Chapter 2: Choices

Disclaimer: I claim no rights to any copyrighted material or characters otherwise affiliated.

Warnings/Notes: Based entirely on Heath Ledger's portrayal of Joker in "The Dark Knight." I apologize if any elements come across as out of character. Leah is entirely my own.

She awoke in a fog, her limbs heavy and throbbing. It took a great deal of effort for her to move at all, propping herself up on one elbow before succumbing to dizziness. She blinked repeatedly to clear her vision, anxiety mounting in her gut.

"Look alive sweetums." His eyes flickered over her crumpled form until she sat up to face him.

A curtain of tangled hair fell over her face as she fought with the lingering sourness in her mouth. She took a breath of stale air, eyes focused hard on the wall behind his head. She felt his glare before she could bring herself to meet it. An invasion of brown, two orbs cutting like the blade that'd kissed his scars.

She subconsciously lifted a hand to touch the dried blood on her neck, nervously peeling at it with her remaining fingernails. (Two on her right hand had been worn down in the struggle, staining her fingertips a rusty color.)

"Cat got your tongue?" With the weight of his stare gone, she was consumed by panic and a brief flash of purple. A hand patted her right cheek in a quick motion, the back then connecting with her left. "Word to the wise." He spoke. Her eyes widened as she began to register how close he'd come to her, she was mentally drained from their earlier encounter and hadn't noticed him come across the room in a haste that overturned his seat. "When I speak, I expect an answer." His voice was dangerously low, a guttural sound that crawled under her skin.

"I want to go home." Her whisper was anything but bold, but she managed to keep her voice from shaking.

"You wanna go home?" His voice seemed to jump six octaves, "too bad."

Reality took its shape. In a moment of courage she moved her gaze away from his own and tried to make out any traces of familiarity in the room. It was hauntingly bare, concrete walls splattered in odd places with something she couldn't make out, stretched for what she guessed was ten feet on all sides. His chair, folding metal, had scratched the cement floor and now lay at an awkward angle behind the two of them. She glanced up. A light bulb hanging. No fixture.

"Hey." She jumped at the sound of his voice, scolding herself immediately.

"Yeah." Her throat was so dry it was barely a whisper. Soon, she expected, he'd be raving 'Look. At. Me.' But she was distracted by the dark silouhette of her reflection in the metal chair, hallowed by the light. Her mind began to wander, how far had he taken her? What would he do with her now?

"Ya know." He grabbed her cheeks roughly in one hand, squeezing hard. She bit back a cry of pain that died a low, gurgling sound in her throat. "I can see this is gonna be difficult." His eyes sent a twinge or raw, crippling fear down her spine. "But-" the voice, still rasping, had jumped to a tauntingly higher pitch, "I like a challenge."

"What'd you want?" She spoke up, unable to form any other thoughts.

"Speak like you wanna be heard." He emphasized the 'k' in a way that made the word two syllables, spraying her with beads of saliva. He chuckled as she flinched, face still firmly, painfully, in his hold.

"What." She tried again, swallowing in an attempt to form coherent syllables, "Do you want?"

"Eh heh. Don't-don't start out like that sweetheart. It'll getcha in a lotta trouble. See I have plans for you, lots of plans, but those are for me to know." He giggled, releasing her cheeks and pushing her backwards. She felt weak, but wouldn't allow herself to fall over. She had to seem stronger than this, be stronger than this.

She held his eyes: a deadlock. Without saying a word she posed a final question, 'what now?' Even her captor did not seem to know. He spent a few long moments studying her face, plain, girlish features were set apart by large, almond shaped eyes: olive green. His contemplative expression quickly became a smirk, he stood to full height, yanking her to her feet in one swift motion.

She tried to stop herself from being drug off so easily but she was hopelessly overpowered, across the room, out the door, opened with such force that it collided with a bang against the wall, and into a strangely...extravagant hallway.

"Hey boys." They entered an almost normal looking living room behind another crashing door, like the balding regular in a bar that clanks his glass high in the air with anyone willing to listen to his woes. All eyes were upon the pair of them, she immediately took back the thought. These people were not the annoying drunks that stumbled into parking lots at all hours of the night, many of them were giant, brutish men with square features...glaring menacingly, hungrily, at her. "I want you all to meet little..."

"Leah." She provided, trying to keep her tone even, trying to think of anything aside from the overwhelming fear of being pinned to the ground and ravished.

"Well, ain't you pretty." A man to her left had abandoned his seat on the sofa to take a few steps closer to her.

"Careful Jason." She gasped as her abductor pulled a blade from his pocket, advancing on the blonde man with her still forcibly in tow. "We shouldn't touch what isn't ours." His voice dripped venom, and the man who was almost bold quickly backed down.

"S-sorry boss." He sputtered, taking a hesitant step away from the taller form.

"Yeah." The blade had made it's way to the man's cheek, cool metal trailing harshly over his skin, leaving a faint line of blood, "I thought so." He turned his attention to the rest of the assembly, who had wisely turned off the wall-mounted television upon his arrival. "Anyone else got something they wanna say to Leah?" He dared someone, anyone, to make a move. "Nooo? C'mon at least be welcoming."

She expected an awkward, mechanical chorus of 'hi' but was met with further silence and the raising of a few hands as if to wave at her.

"I SAID-" he roared, grip inadvertently tightening around her arm, "Welcome the girl."

"Hi Leah!" Instantly came at her from all sides.

"It's...hard...to find good help these days." The comment, though directed to her, was accompanied by a murderous glance at his mobsters.

"Hello." She said into the silence, she knew it lacked emotion, but in truth there was nothing left to give. She had never felt so exhausted, all she could manage to do between worrying and fighting tears was calculate a way out.

