Chapter Four
The Joker moved farther into the living room and then stopped when he stood in the doorway to the kitchen. His jaw was locked tight and a frown marked his features as he stared down at Taylor's eerily still form lying on the floor.
She was bleeding profusely, that much he could tell. Her eyes were closed while her arms lay motionless at her sides. As the Joker looked her over, he grudgingly came to the conclusion that he couldn't very well let her bleed to death—not now anyways. Not after all he'd done for her. Besides, if he was going to use her later, then he'd have to keep her alive long enough in order to do so. He had big plans for her and he wasn't about to let them all go to waste because he refused to help her when she was obviously hurt. Though, the idea of actually helping someone other than himself almost made him laugh—he just didn't . . . do things like that. The only person he cared about was himself—and Batman of course, but that was different.
In an attempt to keep himself from rolling his eyes at the absurdity of it all, he narrowed them instead and suddenly clicked the switchblade he had been holding shut, pocketing the object in his jacket as he moved further into the kitchen.
He crouched down at Taylor's side as his eyes glazed over her seemingly lifeless form, watching as the moonlight illuminated her tanned and dirt-stained cheeks. Her long, tangled blonde hair was still in its messy ponytail and was matted with blood, her head surrounded by a pool of the dark substance. Slowly and somewhat hesitantly, he reached out his hand to assess the damage on the back of her head, lifting it from the floor and none-too-gently feeling along the back of it, the pads of his fingers instantly becoming slick with blood.
In response, her long, black lashes ever-so-slowly began to flutter against her cheeks. The Joker watched as her green eyes opened and then began to fill with water. A small, panicked moan of pain ebbed from the back of her throat while her eyes gradually began to open wider, her face contorted in pain as lines creased across her forehead.
Lowering his knees to the floor instead of resting his weight on his haunches, the Joker placed both of his palms onto the floor on either side of her head and lowered his face down over hers. As she struggled to open her eyes, her lashes fluttering wildly against her cheeks, he carefully studied her eyes, his brows furrowing together when he noticed that the black surrounding her irises was abnormally large. That probably isn't good . . . .
Her eyes were now wide open and were rolling around in their sockets, blindly searching the blackened room around her, looking for anything steady that her eyes could hold onto. The Joker could only assume that she was disoriented and dizzy, her lashes continuing to flutter helplessly, as if the room was somehow much too bright despite there being hardly any light at all.
As if suddenly noticing that the Joker was leaning over her, her eyes widened immensely, and with a small, raspy moan, she made a weak attempt to twist her body away from him. She couldn't even lift her limbs off the floor.
She's still scared of me, the Joker immediately came to realize. Even in her disillusioned state, she still remembered what had happened between them earlier that day, when he had pulled his switchblade on her.
Thinking that he would try to hurt her, she immediately panicked, her eyes brimming with tears as she openly began to cry, half from fear that he would harm her, and half from the pain that was beginning to explode in her head.
Running his tongue along the insides of his cheek in contemplation, he vaguely began to realize that he needed to get her off the floor. The pain was only going to get worse from here on out. Hesitating for only a moment, he slipped his arm underneath the small of her back and wrapped it around her tiny waist. As blood dripped onto the floor from the sudden movement, he placed his other hand at the back of her head, supporting it as he slowly lifted Taylor off the ground as he himself rose to his feet, holding her sideways in his arms.
Without warning, she suddenly let out a shrill scream and arched her back in pain as she was lifted off the floor, both of her hands subconsciously flying to grasp the back of her head in an effort to subdue the pain that was throbbing there.
The Joker's face remained blank and expressionless as his eyes briefly fell to the tiled floor in front of him, noticing that there was a sharp object lying in the sticky pool of blood. Looking closer, he saw that it was a piece of glass from one of the china plates that had been in the sink.
Perfect, he thought sarcastically, immediately hoping that Taylor wasn't going to need stitches. A concussion he could handle, but he wasn't very good when it came to stitching needles through other people's skin, let alone his own skin.
