Dreams of Yesterday
Chapter 1:
He'd laughed madly, watching as Batman melted away, in to the dark beyond, gone completely as he found himself surrounded by a SWAT team, their guns trained on him, their eyes nervous.
And he laughed harder, swinging aimlessly upside down, the cord holding him constricting painfully around his ankle, 30 stories up, the blood having already rushed to his head.
The men eyed him apprehensively as he created his own momentum, drifting to and back from the safety of the Pruitt building.
"We need to get him down from there." One of them spoke.
Others nodded their agreement.
"All units converge. We have confirmation of suspect. 31st floor, Pruitt building. Backup requested." The first spoke in to his radio.
It was only minutes before a dozen more SWAT members appeared.
He could see the hesitation in the way they moved towards him.
They were scared, and it made him laugh all the more.
"You're the ones with the guns boys." He smirked.
They didn't respond to him.
"Alright. Smith, Anderson, help me here."
The men nodded, holstering their weapons and moving forward.
The Joker had stopped his swinging by then, wanting to make them work for their prize. And they reached out to him precariously, glancing down anxiously to the street below, the height dizzying.
"Careful boysss. Wouldn't want to slip." He chuckled, fixing his gaze pointedly on one of the men whose hands visibly shook.
Stretching out, they were finally able to reach him, taking hold of his jacket's lapels and pulling him back towards them. He whooped and hollered, swinging his arms as he was dragged through the blowing wind.
They were anything but gentle in cutting him down, severing the cord with a pair of steel cutters and letting him fall freely to the hard concrete of the floor.
He continued to giggle maniacally as he hit, his face lying flat against the ground, the cuts along his right cheek stinging with the dust there.
He didn't have a chance to move as felt himself being pressed down at the back of the neck by someone's foot, followed seconds later by his arms being wrenched behind him, a pair of handcuffs slapped tightly over his wrists.
His mirth continued as he was then dragged up by the collar of his coat, to his feet and shoved forward.
"Move clown!" One of them spit, and he complied, a tremor running silently through his frame with his hysterics.
"Might want to check my, uh, my pockets officerrrs." He spoke as they moved forward. "Wouldn't want any unpleasant surprisesss, hmm?"
"Shut up!"
He was pushed hard from behind, causing him to stumble.
He giggled.
"Jamison! Check his pockets!"
The Joker rolled his eyes as he was frisked roughly.
They pulled half a dozen knifes from his clothing, confiscating them in to a plastic bag before feeling satisfied to proceed.
He didn't struggle in the least as he was taken down on one of the building's lifts and led out on to the street, to one of the SWAT vans, waiting with it's back open.
They helped him step up in to it, where his custody was handed off to more SWAT members, who handled him inside, forcing him to sit on one of the vehicles benches.
The doors slammed hard, the three officers in back sitting opposite the Joker, their guns held at the ready.
He smiled at them faintly and they averted their gaze to the floor.
Someone slapped the back of the van and moments later the engine started, the entourage heading off towards County.
/
They undid his cuffs, pushing him forward in to the holding cell and slamming it shut.
They'd taken his jacket and coat, and had all information on him, or lack thereof, faxed over from what was left of MCU. They didn't want to waste any time in getting him locked up.
For the moment, they had him placed in a holding cell, locating in the processing area.
There were others in the cell with him, most his own men, mulling about, standing back from him, some fighting with each other, mostly one of his with some other prisoner not associated.
He rolled his eyes, walking to the cell's bench and sitting.
The SWAT team had handed him off to GCPD uniforms once they'd reached County, and they now paced restlessly back and forth before the cage, looking anxious.
They were waiting for Commissioner Gordon.
So they could process him properly.
The Joker stared ahead past them, focusing on the wall beyond, his thoughts racing.
He had no plan of escape this time.
Not that it mattered to him.
He would find a way out, eventually.
He always had.
His mind went to Batman, to how absolutely exhausted he had looked before he left, the expression of disbelief and resignation on his face as he was told what the Joker had done to Dent.
It made him smile.
He knew the vigilante had no doubt gone off to try and save the man.
"Too late." He thought.
Harvey Dent had been pushed well off the deep end, and as he'd told Batman, it hadn't even been hard. All it took was an ability to see in to what drove the man to his actions, what his real motivation was, beyond what he presented to the public.
That had always been something the Joker was very good at. Seeing in to what made other's tick, in to who they were beneath the surface, beneath the mask they wore for the world.
All it had taken from there was the right kind of pressure, placed on all the right spots, to make those motivations crumble to dust and blow away in the wind, replaced by hopelessness and despair, replaced by the reality of the world, by all it's great sadness and indiscriminant cruelty.
And Harvey had broken, like some fragile, porcelain doll.
The Joker listened carefully to what went on around him, overhearing the officers speaking of a "situation" transpiring at 250 52nd Street.
He knew it was Dent, doubtlessly gone after Gordon's family. He knew, out of everyone, the man Harvey most blamed for his loses had been Gordon. He'd made sure to reinforce that assignment of blame when he'd paid him the visit at Gotham General.
