Chapter Three
"When are you going to tell me what we're actually doing?" I demand in a soft whisper, my arm tucked through his as we walk around meeting Gotham's richest.
"Don't worry, it's just some detective work," he replies, his voice equally quiet.
"I wish it didn't involve meeting people," I mutter before flashing a smile at a random person. Bruce had made me put makeup on before we went in, so I hope it doesn't look bad. Well, now I'm worrying about what I look like. The next thing I know, I'll be babbling about how the other people look. Although, now that I think about it, that blue is so not her color…Shaking my head, I clear my mind of all thought.
"Oh, Bruce Wayne! I'm surprised to see you here!" A short, round faced woman accompanied by an extremely thin man make their way over. "And who is this young lady?"
"It has been a while, Mr. and Mrs. Potts. This is a friend of mine, Noelle Walters. Noelle, Mr. and Mrs. Potts." He introduces us politely, and I smile awkwardly.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," I say, nodding my head slightly.
"Bruce, you bring a different lady to every party! You're so scandalous!" She bats his arm with one hand, laughing. I fight to keep the smile on my face, itching to just choke her with her own diamond necklace. "But you never know, this one could be a keeper." She winks at me before pulling her husband over to the entrée table. A faint heat rises to my cheeks in embarrassment at the seemingly harmless comment. Thankfully, Bruce doesn't seem to notice, and he leads me up the stairs overlooking everything.
"So now are you going to tell me?" I ask again, dropping his arm.
"Of course. Recently, the Joker has acquired some expensive handouts, and I know it's one of the people at this party," he explains lowly.
"But how is this supposed to help? What are you going to do, go up and ask if anybody here works with the Joker? Yeah, like that's going to work." He glances down at me sharply before leaning against the rail.
"You'll see," he says simply, bringing the glass of champagne to his lips. A sudden scream interrupts, and he sets it on a small table before looking over to see what the problem is. Meanwhile, I feel a sharp pain in my temple, resembling the beginning of a headache, only more concentrated. "Just a spider," he reports, facing me. When he sees my pained expression, he frowns. "I thought the morphine would still be in effect."
"It's not my back, it's my head," I reply, wincing. I close my eyes tightly, wanting the pain to go away. It seems like I can never get a rest from the siege of pain. When I open my eyes again, there's a man standing in front of me. Bruce seems to have vanished into thin air. "Who are you? Where's Bruce?" Another scream sounds from the bottom of the stairs, but it's followed by several others. "What the hell?" I start to dash down, but the man grabs my arm. "Let go of me!" I exclaim, yanking and trying to pull away. "Bruce? Bruce?!" I yell, but over the commotion I doubt he can hear me.
"The Joker would like to see you," the man says plainly. He pulls the table up and pushes me into the chair, holding me there. Not surprisingly, the Joker himself strides up the stairs, looking extremely satisfied.
"Ah, here's the little bird. I was beginning to wonder if you'd forgotten the chore I assigned." So smug.
"You bastard! You ruined my life, you glorified asshole! I hope you choke! I'm going to pull out your eyes and feed them to you! You asshole!" I scream, seething with pure rage. Red seeps at the corners of my vision, and I yank myself free of the thug, leaping for the Joker. I manage to tackle him to the ground, but after I land a few blows to his face, the thug is pulling me back. I squirm and try to kick the giant in the shin, though he's unaffected. The Joker rises, smiling widely.
"I see the little bird is still a wild cat," he purrs in his sickly sweet voice, wiping the blood from his mouth.
"What have you done with Bruce?" I demand, narrowing my eyes. "If you hurt him, so help me I'll-"
"You'll what? Punch me? Kick me? Bite me? Rip out my intestines?" He taunts, pulling out a knife. Shaking his head, he strokes the blade. "This is the same knife I cut your wings with, little bird. Did you ever wonder what I did with your wings?" I swallow nervously. "I thought they would make a great wall decoration, and they did. I got many compliments on them."
"You're sick!" I say, spitting on the ground. "Where is Bruce?"
"You mean the man I hired you to spy on? Don't forget about our agreement, or it won't be your wings that will be cut off." His lips turn into an animalistic snarl, and I close my eyes tightly. When I open them again, he's gone, and Bruce lays on the floor unconscious.
"Bruce!" I practically dive to his side and shake his shoulder. When I get no response, I slap his cheeks. I put my ear to his chest, only to hear silence. "Damn it, I don't know what to do!" My voice is desperate, and I sit up, trying to remember the babysitting course I took in which they taught CPR. I place my hands at the end of the ribcage and pump thirty times. I tilt his head back and blow air into his lungs. I pump again, my hands shaking with fear. Damn the Joker! Damn him! I start to blow air into his lungs again when I get a response. Before I realize what's happening, he's kissing me. My mind goes blank, and I forget that the Joker just stood where I am now.
I snap out of the reverie and propel myself away, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, feigning disgust. He sits up, coughing and looking at me with a slight smile. "Blech!" I shake my head.
"What happened?" Bruce asks, rising and holding out his hand. I suddenly remember that night when he saved me, except this time I take it.
"The Joker happened," I answer quietly, avoiding his gaze.
"Hey." He tilts my head up. "What happened?"
"He was reminding me about one of my jobs. He said if I didn't do it I was going to lose a body part." I can't bring myself to tell him that I'm Angel. On my record, the Joker had helped me keep it clean and normal looking, so that nobody could find out Noelle Walters was Angel. That's the only thing I'm thankful for.
"What is this job?"
"It's…" I lick my lips, not wanting to tell him the truth. "He wants me to take out the leader of the Street Rats gang." It's not a lie; he did at one time.
"Ah. What kind of name is Street Rats?"
"You'd be surprised." I offer a small smile, and he takes my arm.
"Well, we'd better leave and let the police clear up everything." He escorts me down the stairs, and I actually begin to feel safe. I look back at the glass of champagne Bruce left on the table. I stare at it for a few moments, and then turn back. Behind me, the sound of shattering glass is heard. I glance at where it once stood, but it's gone. Frowning, I allow Bruce to walk me outside. I could have sworn I felt a little tug.