Sure enough, there was a broken china plate on the floor just several feet away from where he was standing. Taylor must have had it in her hands when she had fallen off the chair, probably trying to get a slice of pizza.
The small girl abruptly let out another cry of pain as fresh tears spilled from her eyes. Her tiny fingers curled around the Joker's own that were holding the back of her head up.
Deciding on what he should do, he turned on his heel and went into the living room, blood dripping onto the floor as he moved.
Swiping his tongue over the swell of his bottom lip, his eyes roamed over the expanse of the room and suddenly fell on the old, wrangled couch. He carried her over to it while she sobbed loudly in his arms, her face contorted in a painful grimace. The Joker bent down and carefully laid her down onto it, slipping his arm out from underneath the small of her back as he went to straighten himself upright. But before he could, Taylor suddenly let out a sharp cry as both of her hands shot out to grasp the lapels of his jacket, preventing him from standing up straight.
The Joker rolled his eyes in frustration and began to pry her tiny fingers from his jacket. But the task seemed infinitely harder than he thought; she had them curled around there pretty tight. With a short, irritated sigh, he suddenly bent down lower and dropped his face directly above hers, staring into her eyes threateningly. "What do you want, hm?" His eyes were narrowed coldly while his dark, nasally voice sent goose bumps erupting all across Taylor' arms.
She swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut momentarily, only to open them a second later as more heavy tears spilled down her cheeks. She gripped onto the Joker's jacket even tighter, her knuckles turning white from the effort and her palms slick with sweat and her own blood. "It hurts," she moaned weakly, once more squeezing her eyes shut as a sharp, stinging sensation invaded her senses, the back of her skull throbbing painfully. "Please don't go," she begged.
The Joker paused and regarded her silently for a moment, staring at her while her wide eyes pleaded desperately with his own for him not leave her, which she mistakenly thought he was trying to do. Narrowing his eyes at her, he frowned. He didn't understand her behavior. One minute she was terrified of him and the next minute she didn't want him to leave her side. Could she not make up her mind?
Turning his head away from her, he raised his eyes toward the ceiling as he worked his mouth in a frustrated matter, hardly believing what he was about to do. He slipped his arm underneath her back once more and placed his hand at the back of her head. Lifting her up off the couch and then turning around to seat himself down on it, he was now holding the girl in his arms. He then began to gently massage his fingers through her tangled hair, fingering the raw skin of her scalp to make sure that no stray pieces of glass were lodged into her skin. The action sent pain shooting to the back of her skull and she sobbed loudly, coughing and choking through her tears. The Joker continued to thread his fingers through her matted hair, his fingertips already stiff and dry from blood as even more of the red substance coated his fingers. He needed to find something that would stop all this bleeding.
His eyes quickly swept over the expanse of the room, searching for something he could use to clean up all her blood. The room was mostly dark, save for the white streams of moonlight that poured in through the bay window, but even those couldn't reach the far corners and crevices of the room.
Twisting sideways, he looked over the armrest of the couch and spotted a tattered, thin bed sheet that lay in a crumpled heap on the floor.
That will have to do.
As her choked sobs continued to fill the silence of the room, he picked the object up off the ground and bunched it up into a small ball with his free hand while his other hand was still supporting the back of her head. He placed the sheet on the armrest and then proceeded to gently lay Taylor's head there, the rest of her body coming to rest tiredly in his lap. She whimpered in pain at the shift in position and weakly attempted to turn her head sideways, trying to bury her face in the Joker's jacket. He immediately stiffened at the action, unaccustomed to having someone so intimately close to him.
Holding her in his arms—it just didn't feel . . . right to him . . . though he would have been lying to himself if he would have said that it didn't feel strangely good. Because it did feel good. It felt good because she wasn't fighting him. She wasn't pushing him away or screaming for help and she wasn't trying to poke his eyeballs out. He couldn't even remember the last time someone had willingly let him hold them in his arms, if there had even ever been a moment in his life such as that.
