Chapter 4

When my senses returned to my body it was in extreme pain. My whole body was like one single pain. There was no area that hurt more than another. It was jut one pain, several pains blended together perhaps. I was fearful of opening my eyes. Afraid of what I would see, the reality of my problem. I felt that I was laying on a stiff surface. Like a table, only with bedding. I wondered what was happening and then my memories came pouring into my mind like a flash flood. I inwardly cringed as I remembered my current problem. I had been kidnapped. And not just by anyone, by The Joker. The mass-murderer. The lunatic who pulled Houdini's like nobody's business.

That's when I felt my hand levitate. Someone picked it up. A fresh wave of pain came suddenly while I felt its motion being restricted. I hissed in response. My act of being passed out was now over. A happy giggle was sounded and echoed throughout the room. I decided that it would be wise to open my eyes and stay on guard. When they opened a bright light was shining into my eyes. I let an annoyed groan slide through my lips. Everything was blurry for a second and then my eyes adjusted to the sudden exposure of light. Standing on my left was the Joker. He said through his nasally voice, "Good morning sunshine!" Even though his words were harmless enough, his voice added a sinister spin to it. As if the words held some double meaning.

I let my eyes study him. His mouth was stretched forever into a glass-glow smile. His brown eyes were trained though, his brow furrowed. That's when I realized what he was concentrating on. His purple coat was off leaving him in his waist coat and dress shirt. His blue snake skin shirt was rolled to his elbows, revealing pale, muscular arms. He was tightly wrapping my hands in white bandages. That explained the numbing pain that soared through my arms. I cringed due to the pain. The Joker took notice of this. "Aw... did the dolly get a boo boo?" he asked in an eerily chiding voice.

I made no move to answer. There was no doubt in my mind that he caused this and did something to my hands. What he did, I have no clue and am afraid to find out. I kept my eyes concerted on the white cement ceiling, paint from long ago was chipping. I was knocked abruptly out of my analysis by his hand jerking my head to face him. His hand was gripping my throat and the other was digging my cheek with the dull side of his knife. I felt his grip tighten on my throat, slowly cutting off my supply of oxygen. I refused to react though, to give him the sick gratification he desired. "You wanna know how I got these scars?" I've heard all the numerous stories that he tells, I wondered which one he would tell me. Still, I had no intention of answering him. I looked at him blankly and blinked.

He sighed in exasperation which made me have to fight back a smirk. "Ya know doll face, I want the world to smile. And it pisses me off when they don't. So unless you want your face carved like a Jack-O-Lantern, you're going to smile and talk. Got it?"

Ok, now this is where I draw the line for my stubbornness. I instantly forced a fake smile onto my face when I heard his threat. "Got it," I said in my naturally quiet voice. I figured I was most likely going to die at this man's hands. I had an idea that if I put him in a better mood perhaps my chance of survival would go up from 3 to 4 perhaps.

"Good girl," he said through giggles. He slapped my cheek twice. He did it the same way you would throw a good dog a treat. His slap was hard enough for me to notice, but not hard enough to leave a stinging cheek.

His expression suddenly switched and the knife digged harder into my cheekbone. "You wanna know how I got these scars?" he asked again, as if the previous conversation had never occurred. "Not really," I stated bluntly. I knew the Jokers would just give me one of his bullshit stories anyway. He giggled at my answer, "Aw, doesn't my dolly like to play?"

A chill ran down my spine at the seemingly childish words. "What would be the point? I know you just spew bullshit lies. So just save your breath," I stated harshly. His expression darkened for a moment like he was debating about beating the shit outta me but then livened back up, I swear this guy's bipolar. I made a mental note to check his eyes for emotion changes from now on.

"Ooh, feisty—you're lucky I like it," he laughed. But this time it was a throaty chuckle, not a childish giggle.

I made no response. The malicious look in his eyes greatly contradicted the permanent smile.

"Ya know doll face, I like games. So let's play one."