Rumor is that an Italian by the name of Luigi Maroni was trying to take over the Mob. Not on his watch. For now, though, he'd have to stay low and keep recruiting more men, namely the escaped Arkham patients. At least, those who were intelligent enough to follow orders with a large wad of cash waved in their faces. They weren't hard to find, either, since his fellow criminals had the same idea. But, the Joker has something that the Mob doesn't: the ability to wield fear. Sure, the Mob knows how to instill it, but they don't know how to delve into the deep recesses of a person's mind and bring out the corruptness within with just a sentence. For now, the Joker would just wander around and find out if the rumors were true.

"Hey, clowns! Why don't you entertain us a bit, eh?" A heavily accented drawl from his left said. He glanced sideways and recognized two of Falcone's men headed their way.

"Why, we'd be delighted, wouldn't we boys?" Out of the corners of eyes he saw his two clowns nod, smiling masks hiding their knowing smirks.

"Have a seat, fellas," the Joker said, gesturing toward the crates nearby. The two took him up on the suggestion.

"Do ya like magic tricks?" They nodded, "wonderful, my specialty. Now, I want you on the left to focus on my knife, you on the right to focus on my friends."

The Clown Prince drew a knife from a pocket and spun it around in his hand, all the while walking closer to the man on the left. The other two clowns started to juggle their guns in front of the one on the right. Falcone's men were easily distracted to turn back to back from each other.

"Now, watch closely. I'm going to make the knife disappear."

In one fluid motion, the knife flew from his hand and straight into the man's eye. Screaming, he dropped to the ground while the clowns shot the opposite dimwit. Licking his dry lips, the Joker approached the wounded Mob member and yanked out the knife and urged him to shush.

"There, was that entertaining enough for you?"

The man whimpered, staring wide-eyed with his now single eye.

"Answer me!" The Joker yelled as he grabbed the man's face with one hand and pointing the bloody knife in his victim's face with the other.

Tears streamed from the man's face as he nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Who do you work for, hm?" The knife inched toward the good eye.

"N-no!"

"No? I'm not very familiar with him."

Another blood-curdling scream erupted as the other eye was stabbed.

"You don't seem very happy. Shall I put a smile on that face for you?"

The Joker yanked his knife through the cheeks of the already bloodied man's face, laughing in the process.

"M-Mar-o-ni," the man squealed out.

"Oooh, now him I'm familiar with. See, that wasn't so hard!"

With a final motion he slit the man's throat and stood, giggling all the way back to the car. The rumors were indeed true.

"Oh honey, I'm home!" Shouted a gruff voice laced with drunken slurs from the living room. The young boy of nine looked up at his mother in fear as she stood to go greet her husband. Silently, he followed to watch from the hallway.

"Where's my dinner, bitch?" The overweight and smelly man demanded.

"It's right there, dear, on the table," the boy's mother said calmly. His father turned to look at the lone plate and freshly opened bottle of beer waiting for him.

"You ate without me, did you? That's not what I told you to do!"

Cowering in terror, the little boy watched his father go for his mother with a fat fist. Normally he wasn't this bad; he figured the abusive man had had an unsuccessful day at work or lost a bet at the bar.

Suddenly, his mom grabbed a kitchen knife to defend herself, putting her body between her husband and son.

"Oh, so you think you can swing a knife ah me, eh?"

Laughing, the drunk grabs the knife and stabs his wife in the heart while his son watched in absolute horror. Then, he turned to his son.

"Why so serious? You ought to follow my example and be happy. Let's put a smile on that face!"

He grabs his son's face and slowly carves a curved line from each corner of the boy's mouth, creating a Glasgow smile. Still laughing, he drops the knife and the screaming boy to go get another drink.

Choking on his own blood, the boy sits up and coughs and splutters. Then, he notices the knife on the floor near him. Glaring murderously at his father, he grabs the bloodied kitchen utensil and charges his assailant. Before he can do anything, the elder man is stabbed right in the small of his back. As he howled and doubled over in pain, his son stepped back in shock. Not at his own actions, but in shock that he liked the feeling. He felt rage overtake him once more and stabbed over and over into his father's back. Half screaming, half laughing in shock, he found himself dragging the knife in random patterns. Somehow, he knew he wasn't aiming to kill. Yet.

The boy heaved his father to turn over so he could see his blubbering, flushed, pain-stricken face. He thought back to what the main had said only moments ago about following his example, and carved a matching Glasgow smile into his fat face. Then he stabbed him repeatedly in the heart and it was suddenly silent, save for the boy's labored breathing. He pulled the knife out of the dead man's chest and stared at it, then staring at the profusely bleeding wounds that were beginning to halt.

Sirens broke the silence. They were growing closer with every wail, bringing the boy back to his senses. He ran. He ran until he fainted from blood loss, the rain washing the blood from his body. From then on he lived on the streets, cared for and mentored by the Mob.