Taylor's sobs pulled him out of his thoughts, and the Joker couldn't help but watch her intently, somewhat intrigued by the way her green eyes glistened with tears and how her long, wet lashes would stick to her cheeks whenever she blinked. Before he even knew what he was doing, he draped his arm over her waist and squeezed her gently, hesitantly. "Hey . . . hey, sh sh shhh." He whispered gently to her, trying to calm her down.
At the sudden sound of his voice, Taylor's eyes instantly darted to his face and her crying softened. She could hardly see him through her stream of tears and she weakly brushed them away with the back of her hand, her other hand still clutched onto the lapel of his jacket, her knuckles white from gripping the fabric so tightly. Her face streaked with tears, she crinkled her nose as she sniffled loudly and blinked, feeling her wet lashes stick to her cheeks. Letting out a shaky, shuddering breath, she continued to quietly sob as she finally averted her gaze from the Joker's. Tears rolled down her cheeks as he stiffly held her in his arms and stared blankly at her, suddenly realizing once again how crazy this was. He was crazy. He was not supposed to be doing this. It all felt wrong. Very, very, very wrong.
The Joker reminded himself that he was just trying to keep her alive. That was the only reason why he was taking care of her, as if reminding himself of that would somehow soften the blow that was reality. The fact of the matter was, he, the mass murdering and psychopathic freak . . . was cradling a little girl in his arms . . . and he wasn't attempting to kill her.
The very thought of it was so funny that he almost laughed.
Turning his head away from her, he resolved to stare at the wall on the other side of the room directly across from him, wondering what the Bat would think about all this. He could just imagine him bursting into the room and finding him, the Joker, sitting on the couch with this little girl crying in his arms. Oh, the conclusions he'd probably jump to. Batman would wonder if the girl was his daughter—as if—but then he'd quickly dismiss the idea and move onto something else. The Joker could just picture him now, looking all cool and collected while inside his mind was reeling and he was left feeling speechless and confused. His cowl always had a way of masking his real emotions so well, but the Joker had learned to decipher them, the eyes especially. Batman's eyes were like a story, and the Joker could read them perfectly.
Vaguely, the Joker came to realize that Taylor's crying had gradually subsided, and as he looked down at her, he was surprised to find that she was staring up at him intently, her small lips parted as if in awe.
But when his blank gaze met hers, she blushed, heat rising to her cheeks as she turned her head away from him, burying her face in the crook of his arm.
The Joker ran his tongue over his bottom lip as he felt a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, amused that she was being so shy. No one had ever acted shy around him. Nervous and hesitant, sure, but not timid and shy. The concept was something he found almost slightly endearing, but then again she was just a kid, and kids tended to by shy no matter who you were.
Once she had recovered from her small moment of embarrassment, she turned her head back around to look up at the Joker, almost disappointed to find that he was no longer paying attention to her. She tugged lightly on his jacket that she was still clutching, attempting to get the his attention once more. He immediately looked down at her as she looked back up at him, both of their gazes unwavering.
Taylor swallowed thickly, suddenly finding that her throat felt dry and scratchy from crying. She opened her lips to speak but found no sound would come out. The Joker simply looked at her expectantly and she let out a cough that racked her body. "I wanna drink," she whispered quietly, hesitating slightly in her speech, somewhat afraid of how the Joker might react to her request.
He didn't hit her like she half expected him to, nor did he say "get it yourself" like her mother usually did. He simply sighed a bit irritably and licked his dry lips, lifting Taylor up off his lap and then laying her back down on the couch.
He could feel Taylor's eyes on his back as he stepped into the kitchen, his eyes roaming over the countertop for any cups of some sort. There was a baby bottle on the counter, one he assumed that belonged to Taylor, and as he walked further into the room, sidestepping the pool of blood on the floor, he picked it up and unscrewed the cap, bringing the bottle over to the sink. He turned the facet on and waited as the water gurgled through the rusted and frozen pipes. It took a while, but finally a small trickle of water spit out from the facet and into the sink. It was water from the Narrows so it probably wasn't very clean, but it would have to do. After filling up the bottle, he screwed the cap back on and carried it into the living room.