Having a singular point of focus when looking for a scapegoat was always appealing, and for someone as one tracked in their mind as Harvey was, it would be even more so.
Like he'd said; easy.
Batman had gone off to save them all.
The Joker wondered whether he'd reach them in time.
He hoped he wouldn't.
Not that it would matter. Dent's reputation was already destroyed. He'd already killed 5 people.
When the public found that out, it would be all over for this city.
"Sir!" One of the officers came jogging out from an adjacent room, holding a radio receiver, looking panicked. "Gordon just called in. He says Batman killed Dent! And the five others found this afternoon!"
The Joker's eyes went momentarily wide, staring hard at the rookie, than moving to look at his superior.
"What?"
The rookie nodded.
"Orders just came over the radio. We're to dispatch ten units, in pursuit of him now!"
The Joker stood, walking to the bars.
The superior officers looked nervous, glancing over to him before again looking back to the rookie.
"Alright." He said, running his hands through his hair, exasperated. "Where?"
"He was seen fleeing 250 52nd."
The officer nodded.
"Alright. You heard the man! All available units, converge. 250 52nd Street. Now! You, you and you!" He pointed to three officers. "Stay here! Watch the prisoner! And do not engage him."
Chaos seemed to erupt around the precinct, men in uniform running back and forth, forming in to groups and gathering together all necessary equipment.
In a matter of minutes, the place had emptied out, save for the three officers left behind and those in the holding cell.
The Joker's lip curled to the side, and he rolled his eyes up before smirking, turning back from the bars, towards the bench again and sitting.
So that's how it was.
That's how the Bat had decided he was going to win.
By taking the fall for Dent.
"Cute." He thought.
He and Gordon must have devised it together, hoping to save the citizens of Gotham from the bleak reality of their situation.
But false hope was just that. False.
It would only hold up so long before the truth came out.
And then it would only be worse.
The Joker could feel his smirk broaden to a smile.
As it was, until then, he'd been proven right on another point all together.
They were all turning on the crusader now, weren't they? Eager to assign him blame, to believe him responsible for all their problems. Just like he'd known they would, the moment they felt he'd outlived his usefulness.
Jesus, these people were too easy.
/
It would be three hours before Gordon arrived, scores of police officers coming in ahead of and behind him.
Empty handed.
Of course.
They'd never catch Batman.
Gordon wouldn't let them.
The Joker fixed his gaze on the newly appointed Commissioner, his expression unreadable.
Gordon glanced at him, his own face showing disappointment, before calling one of his detectives over.
"Has he been processed yet?" He asked.
The detective shook his head.
"No Sir. Not yet. We were waiting on you."
The Commissioner sighed deeply.
"Well let's get to it then. Wilks, Smith, Berg, with me. We'll get him cleaned up first, than go from there."
The Joker remained seated as they entered the cell, yelling for all the other prisoners to stand back before moving towards him. Two of the officers grabbed him roughly under the arms and forced him to his feet as Gordon stood by, then pulled his hands forward and cuffed his wrists together.
The Commissioner nodded silently in the direction of the showers, than walked forward, beckoning for them to follow, which they did, pushing the Joker from behind.
The showers they used for processing weren't far, just down a corridor leading off the main holding area and through a door on the right.
The Joker was shoved in to the tiled room.
The floor was wet and the place smelled of chlorine, the walls a dirtied white color. Plain looking shower heads lined along the ceiling at the room's farthest wall from the entrance.
One of the officers undid the Joker's cuffs roughly, pocking the restraints and, again, he was pushed forward.
"Strip, douche bag!" He spit.
The Joker's eyes roamed along the space, his head tilted slightly back as he observed the shower heads, dripping water in small but steady amounts.
"And don't even think about trying anything. I promise you, you fuck! We won't hesitate to shoot your ass."
The Joker spun around to face the foul mouthed policeman.
He grinned lopsided.
"No need for that kind of language officeeer." He said. "It comes across as, uh, desperate. Hmm?"
The officer's face twisted in a scowl.
"Just get em' off clown boy!" He barked.
The Joker's eyes drifted to Gordon then, who stood back, his arms crossed over his chest, watching the whole affair intently.
"So, uh, Commissioneeer!" The Joker addressed him. "The Batman… he… got away, hmm?"
Gordon glared at him with clear disgust.
"Take your cloths off." He spoke calmly. "Or we'll do it for you."
The Joker shrugged, bringing his hands to his vest and slowly undoing the buttons.
"I have to say, you're, uh, you're inflating my egooo." He grinned. "It's not every prisoner whose processing is overseen by the Commissioner himselfff, hmm?"
Gordon didn't respond.
Apparently, the Joker was moving too slowly for the officers liking, as in the next instant they came at him, hard, shoving him against the wall, three sets of hands grabbing at him, pulling his cloths off.
Normally, Gordon would have scolded his officer's for breaking procedure, but he allowed his hatred for the Joker to get the better of him and he stood by passively, watching as the three men roughly removed the madman's clothing.
