was that a body?
Well, in Gotham, that wasn't so unlikely.
Carefully, Katherine inched her way forward, fingers tightening around her keys until her knuckles were white. A lone halo of light from a streetlamp, the only illumination in the alley, at once hid and revealed the body. Upon even closer advance, her heart began to beat in her chest, a rapid, dangerous tattoo against the ribs and chest cavity. Her lungs expanded in quicker succession, in sync with the tempo of the rising anxiety that was pushing her pulse.
What if it was a dead body? What was she supposed to do if it was – stand there staring at some gory wound, a shattered face or ripped open chest, until the police arrived? It certainly looked like a dead body. It, they, weren't moving, moaning, calling for help. And that was usually a sign of some permanent demise, right?
Katherine paused as another thought came to mind. Maybe it was a robber, just waiting for someone to come and investigate the sight of a 'victim' so that he could murder them. A far-fetched theory in another town, for sure, but Gotham was the city of theatrical crime. She hefted her umbrella high as makeshift weapon, just to be sure.
"Sir?" She called out apprehensively, wondering how much of a fool she was making of herself. Her nervous brain imagined a twitch of the hand, shudder in the face. There was no other movement, and so she convinced herself it was a trick of the light. Katherine immediately resolved to stop watching so many movies that involved zombies. "Are you alright, sir?"
There was still no answer. Still, they didn't move, even as she got closer and closer to them. Finally, she whispered, "Sir?" And then poked him – it was definitely a him, she could see now – in the ribs with the end of her umbrella.
No response.
Stashing her keys in her purse, Katherine took the time to study the man on the ground. 'It's not like he's going anywhere. I can always call the police in a moment.' She pushed off all warning signs of danger with the rationalization. If every other Gothamite could have a healthy curiosity for the morbid, why couldn't she?
Whatever it was that pushed her to stare – curiosity, disgust, horror – she couldn't take her eyes from him, the strange victim. He was the most eccentric, uncanny character she'd ever seen. He was the strangest looking man she'd ever seen – a clown gone sour was her first thought – someone that Batman would fight, if he ever again returned to the mean streets of Gotham.
Still, the man looked like something out of a comic book. His clothes, sullied by blood, were clownish by design and by aim. Dark brown trousers that were slightly too short, showing off bright, striped, argyle socks. A bright purple vest that was really a dark shade of violet, buttoned up over a long torso and a green shirt with an entrancing geometric pattern. The sleeves were rolled up pale arms to the elbows, and the attached hands had ripped up nails and blue collar calluses.
The man's face only added to the picture. His head was a bright green, the color of new grass, and she wondered where he had gotten the hair dye for such a vivid color in such a dreary city. His face was covered in white costume make-up, uneven and badly applied, with a thousand little black creases traveling out from the eyes.
The eyes were swallowed in black eyeliner and face paint, and his lips… They seemed to be smothered in a lady's bright, red lipstick. Cadillac red. The sanguinary face paint stretched up his face in slowly curling lines, one from each corner of his mouth. Up and up, they reached so that his lips looked wide, and altogether unwieldy on his face.
Katherine studied him for a long time, and wondered if this had all been done to him after death. If so, it was an extremely cruel thing to do; it was clear to her that once, the man could have been handsome, extremely attractive. But the make-up and some horrible emotion etched in the lines, ruined that.
As she kneeled down next to him, a drop of rain, a single and solitary one, fell from the sky and slid down the man's cold cheek. It slithered over his curvature, revealing one sliver of normally colored skin.
Her eyes were glued to that strip of skin – the contrast between skin and white make-up was so great as to be mesmerizing. He would look so much better if he was cleaned off, and Katherine was sure it would be easier for his family to view his body if he wasn't covered in unpleasant ick.
Slowly, she reached into her purse and pulled out a bag of small tissues. Dipping the tips in a nearby puddle, Katherine placed them on his nose and swiped downward, revealing centimeter after centimeter of clean, human skin. She wiped at his cheek, running it down past his jaw line and halfway down his neck.
She went through five more tissues in the process of gently cleaning the man's face off. When she finished the cleansing, she sucked in a deep breath filled with pity.
It wasn't just red lipstick that slit his face high on either side – it was scars too. Long and jagged, like they'd been done by a broken bottle or a shaky hand. Somehow, despite the fact they were definitively flesh colored, they were somehow more horrific than the red smile.
'How terrible.' Katherine's mind balked at trying to figure out how this had happened to him. She ran a fingertip over one, and up and down the length of his cheek, when she felt someone watching her.
She looked up to see his eyes – open – and staring at her. They were beautiful eyes, a deep, intense green that would have been stunning, if only they didn't completely lack warmth and compassion.
The man sat up, aggressively and suddenly in her personal space until he spotted a soiled tissue and pushed her away. The tell-tale red stain on many of them told him exactly what she'd done, as if her own guilty look wasn't proof enough. He scrambled to his feet, sliding around on the wet cement, his movements lanky and jittery. Katherine followed suit, jumping to her feet, not wanting him to have an advantage over her.
Even with both of them standing, he loomed over her, an immense figure, a splattered monolith. Katherine's face contorted in fear, but his melted into a dangerous smile. "My, my, my," He said, a sing-song manner to accompany the gruff tone of his voice. "What a mistake you've made tonight my dear, yes. What a mistake." He licked his still red lips. "I'm going to have fun with you." His laugh was high-pitched, manic.
She screamed.
"All the world's a stage
And all the men and women merely players
They have their exits and their entrances
And one man in his time plays many parts."
- William Shakespeare, As You Like It
There you have it! Chapter one of seven! The updated version! Please read and review