As Taylor heard him enter she tried to lift her head up from the armrest of the couch but then cried out in pain and let her head fall back onto the balled-up sheet.
"Don't do that," he mumbled in an annoyed tone of voice as he neared the side of the couch. He knelt down by her side as her eyes followed his every movement. He dropped the bottle at her side and she weakly took it, her eyes never straying from his face as she brought the bottle to her lips, thirstily sipping up the liquid inside. "Good girl," he said, his voice low. He rose to his feet then and rolled his eyes, moving over to the bay window as Taylor's eyes followed him across the room.
It was snowing again, the harbor water covered in a thick sheet of ice as white flakes continued to fall from the black sky, coating everything in a powdery white.
Suddenly, the Joker felt a tug on his trousers, and he turned his head to look down over his shoulder. Taylor was standing behind him, one of her hands cupped behind her head. He lifted his brow in question at her and she cleared her throat uncomfortably, her eyes downcast. "I . . ." she hesitated, wincing in pain when the sharp stinging at the back of her head resumed, "my hair is yucky," she finished, her tone suggesting that she was slightly embarrassed but mostly apologetic.
He simply raised both brows this time and shook his head as if to say what do you want me to do about it? He turned his back on her one more but she once again tugged on his pants.
"What?" he snapped.
Taylor shrank back at the tone of his voice, chewing nervously on her bottom lip for a moment. "I need to take a bath."
The Joker's eyes narrowed considerably. "A what?"
She shuffled backwards slightly, still wary of him and his possible intentions. "I need to take a bath," she repeated in a small voice, her head lowered as she looked up at the Joker from beneath her lashes. He still looked unconvinced, so she continued on. "Mommy said when I get dirty I have to take a bath."
Well, unfortunately for her, he didn't give a rat's ass about what her mommy said. "I don't do baths."
There was silence for a long moment before Taylor shifted closer to him again, ignoring his former statement. "Can't you . . . put water in the bathtub . . . please?"
The Joker closed his eyes and turned around, facing the window once more as his jaw tightened in anger despite himself. He had kept her alive thislong, could she not just appreciate that fact and stop causing him trouble? Did she not understand that he didn't want to go out of his way for her? He had already dressed her, damn it, did she really expect him to bathe her, too? Geez, if he would have known how much effort taking care of a kid would be he wouldn't even considered using her for his plan at all. As it happened to be, however, he did need her. She was almost too perfect for his plan, it certainly would do no good to get rid of her.
But that didn't mean he was going to acquiesce to her every desire and need, either. He'd fill up the bathtub for her, and that was it. No more favors.
Wordlessly, he turned and began to trudge up the stairs, stopping only when he noticed that Taylor wasn't following behind him. "You comin' or what?"
Taylor nodded her head and eagerly scampered up the stairs behind him, still holding a hand to the back of her head. Her wound had stopped bleeding, but it still hurt her terribly and the slight pressure seemed to abate that a bit.
The Joker didn't wait for her to reach the top and instead moved directly into the bathroom. He flicked on the light switch upon entering and a dull, mustard-y yellow glow illuminated the small, cramped bathroom. The walls were a faded peach color while frayed, ripped seashell-adorned wallpaper hung loosely off the walls. The sink, toilet, and bathtub had long sense seen better days; the once white porcelain now dirty and yellowed. The silver faucets were rusted and caked in grime and the linoleum floor looked much the same. Thankfully for Taylor, the tub wasn't half bad, and the Joker guessed that it must have been used recently. He turned on the water to its warmest setting and stepped back.
Taylor had entered the small bathroom just as a horribly loud scraping noise surged through the metal pipes hidden in the walls. The Joker turned around to see her covering both ears with the palms of her hands, trying to block out the shrill shriek of water pressure trying to reach the pipes.
