He turned at the sound of the slight muted murmur, worrying his scars with his tongue as he took in the sight. A wisp of a faded scent came to him, teasing his senses with the memory of a long-forgotten fragrance.
Another murmur enticed him into crossing the room; the scent wasn't enough to make him move. As he approached, he could see that she was still out, but she'd come round soon. He hadn't hit her that hard. He had been careful this time.
He chose to sit down and watch her rather than continue to explore the ins and outs of her small apartment. Although, what he had found had interested him. Shelves full of romance novels, small crucifixes in most, if not every room, perfume; everything about that was familiar. The scent, the bottle, even the way it had been placed on the dresser… And no photographs. Not one.
A moth; small, easily forgotten, drifted across the room and landed, somewhat obtrusively, on the arm of the chair that he had tied her to. The moth, insignificant creature that it was, was intruding on a private moment he was sharing with her. He hated it when that happened.
Standing slowly, he reached for his knife in his pocket and gradually began to move toward the chair, gently fingering the blade beneath his worn leather gloves. Then, with a short stab, the Joker skewered the moth on the knife's blade.
Sitting awkwardly in that chair, her arms tied tight behind her back, her head lolled, dirty blonde hair falling across her face. As she groaned, he let go of the knife handle, leaving the blade sticking into the wooden chair arm, and grabbed her jaw, pushing her head back until he could see her eyelids flickering.
There was something about her face that brought small snatches of a past life, a forgotten life, to the forefront of his mind. Random images that flashed bright for a moment then died before he could tell if they were real or purely imaginary; before he could grasp the meaning or the story.
He could tell she was coming round. It was something to do with the expression on her face, something he'd seen before in the faces of others who'd once been in her position.
As her eyes slowly opened, he let go of her jaw, taking a step back and watching as her head lolled back with half-closed eyelids. Then gradually, in a great arc, she rolled her head around until her chin came to rest on her chest. With a sigh, she opened her eyes and lifted her head, an expression of fear on her face that did not quite meet her eyes. They remained calm, solemn and piercing, reminding him of an expression that he could not quite see made by a person who may or may not be a figment of his imagination.
"Why?" She whispered, fear making her voice quiver quite noticeably.
He smiled his macabre grin, showing yellow teeth.