Breaking In

"This was a bad idea."

"Shut. Up," I pant. I risk a quick glance over my shoulder as we sprint down the street.

"But you couldn't listen to me, could you? No, Andrew's always right; Andrew's the one in charge."

"Shut your ugly face, Lonnie."

"Did you even think, just think for one second, that going back was a bad idea? I bet you didn't. You have this inane ability to not realise the possible repercussions of your actions."

We round a corner and I stop. Lonnie continues running for a few more paces before he stops and looks at me over his shoulder. I hold up my hand, one finger raised, as I drop the duffle bag on my shoulder onto the ground. "One second?" I double over and stare at the ground, my shaking hands gripping my knees as I try to regain my breath. "How?" I begin but my throat feels dry so I lick my lips and swallow. "How can you... talk so much...while running?" I ask between gasps for air. "And can you maybe... not use words I don't understand?" His scuffed sneakers make their way into my field of vision as he waits for me.

I stand up as I slowly begin to regain my breath. He looks at me with an almost disappointed expression. "You don't know what 'inane' means?"

"I'm sorry. We can't all be self-confessed geniuses." Turning around, I look out from behind the corner and down the street. "Doesn't look like they're coming after us."

"Not to mention the fact that you can't run, like, 700 feet."

I turn to glare at him over my shoulder. "It's a long way when you've just jumped out of a second story window."

"No it's not," he scoffs. "You're just pathetic."

"Fuck off." I turn back and pick up the bag. "It feels like a long way. Especially when you're carrying this bag. It's heavy. You should carry it the rest of the way back." I offer it to him and he grins.

"No." He turns and walks away from me.

"Hey," I snap, slinging the bag onto my shoulder and chasing after him. "Why not?"

"It's all your shit."

"So? I thought we were working together now."

"Doesn't mean I have to carry your shit. So suck it up, fag."

I slap him as hard as I can across the back of the head. He turns, surprise written all over his face as he looks at me. "Call me that again and I'll make you regret it." He goes to say something but I cut him off. "Don't fucking start with me, Lonnie. I won't tolerate that kind of bullshit."

"Do you mind if we talk to you boys for a minute?"

Both our heads snap up as we look to the source of the voice. A tall but kinda fat police officer walks up to us. I can't believe we didn't hear him coming. "Of course not," I angle the bag so it's sort of out of his view. "What can we do for you, officer?"

He smiles as he pulls out a notepad. "Well, if you wouldn't mind telling me your names. That would be a good start."

"Andrew Machin." Lonnie glances at me out of the corner of his eye. "He's Lonnie Napier," I add.

"Ok. So why exactly did you two jump out of a two story window?"

"We didn't want you to catch us in the Joker's apartment."

"Lonnie," I hiss.

He shrugs. "It's true."

The police officer laughs. "Who told you boys that was the Joker's apartment?"

"Please," I say, turning my deadpan expression on the cop. "It's local knowledge 'round here."

"Then why were you there? If it's the Joker's apartment, weren't you boys afraid of running into him?"

Lonnie laughs and I grin. "It was a dare and besides, he hasn't been there for ages." I shrug. "It's not like it's a big deal."

For whatever reason, the cop's still humouring us, still playing along with our little act. "So why were you dared to go into the Joker's supposed apartment?"

"Because he killed a kid in there." It's all I can do not to stare at Lonnie when he says that.

The cop laughs again, but I can tell he's stopped humouring us. "Sorry boys, but if the Joker killed someone in there, we would've heard about it."

"Doubt it," I mutter. Lonnie kicks my foot so I roll my eyes at him.

"What?" The cop's eyes narrow.

"I'm just saying. The Joker's lived there for how long and how many times have the neighbours rung to just let you know that their next door neighbour is the most wanted criminal in Gotham?"

"Andrew," Lonnie warns but the cop says nothing and I carry on anyway.

"So if there was a kid in there and the Joker did kill him, it's not like the neighbours would've said anything. The poor thing could've screamed his head off or cried his eyes out but no one'd be coming to his rescue, would they?"

"Go home." The cop puts away his pad and pencil. We turn to leave. "And don't go sneaking into any more apartments," he adds for good measure.

"We won't," Lonnie calls over his shoulder as we jog away from him.

I'm furious. I haven't been this angry in I don't know how long. Neither of us says anything as we make our way back to my apartment.

"Hey," Lonnie says brightly as I slam the front door behind us. "Calm down, Andrew. It worked. You were right. Switching our last names was a good idea, and he bought the whole story about it being a dare. You were prepared. It was ok."

I punch the wall. It hurts like hell but I don't regret it. "Shut up."

"Com' on," he begins but I whirl around, cutting him off.

"You don't get it," I yell. "That bastard was so smug, so superior. He was so goddamn sure."

"Andrew -"

"I was a kid in that apartment. He did... so much to me." My voice starts to break. I throw the bag across the room. "I screamed all the time... cried for hours. But no one ever called the police for me. None of the neighbours cared enough for me. They shuttered their windows and locked their doors because they were afraid." I slump down against the wall as tears start to seep from the corners of my eyes. Soft footsteps make their way towards me and I instinctually flinch the way I always do after talking about my father. I open my eyes as Lonnie squats down beside me, resting a hand on my knee.

"I know you don't tell me everything. And that's cool with me. We don't know each other that well and we're just partners. But you can tell me things if you need to." I stare into his face. He's got bright red hair and these big, blue, innocent eyes that almost look out of place in a dirty, corrupt city like Gotham. A line of freckles run across his nose, making him look a lot younger than 18. "My Mom always says that sometimes you've just got to talk about things to get over them."

"Your Mom?"

He shrugs. "She's a lot better at dealing with people than I am."

"No kidding."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You don't get people, kid."

He stands up, his hands on his hips. "First of all; kid? You're only three years older than me; that doesn't give you superiority. Secondly, you were raised by the Joker. Just 'cause you know better than to stab people when they piss you off doesn't mean you've got good people skills either."

I can't help but smile a bit at that. "You're an asshole."

"You are too, buddy." He gives me his hand and I take it, getting up off the ground. "Now, look. I've gotta get going otherwise my Mom's gonna get worried and I'm gonna have deal with the mother of all shitstorms when I get home."

"That's fine."

He gives me a suspicious look. "Are you sure you're going to be alright? I don't just wanna walk out on you."

I force a grin. "I'll be fine. I just had to get it out of my system."

"Ok. I'll come by tomorrow and we can get to work on, you know," he makes air quotes with his fingers, "the plan."

"You're an idiot. Get out." I open the door for him and watch as he takes a few steps down the hallway. "Lonnie."

"Yeah?" He turns and smiles at me, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"Thanks. I might take you up on that offer one of these days."

"'Sup to you. See ya later."

I close the door behind him and lean my head against it. Tell him things. I laugh a little at the idea. There's no point in it. No point in dwelling on the past. And he doesn't really need to know these things, does he?

Turning around, I walk over and pick up my bag, dragging it to my bedroom. Dumping it on the bed and unzipping it, I pull out a couple of wigs and a small box full of makeup. Lonnie doesn't know what's in here. I had him keep watch while I got it out of my old bedroom. He didn't need to know. He doesn't need to know that I'm gay or that I used to do a drag act before Dad started killing drag queens to get back at me. Everything he did to me, everything he said, it's better off forgotten. It's all so... complicated. And unnecessary.

I start to move the contents of the bag to my wardrobe, putting it in boxes so it's at least partially hidden. I don't see a problem in hiding from my past. Sure, there are lots of people who do, Lonnie's Mom for one. But, with all due respect, none of them had the Joker for a father.