Chapter One

She was walking, leisurely, along the bank of the river. People pedaled by on bicycles, slick with sweat and shimmering summer heat. Elizabeth Shire turned, feeling a presence slightly behind her. Sure enough, there was a man ambling sure-footedly along the path behind her, almost gliding, his head down under a black, elegantly-brimmed hat. He was dressed in a white button-down shirt with the collar folded neatly, dark dress pants and a skinny black tie knotted loosely about his neck. Hands in his pockets, he seemed to know where he was going, though his pace suggested no one was expecting him so he could arrive when he pleased. Elizabeth got a grim feeling that the man most likely lived his whole life like that—with a purpose, but a purpose no one else understood, and as a man who lived by his rules and his rules alone. Soon she would learn that his only rule was to not have rules.

"Nice day, isn't it?" he said, loudly but calmly. Liz looked about herself, and finally decided that yes, he was talking to her.

"Yes, beautiful weather," she replied.

"I'd hate for a lovely woman such as yourself to be indoors on a day like this, Miss…"

"Shire. Elizabeth Shire," she responded. "And who might you be?"

"I might be someone you've heard of…"

The man finally lifted his head for the first time, and she felt her breath catch as his deep, violent eyes locked with hers. His face was absolutely covered in smeared makeup—white painted-on skin, eyes circled with the darkest of blacks, a blood-red, frightening smile drawn all the way up his cheekbones. And, inside the lines of scarlet, greasy facepaint, were scars, unevenly stitched up into a grotesque smile. You could tell, by the way his eyes glimmered dangerously, laughingly, that he sliced-on grin he wore was his own doing.

"They call me the Joker, doll."

"I don't believe in you," Elizabeth said after a long pause, after her heart had settled back into its usual rhythm. He raised an eyebrow, leering at her.

"Don't believe in me? I'm standing right here, baby. Touch my skin, hear my voice. I'm every bit as real as you are."

"Oh, I believe you're the Joker. I believe you exist, and all. But I don't believe what you say you are—a villain, a destroyer of society. Sure, you kill some people, you ruin some lives, you scare the wits out of Gotham City. You even have the guts to come out in public in broad daylight. It's liking you're daring them to catch you." Elizabeth licked her lips, knowing she had his full attention. She steadied herself on a branch to stop from trembling. "You're always breaking hopes, being as unpredictable as you can, killing your own men, even. You're bold, you're fearless, you're insane. But it's all just a game; you're living, breathing killing—all just to defeat Batman." He blinked at her, seductive, a laughing grin sparkling in his eyes. She continued.

"But see, personally, I don't think you can do it. I don't think you can kill him. I mean, of course you're strong enough, smart enough, reckless enough. You're completely capable, and you could walk away with a clear conscience. But he's like your other half—the yin to your yang, the good to your bad, the guy who makes things hard, and fun, for you. You just like to light a match and watch the world burn, and he thinks he's the big bad fireman to come beat you up and put out the flames. But you love 

the blood, even when it's your own; so you guys just hang out of motion, caught in the balance, fighting and fighting but never quite winning or losing."

"So what's your point?" The Joker looked at her quizzically, intrigued, bemused.

"If you killed him, yeah, it'd be fun for a while. Sit in the turmoil while the city's all strung up and freaked out. Gotham would be nothing but chaos for months, years, maybe. But once everyone's caught their breath and settled down, there's no more fear. And sure, you could stir things up and scare people, but it'd be too easy. For you, where's the fun in stealing, killing, torturing, if no one tries to stop you? Why bother if nobody gets angry, just scared? Seeing that little white flag of surrender go up is only fun for a few minutes, until you realize complete control was never what you really wanted."

Liz looked up, breathing hard, to see that the Joker was grinning maniacally, his eyes alight with darkness and cruel laughter.

"You, my dear, are a genius."

"You know how many times people have said that to me, hired me, and then fired me about a week later when my brilliant thoughts got a bit too negative for their taste?" she muttered.

"Ah, and with a sense of humor, too!" he cackled, taking her by the arm and whisking her away.

"You'll fire me too, pretty soon, but not the same way. Once I get a little too dark for you, you'll ditch me just like the others, but there will be considerably more blood."

"Baby," he said, taking the wheel as Elizabeth closed the Joker's black, expensive car door and slipped down into the seat, "things are never too dark for me."