"Before we go any further." He loosened his hold, tones still housing remnants of disgust, "There need to be some...ground rules. Nobody here so much as looks at her unless I tell you." As it always seemed to, his voice implied a desire for someone to test the notion of his authority, and, as usual, his men left well enough alone. "She's my own little play thing, and I'm gonna have one hell of a time not sharing with the Bat." He laughed loudly and uproariously into the stillness.

The surrounding men shared a brief chuckle at the thought. It almost felt scripted.

"Keep half an eye on the news." He pocketed the blade, abandoning his hold on her to cross the room for a drink, "If Batsy makes a move, I wanna know." Words of affirmation came from more than a dozen mouths.

From somewhere behind her she heard an almost timid whisper, and felt something being prodded against her thigh. She chanced a look at the man who'd approached her, and at the eye contact he repeated, "Want a cigarette?" Somewhat confused, she looked down to the object in his hand. Sure enough, the slender cylinder was what he had extended earlier.

She cautiously moved to take it from him. At twelve years old she had never smoked a day in her life, but she felt like it might be a rite of passage among people like this, and didn't know what else to do but accept it. She spent a second examining the thing as she reached for it, trying to determine which end went in her mouth. She wouldn't find out today.

"No." Came the sharp, quipping voice of the Joker, "She doesn't." He delivered a quick blow to the man's head, causing him to drop the offending object.

The instinct to run suddenly came over her, but she dismissed it. Though it would be her only chance before he took her in vice grip, she knew she'd be scrambling blindly about a hideout she'd seen two rooms of. It would almost certainly end in recapture.

Fingers traced lightly over the bruising skin on her arm, no doubt from his previous hold on her. She shuddered at the touch, "Whatsa matter kid?" He took a handful of her hair and twisted it roughly around his fingers. "Nervous?"

The room seemed frozen, no one spoke or moved. She expected to be struck for her silence, but she was instead pulled just as suddenly and vigorously out of the room. This was her chance. Her eyes darted around the hallway, this, like the room they had just come from, was well lit and surprisingly decorated. He turned to the right, but she managed a glance behind them. To the left of the living area, back two doors, there were a flight or stairs leading down. She frowned. Unless there was a basement, they were on the second floor. Second story windows would be difficult to climb out of. It would require time, and if the Joker was anything, he was quick.

She returned her attention to their current path, they had passed four doors and come to a foyer with a large, carpeted staircase. Good. She mused to herself, it must be the first floor. Her hope was quickly dashed, he approached the staircase, pulling her hair harshly. She set her feet in front of it, not budging.

"Move." He growled lowly, instead of holding her ground, she almost sobbed. As brave as she tried to be, as much as she knew that the shortest distance to an exit was right here, right now, in this moment, she didn't want to challenge him. She remembered the blade in his pocket, his full intention of killing her at the mall. She swallowed hard to compose herself, and ascended the stairs. "Thaaat's a good girl." He purred from above her, "Things are gonna be uh...easier...if you do as you're told."

She kept swallowing tears, nodding her head, "Okay." She murmured. The top of the stairs became another long hallway. He made another right, and, to her dismay, walked all the way to the end of the hall. The last door on the right side opened with a brass, old-fashioned looking key that shared a pocket with the switchblade.

The door, painted white, swung open to reveal a bedroom. The colors were surprising muted. Stark white carpeting and white walls met a dark wood bedroom set in a finish she had seen stores describe as 'espresso.' A king sized bed adorned with black and white comforter was the main feature of the room. Beside it on either side were dark, vintage look end tables. Against a wall opposite the bed was an equally dark wood entertainment center, the top portion holding a large TV, the bottom portion a series of closed compartments. What they held, she did not want to know.

The rest of the furniture was equally as run-of-the-mill, nothing exceptionally threatening aside from a painting, probably custom, that hung on the wall above the bed in tones of black and white. a woman with her back to the viewer reaching to touch letters mounted on a wall, her hand dripping blood, the only element of color in the piece, a deep red gush. She didn't want to know who the woman was, didn't want to think that he might know her, might have known her.

She shook her head to clear her mind. There were two doors in the room, she guessed to closets. Her eyes followed his body in its movement, not realizing until that moment that he had relinquished his hold on her hair.

"You should probably..." He drawled out the syllables as he fished around for another key. "Take a shower." As he opened the door to the bathroom, she glanced behind her. There wasn't an enormous distance between the two of them, and the stairs were terribly far away, but something in her stirred, once again urging her to run. She took a hesitant step back, testing how muffled the sound of her footsteps would be before deciding that there was no time to be sneaky. Now or never. Fight or flight. An ultimatum. Stay where she had no idea what awaited her, and hope the most sinister criminal in all of Gotham would not torture her at his every whim, or try, desperately, to make an escape.

Silently, she made a choice. In an instant she had thrown herself out the door, barreling down the long hallway, thankfully carpeted, allowing for more traction. She passed the first door, the second. She could hear the vicious voice behind her, yelling fierce, furious things. It did not deter her. Please... she prayed please...

He was fast approaching her, though she was moving so quickly she felt like flying. Her legs were impossibly shorter and couldn't cover as much distance as his. She felt his tall form closing in as she came to the railing that created a short barrier between the hallway and floor below. She could think only of what it would mean to be caught. Torture, a slow, sickening death. She put both hands on the wood, pushed to hoist herself over it, and let her body begin to fall.

Her mind was a frenzy of questions, an overwhelming rush of adrenaline and hysteria, how much damage would the fall do? Could she outrun him? Was there anywhere to run to? Questions. Panic. A distant voice at her back, and then -

Nothing.

Notes From The Author: Feel free to leave any feedback you may have, critical or otherwise. Thanks for reading.