After several long moments of the unpleasant scraping noise, it abruptly cut off, leaving silence in its wake. "Aw come on," the Joker groaned to himself, hoping that the water wasn't frozen in the pipes. Without warning, he gave the faucet a good, powerful kick.
A stream of water immediately gushed from the faucet, and the Joker smirked to himself triumphantly, obviously pleased with himself. He fixated the stopper in the drain at the bottom of the tub before turning back around to face Taylor.
Only to find that she wasn't there.
His brows furrowed together and he stepped out into the hallway, first looking down the staircase to his left and then back down the long hallway.
"Ohhh doll face," he crooned in his nasally voice, "where'd you gooo?" He wasn't running this bathwater for himself, after all . . . .
Taylor's head suddenly popped out of one of the rooms further on down the hallway. When she saw it that it was the Joker who had been calling her, she grinned to herself and excitedly scurried towards him, several shampoo-shaped bottles encased in her arms.
"Sorry," she said breathlessly, glancing up at him only briefly before she squeezed past him to set all her bottles on the rim of the tub. Once she had set them up just the way she wanted them, she turned back around.
He had a strange look on his face and simply eyed her expectantly. "You gonna get in?"
Taylor turned around and dipped a finger into the water. "It's too cold."
The Joker rolled his eyes and moved past her, dropping to his knees by the side of the tub to turn the knob farther left so the water would get warmer. "Satisfied?"
Without waiting for an answer, he moved to stand to his feet when Taylor suddenly reached out her hand and grabbed onto his sleeve. His eyes lazily wandered to meet hers, curious as to what she was doing.
"I need help," she said shyly, tugging at her dress.
The Joker internally groaned and shifted on his knees to be closer to her as she lifted up her arms. Wanting to be quick about it, he did it rather roughly, forgetting about the large gash on the back of her head, making Taylor cry out in pain as the dress slipped over her head and brushed against the laceration.
She gently rubbed the back of her head. "Ow."
He discarded her dress on the floor and once again she stood before him in just her white underwear. His gaze briefly wandered down her body as Taylor watched his eyes, wondering what he was thinking as he looked at her. He glanced back up at Taylor's face and briefly met her eyes before he turned off the faucet and abruptly rose to his feet.
Frowning, she folded her arms protectively around her bare stomach. "Where are you going?" Her voice cracked at the end of her sentence and she sounded nervous. He wouldn't leave her by herself, would he?
"Your water's getting cold," he replied, purposely ignoring her question as he turned his back to her and left the room.
Taylor's brow furrowed together as she simply stood by the bathtub, watching him leave as she absentmindedly ran her fingers softly over her bare sides. After a moment and once she was certain that he was gone, she quickly stripped off her underwear and carefully slipped into the warm water. She immediately grabbed one the bottles from the side of the tub and dumped its entire contents into the water. She moved the water around her until the whole tub was filled with soft, soapy bubbles. Once she was satisfied to her liking and she was covered with bubbles up to her shoulders, she began to muse over the Joker.
She didn't quite know what to think of him and wondered why he was even in her house in the first place. Did he know her mother, perhaps?
Mommy . . . .
Where was her mother, anyway? As Taylor swirled patterns in the water with the tip of her finger, she wondered why her mother hadn't come back yet. She promised she would be gone for just a couple of hours—but it had been nearly four days now. Her mother had never left her alone for that long.
"All you are is trouble, you know that? Your daddy left me because of you. He couldn't support you, so he left me. I loved him, and because of you he left."
"When you're old enough to take care of yourself, you'll be on your own, and then I can pretend that you never happened."
"I wish you were never born . . . ."
All of her mother's phrases and random snippets of conversations where she would be mumbling to herself all came back to Taylor in a sudden rush, and she frowned confusedly as she dwelled on her mother's words.