Within the minute, they had him stripped naked, tossing the discarded garments aside.
Two of the men held either of his arms as the third man went to the shower handles and turned the water on high.
Hot water came gushing out of the heads, falling hard on the Joker and officers alike.
The third officer came in then with a rough cloth and soap in hand, approaching with noticeable apprehension.
The Joker was laughing raucously, and his hysterics only intensified as the lathered cloth was placed against his face and drug harshly across his skin in an attempt to wash away the grease paint.
Gordon could feel his body tense as he watched.
The Joker was like some kind of wild animal, completely uncontrolled and uninhibited.
As his eyes ran over the lunatic's lithe form, he couldn't help but notice the vast amounts of scar tissue and ugly lacerations marring the pale skin, running from his torso all the way down, to his hips and thighs.
He looked like he'd played the part of someone's personal stress reliever. He was covered in scars and deep bruises, some fading, yellow and green, others as fresh as the day, dark blue and purple.
Whatever the case, he'd been through incredible amounts of abuse, it was obvious. Whether that abuse was self-inflicted or dealt out by another, the Commissioner didn't know.
He wasn't sure he wanted to know.
His gaze traveled to the Joker's face, taking note that his officer had finally wiped him clean of the paint.
Gordon found himself taken aback by how young the madman looked. The Commissioner estimated he couldn't have been older then 30, probably younger. 26, 27 maybe.
And he was perfectly handsome, save for the grotesque lacerations running up from either corer of his mouth, pulling his lips in to a permanent grin.
These scars were perhaps as ugly as any of the other, larger ones on the man's thin frame, ragged and torn looking.
Whatever had caused them, it hadn't been a straight blade. They were far too uneven and gnarled for that. Maybe a piece of broken glass, or a serrated edge of some kind, Gordon thought morbidly.
The green color in his hair had started to come out, dripping off the ends of it, obviously some sort of cheap, non-permanent dye, revealing his natural color beneath, a dark blonde, almost brown.
It was only after being caught in a kind of trance, staring at this good looking, young man, who without the scars marring his body and features, you never would guess was a complete psychopath, that Gordon became aware of the Joker staring with equal intent, back at him.
The Commissioner averted his eyes then, to the floor, clearing his throat awkwardly.
The Joker smirked at the reaction.
At that point, they'd begun scrubbing his entire body down, holding his arms out in front of him, running the soap and cloth none-too gently over the limbs before moving impatiently to his chest and stomach, then his back before going over his thighs and calves.
The entire time, the officer doing the cleaning held a look of absolute repulsion, clearly not enjoying himself.
The Joker glanced down at him, smiling widely.
"Be thorough now Officer, uh, Berg." He chuckled. "Can't have you missing a ssspooot."
The man's mouth formed in to an even more pronounced frown, his pace suddenly quickening, just wanting to be done with it as fast as was possible.
To be away from this maniac.
And so it wasn't long after when he finished, drying the Joker quickly and taking him from the showers, in to another room adjacent to it.
"Bend over." Wilks bellowed. "Touch your fingers to your toes."
The Joker complied without complaint.
A moment later and they were performing a cavity search, the men having donned latex gloves, two of them spreading the Joker's glutes harshly, the other performing the search.
The Joker remained silent the whole time, and seconds later, when they were satisfied he had no weapons or tools concealed there, they stood him straight, removing their gloves.
They each went to a basin and washed their hands with soap and water.
"Open your mouth. Wide." He was ordered, quickly following.
He smirked before complying, the action causing his scars to stretch and pull oddly up his cheeks, momentarily catching the policemen's attention.
They finally tore their eyes from the sight, one of the men flashing a small light in to the madman's mouth, sticking the fingers of his free hand in to feel up along his gums.
The Joker's teeth were rotten, the officer noted, his own mouth twisting in disgust at the stained, yellowed bone. He didn't think the lunatic had ever brushed them in his life.
"Stick out your tongue." He said.
The Joker did, and the man pushed his index finger and thumb beneath the wet, pink muscle.
There was nothing there, and so he pulled his hand free, silently thanking God that his fingers hadn't been bitten off.
"Here." Gordon stepped in then, holding a pair of orange, prison uniform overalls, along with underwear, an undershirt and canvas, rubber soled shoes. "Get dressed."
The Joker took them from him, staring down at the Commissioner with clear amusement in his eyes.
"Whatever you say, Commmissionerrrr." He grinned.
Gordon looked quickly away, stepping back and watching askance as their prisoner pulled first the underwear on, then the undershirt, then the overalls, buttoning up the front, and finally, sitting on the floor, pulling the shoes on.
Gordon couldn't help the sense of relief which washed over him when he was pulled back to his feet and his officers slapped the handcuffs back over his wrists.
He secretly was astonished that the Joker had been so cooperative, never once struggling or resisting.
He'd done everything they told him without complaint. With hardly a sly remark even.
He'd be lying if he said he hadn't expected the lunatic to somehow kill them all and escape back in to the world.
He was scared of the Joker.
He thought you'd have to be crazy yourself not to be.