Author's note: Character belongs to DC Comics.

Chapter 4

He neither refuses or accepts; just continues to stare at me. This doesn't surprise me at all. I set the beer down on the countertop anyways, in case he changes his mind.

"Sorry for asking, then. Just trying to display some of that famous Southern hospitality." I cross my arms and glare at him; this painted maniac standing in my kitchen. There's no getting rid of this lunatic, unless he decides to start menacing the general public instead of me. If he kills me - oh well, whatever; death happens every day and everybody dies. It's too late at this point to take back anything - he's already threatened me with a knife, and is inside my apartment. I only hope that it won't be a painful and drawn-out affair.

He just keeps staring at me, and I try to pretend that this doesn't make me extremely uncomfortable. After 20 or 30 seconds of this, he sighs. "How do you expect me to believe that we're in Alabama? More importantly, how do you expect me to believe that I'm not a real person? Can a fictional character do this?" He rolls up his sleeve a few inches, and the pretty little blade that was previously at my mouth dances lightning-fast across his forearm. I blink, and suddenly garnet red drops of blood are pooling in a line on his arm. The sight of blood doesn't make me squeamish.

"Look, buddy, I never said you weren't a real person, so please put that fucking knife away! You're obviously real; you're standing in my kitchen and dripping blood on my floor. All I said was that you're dressed as a character from a movie, so don't start putting words in my mouth. And as for the Alabama part?" I stride across the kitchen into the adjacent living room, and manage to force open one of the small, grimy windows. "Here. Put your hand outside the window. I'm assuming that your imaginary Gotham City is somewhere in the north. Does Gotham feel anything like this in August?"

Once again, he ignores me and it doesn't surprise me. He's back at the laptop; probably on Google or youtube or maybe even just looking up some porn, like a regular guy would. I sink into my old futon couch, and bury my head in my hands. Part of me wants him to leave, and part of me doesn't care what might befall me - this is the most interesting thing that's happened to me in months, maybe even years. If curiosity kills me, then so be it. My initial thoughts of being pulled from the river return to me, but the images flashing in my head no longer have the power to scare me. After all, it's only death - something I was too cowardly to bring upon myself in years past. Maybe this painted homicidal clown wanna-be is a blessed release in disguise. Christ, I need some fucking therapy.

I chug the last bit of my beer, and head to the fridge for another. The Joker (I can't BELIEVE I'm already mentally referring to him as such, as though he were the real thing) is still hunched over my laptop, not saying anything. I wonder when the mood will strike him to leave. I could ask him to, but this doesn't seem like the kind of man who bends to anyone's will.

"Look, buddy, are you planning on staying the night? I wouldn't normally just invite some homicidal maniac who threatened to cut off my tongue to sleep on my couch, but I'm absolutely fucking exhausted, and even if I asked you to leave you'd probably just whip out your knife again and wave it in my face. Anyways, I have spare blankets." I can't believe I'm inviting this creep to stay. Am I really that lonely and desparate?

He looks at me as though considering his options. An odd smirk creeps across his face, as though he knows something I don't.

"You should be afraid of me, little girl. Are you too stupid to realize this, or too crazy to care?" He acts as though he's just heard some amazingly funny joke which was intended for his ears only. Again with the creepy laugh - this cat really has a taste for the theatrical, I tell myself.

"You're right," I tell him. "I'm too crazy to care, and too sleepy to bother trying to remove you from my apartment. I'm going to bed. The blankets are in that closet, and I think there might be a spare pillow as well. Try not to break, steal, or kill anything while I'm asleep, and for the love of God, don't bleed on anything else I own. The stains are hell to get rid of."

I wave, then start walking down the hall towards my bedroom. My bedroom door has a lock, but it's not terribly secure. Oh well... he can kill me, but I hope he'll at least leave my cats alone. To be safe, I lock them in my bedroom with me. I don't know how I'll be able to sleep with a crazy man prowling my apartment, but I can't possibly keep my eyes open any longer. I fall dead asleep only seconds after my head touches the pillow.