Why had she said all those mean things about her? Taylor had tried her best to always be good and to not bother her, but even when she was on her best behavior her mother was still always angry at her. Regardless of her mother's attitude, however, Taylor still loved her, and always would, even if her mother would never reciprocate that notion. She thought if she tried hard enough and did all the right things that maybe she just might love her back. So far her planned had failed, but if she kept trying she knew she could make it work. But in order for her plan to work she'd have to see her mother first. She couldn't wait until she got back. Maybe she went on a vacation, she thought to herself. Her mother had always talked about how she hated the city and always wanted to be at the beach. Maybe that's where she went. If that was the case, then she'd be back really soon, Taylor was sure of it.
With thoughts of sandy beaches and pretty pink seashells on her mind, she smiled to herself and sunk deeper into the tub of bubbles. She rubbed the white, foamy substance all over her arms and shoulders, splashing water around her and humming quietly to herself. When she happened to glance upwards, she was surprised to see the Joker leaning against the door frame, legs crossed at the ankle as he simply watched her. She gasped in surprise and tried to sink deeper into the water. She covered herself in bubbles as her cheeks turned pink in embarrassment.
The Joker smirked at her in response, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Nothing I haven't seen before," he said, sounding bored. Taylor watched him as he shrugged out his brown jacket and tossed it into the sink. He then rolled his sleeves up to his forearms and neared the bathtub, kneeling down beside it.
She looked at him confusedly but he ignored her stare. He knew that she probably wasn't going to wash her hair herself, so he resolved that he'd do it and just get it over with. He hadn't planned to do it for her, but then he realize that he couldn't not do it, especially because infection might set in, and when that happened all hell would break lose. He knew better than anyone how bad infections hurt and all the shit that they tended to entail.
Retrieving his knife from his pocket, he brought it near Taylor's head, watching as her eyes widened in fear. "What are you doing?" she cried, shrinking back farther into the tub.
Grabbing onto her shoulder to keep her still, he brought the knife near her hair and slipped the flat of the blade underneath her rubber ponytail holder, effortlessly slicing it in half. Her long, tangled locks tumbled down over her shoulders and stopped mid back, the ends of her hair becoming wet as they dropped into the water.
The Joker reached both of his hands over the side of the tub and put them on her back, feeling the warmth radiating from her soft, wet skin. "Hold still," he ordered quietly, fully concentrating on the task at hand. Her eyes were wide with trepidation as the Joker put one hand on her lower back and the other on her stomach, pushing her backwards until just the back of her head was submersed in water.
Taylor's body instantly went rigid and she screamed aloud, her mouth open in shock as she squeezed her eyes shut, tears threatening to fall once again. "Stop!" she wailed, struggling to sit up as water splashed around her. Ignoring her, he dipped her head back deeper into the water until all but her face was fully submersed.
He brought her head back up out of the water as tears rolled down her cheek. "It stings," she whimpered, reaching her hand up to gently touch the back of her head. The Joker's eyes roamed over the side of the tub, looking at all the labels on the various bottles she had placed there. One bottle was for a bubble bath—and it was completely empty; one said conditioner, another one was a hairspray can, and the last bottle was baby shampoo.
He grabbed the latter bottle and unscrewed the cap, squeezing some of the substance from the bottle into his hands. The Joker briefly met her gaze before he put his hands in her hair, working the shampoo throughout the long, tangled strands. He made sure that he was extra careful around the large gash at the back of her head, though she still cried throughout the whole process anyway.
As he carefully but quickly lathered the shampoo through her wet locks, Taylor sobbed quietly to herself, her wound stinging painfully whenever water dripped onto it or the Joker's fingers got too close to the raw skin.
Once he was finished, he dipped her head back into the water, much to her cries of protest, and finally rinsed all the soap out of her hair. "Better?" he ventured, raising his brows in question.
Taylor nodded wordlessly and bit her lip as she wiped the remaining tears from her eyes, staring down at the bubbles that were slowly starting to disappear in the water. "Does my hair smell pretty now?" she quietly asked.