The Joker's eyes snapped open. He was momentarily confused until he realized it was only a dream. Well, a memory precisely. If he was doing his math correctly, that should've been about eleven years ago, and the very first time he'd ever dreamt about that particular event.

Eyes narrowed and a frown upon his lips, he sat up and looked in the mirror to make sure his greasepaint "mask" was still on.

"You okay, Boss?" One of his men asked from the doorway.

"Okay? Okay? I'm absolutely ecstatic! After all, it's time to pick up my mail!" He said gleefully and giggled with excitement as he sauntered out the room. Two of his clowns followed, slightly afraid but generally used to the Joker's attitude. It was about six A.M., an hour before the mailman delivered to Gotham City Apartments, particularly Rachel Dawes' mailbox. The Agent of Chaos simply couldn't wait to see her reply.

The young woman in question had, indeed, replied to her "Secret Admirer." He'd said:

Dear Miss Dawes,

Why, my identity wouldn't be a secret if I told you now would it? And as for how I know you, let's just say upon first glance you interested me. Now, why would you throw away such delicious treats that I went out of my way to buy? After all, there was the matter of getting your address and secretly leaving the box on your doorstep as well. You could be a little more grateful. How about flowers, next?

Your Secret Admirer

The man seemed sweet and intelligent, she thought. But, some if not most people are different in person than in the written word. Rachel spent a decent amount of time thinking on how she would reply, still reluctant to decide if this was real or not. Going on impulse once again, she wrote back:

Dear Secret Admirer,

You have a point. And I'm sorry, being a D.A. in a city like this does make one skeptical of secrecy. You could very well be a mob boss, a pawn of one, a fellow employee, a random citizen, or even a woman and I don't even know it. That's what makes me paranoid.

Rachel

P.S. Surprise me with the flowers.

Telling him to surprise her probably wasn't the best idea. Heck, they could be laced with poison ivy or something to make her ill, or perhaps even dead. Maybe if she told Bruce about it…

She jumped when her phone rang, but relaxed as she picked it up.

"Rachel Dawes," she answered automatically.

"Hey," said a familiar deep voice.

"I was just about to call you, Bruce," she said with a smirk.

"Oh, really? What for?"

"I've been getting these letters and presents from a secret admirer. It wouldn't be you, would it?"

"Me? Nah, I wouldn't be secretive about something like that. What kind of gifts?"

"So far, chocolates. He said he'd send flowers next."

"Definitely not my kind of thing. I'd buy you the entire chocolate factory!"

Rachel laughed, "I figured. But, what if it's someone out to get me?"

"Why would someone want to get you? Falcone's in Arkham and I doubt any of his men really care about it."

"Hmm, good point. I may just be over thinking it, then. It's probably just that Harvey Dent guy that's running for D.A.; he's been flirting with me since he met me."

"Yeah? I'll do a check on him."

"Oh, Bruce!"

"Kidding, relax. Just be careful alright?"

"I will. What'd you call for, anyway?"

"Just checking up on you."

"Well I appreciate your concern, Bruce, I'm fine. What about you?"

"I'm alright. Batman hasn't had much to do lately, I'm afraid, so I'm terribly bored. Care to go to dinner tomorrow?"

"Sure, as long as you don't bring two supermodels with you," she joked.

"All right, I'll pick you up at seven then. See you tomorrow," he said with a chuckle.

"See you then."

Rachel clicked the "End" button and put the phone back on the stand. Yawning, she strode to the window and peered outside at Gotham. It was a beautiful city at night; shame it was filled to the brim with criminals and corrupt government officials. A movement down by the sidewalk caught her eye. She made out a silhouette of a figure near the mailboxes. Gasping, she opened the window and called out to him.

"Hey, wait!"

The figure paused, turning to face her. She couldn't see him, just the outline of his tall, lanky body. She could, however, see the reflection of the lamplight several yards away from him in his eyes.

"Who are you?" She called out. He didn't respond, but merely bowed and strode away. She wanted to follow him, but in a second he was gone.

Admitting defeat, Rachel huffed in frustration. He was so…strange. Why didn't he let her at least hear his voice if he didn't want her to see him? With a sudden thought, Rachel realized that her situation was slightly similar to that of the Phantom and Christine in Phantom of the Opera. Remembering that she had a day off tomorrow, she smiled and put the movie on.

She ended up falling asleep during the credits, but slightly awoke when she felt a pair of strong arms pick her up and carry her to her room. As soon as she touched the bed she fell immediately back into slumber, not noticing covers being pulled over her and a leather glove move the hair from her eyes. She also did not notice the soft whisper in her ear that said,

"You really shouldn't keep the window open, Miss Dawes."