The Joker couldn't help but grin in genuine amusement, deciding to play along. He placed the flat of his palms against the rim of the tub, leaning closer to her so he could smell her hair. The tip of his nose brushed against her wet locks and he found himself closing his eyes as he inhaled her scent. She smelt like vanilla.
Whoa.
It had truly been yearssince he had ever smelt something so wonderful and pleasant, and he had to stop himself from burying his face in her hair, just for the sheer pleasure of smelling that scent. It reminded him of something, something familiar that couldn't quite put a finger on. "Mmm," he breathed deeply, "very good." He opened his eyes and pulled back, watching as her tiny mouth curved into a small smile.
Taylor fingered a long piece of her hair, inspecting it curiously. "Are you going to take a bath too?"
He pretended to contemplate the question. "Not right now, sweet pea." He gave her a mocking pat on the head and then stood, quickly exiting the room and shutting the door behind him.
Leaving her alone to do whatever she needed to do in private, he made his way down the hallway towards the room he had slept in the night before. Closing the door behind him, he changed back into his regular clothes in the dark, the only source of light being that of the pale moon. As he dressed, he replayed the conversation over in his head, marveling to himself over Taylor's naivety.
God, she was so ridiculously innocent it was sickening. He almost wanted to feel sorry for her, for how much she really didn't know. She had so much to learn about the world, so much to realize about people and trust and the many dangers she knew nothing about but was destined to one day face.
She also was rather unique though too, especially for someone her age. She was guarded and didn't give her trust away easily, though if anyone could change that, it most definitely would be him, and he was surely up to the task. She was so young, after all, and she would come to trust him soon enough. She might even be kind of fun to manipulate. She was guarded, yes, but there were so many bad things she didn't know about or understand. There were gruesome, other-worldly horrors she couldn't even begin to imagine, which is where her naivety would come into play. He could make her do whatever he wanted without question, one of the main reasons why she was so important to his plan. Gotham wouldn't even see it coming . . . .
After he had pulled on his pants and was now fully dressed, (minus the greasepaint,) he went straight back to the bathroom across the hall. He could see the yellow light glowing from underneath the door and heard Taylor humming merrily to herself from inside.
He didn't bother knocking, and instead pushed open the door to see her leaning over the side of the tub, her back turned away from him. She was already dressed and wearing a red pair of cotton, footsy pajamas, the kind that zipped all the way up the front.
When she heard him enter she didn't even bother to turn around. "I can't make the water go away!" she said, sounding flustered.
The Joker rolled his eyes and pushed past her, kneeling down to pull the stopper from the drain. The water immediately started emptying out of the tub, gurgling noisily as it got sucked down the drain. Taylor was fascinated. When he turned his head around, she was standing directly next to him, her face only inches from his own. "Where does the water in the bathtub go?" she asked, her eyes searching his interestedly, as if the answer to her question lied therein.
He studied her features from up close for a moment and then frowned, giving her a dubious look. "What kind of question is that?"
Taylor thought about hisquestion for a moment, pondering over her reply as she studied his face. Suddenly, she cocked her head to the side and smiled. It was the first time he had ever seen her crack a real smile before, and man, did she look adorable when she did, even if it was just a small one. "Your scars kinda look like caterpillars," she giggled, trying to hide her laughter as her green eyes shined with delight. She stepped closer to him, wanting to run her fingers over the rippled flesh but knowing she shouldn't. "How did you get them?" she eventually queried, curiosity getting the best of her.
The Joker felt a wide grin spreading over his features, already imagining the perfect story to tell her. As he opened his mouth to reply, however, he was cut short when a deafening crash suddenly sounded from downstairs.
What was that?
His pulse quickened as he craned his neck sideways, his ear turned towards the hallway, listening intently. It kind of sounded like somehow had knocked the front door from its hinges . . . .
Licking his lips in anticipation, the Joker rose his kneeling position and silently went to the sink, reaching his hand inside the pocket of the blazer he had been wearing earlier and retracting his switchblade from it. Flicking it open, he turned back towards Taylor and whispered quietly to her.
"Wait here."