Heeeeellllooooo everyone. While I'm trying to slink unnoticed into a corner and start posting again without any turmoil or any of you guys throwing rotten fruit at me...I'm gonna stick this chapter up on the world wide web and cower under your hateful gazes.
But hey, at least its an update.
Try studying for and taking college finals in French, History, and Economics and then tell me how fast you update.
CHAPTER SIX [i don't know what to do with girlies when they cry]
"Game time?" I asked hesitantly. I already knew that it would be a less than stellar experience. For me at least.
Joker stood up completely, then backed away a few steps. He leaned casually against the bar stool and began to twirl his knife in his fingers easily. I stood up too, much less steadily than he had, and grasped the back of the chair to keep from falling down again. I stared at him for a long time, waiting for him to explain himself. He chose to completely occupy himself with his knife blade, instead.
"BOO!" He roared at me suddenly, jumping forwards in a threatening and forceful gesture.
So startled was I that I screamed, jumped backward, and landed on an empty glass bottle. And all of this culminated in my falling, once again, on my ass.
Joker's utter amusement at my topple was more than annoying, to say the least. The stupid part of me wanted to shove that cackle right back up his throat. And even though I knew that he did this to everybody, it was hurtful too. One of my greatest fears was being laughed at – by anyone. And so far, we hadn't really run into that problem because he hadn't really done it before.
I felt my lip start to tremble – already I could feel that I was fed up with the entire situation – the pain, the mental games, the unknown fate. The laughing. I really did hate to cry like that over something that, considering my situation, was pretty trivial. But it was one of those knee jerk reactions for me. Some people cry when they get yelled at, I cry when I get laughed at.
Joker took in my lip and watery eyes and sighed, slipping the knife into his pants pocket. He looked almost at a loss for a moment. Deep inside, underneath all that anger and discontent, a very petulant part of me was delighted that even the big bad Joker was affected by the crying of feminine tears.
Joker stripped off his gloves in two swift movements. He knelt down in front of me once more, his legs again on either side of mine, and tilted my head up with one finger. I hoped the tears were still causing him male distress. "Don't cry. I don't know what, uh, to do with little girlies when they cry." He said softly. "Don't cry."
Was this some sort of trick? Why was he being this nice to me?
"I can't help it." I muttered, turning my head away so that his skin wasn't touching mine. "Once I start crying there's nothing to be done until they all dry up."
He turned my head back to face him again. Once gentle finger wiped the tears away from under first on eye, then the other. His face as solemn and he seemed completely serious. When there were no more tears to wipe away he turned to pushing errant bits of hair behind my ears, like all those cliché storybook heroes - which caught me as strange, since he wasn't cliché in any sense of the word.
"I've told you not to cry, but you still keep going. Isn't there anything that will, uh, make you stop?"
That question made me think. Was there? I knew that once upon a time, there had been something to make me stop crying. But I didn't think that it existed anymore. I nodded anyway. "There once was."
"What was it?"
"My husband." Just saying those words to him felt so...good. They always felt good.
Joker slapped my cheeks gently, like he was trying to pep me up. "Well then, lets go get 'im. Where is he?"
I took a deep, shuddering breath. "He's dead." Those words never felt good to say.
Even though Jack was still alive when I left him, I talked about him as if he was dead. I didn't want to risk anyone getting that terrifying look of recognition on their face, the one that automatically shifted to pity. 'Oh,' they'd say. 'You married him?'
I didn't want that at all. Nor did I want to hear them talk about how Jack was doing. I didn't want to listen to them tell me that he was bone thin or pale or addicted to something more dangerous and less cheap than alcohol. I knew that there was only a very slim margin that he'd reform and get better; studying psychology in school told me that. I didn't want them to tell me that he was dead or that he was looking for me or even that he was in the area. There were so many things that I didn't want to hear...
I sighed. Ignorance, truly, is bliss. And torture for some, me included, I supposed. A bliss that's tinged with agony, like a woman who saves her child from certain death, only to watch her sister die instead.
Joker spoke in a curious tone of voice, like he somehow knew that I was lying. But that was impossible. "The ole chap is, uh, dead now, is he?"
I didn't even need prodding to answer him. "Yes."
"How?"
That startled me. How? How? I'd never thought about what I'd say if that ever came up, and no one had ever been rude enough to ask that before. "That's none of your business." I snapped at him, once again twisting my head so that he couldn't touch me.
His arm snapped out to grab my chin tightly, forcing me to look him in the eye. I squirmed but that only made him tighten his grip. Eventually I whimpered, but his grip didn't ease. Tears pooled on the hand he used to hold my face in place and eventually slid downward, tracing the grooves of his fingers. "It's my business because I say it is. Because you're my hostage sweetheart, and I want to know who would have come after me for...spiriting you away. Shall we say."
"No." I told him bravely, still not intimidated enough to give in.
"TELL ME!" he roared, shaking my head furiously and tightening his grip till I thought his fingers were going to rip all the way through my cheeks. As it was, his nails bit bloody crescent moons into them.
I groaned and shut my eyes, but I could still sense his face – and his eyes – only centimeters away from my face. "Car accident." I gasped, the words slightly deformed because of his hold on my mouth. It was a generic answer, but it happened so often that anyone would believe it.
"Ahh...ahh..." Joker stroked my cheek. "That's so sad. Poor little...what did you say your, uh, name was again princess?"
'That's an… odd way to try to comfort someone.' I thought, replying, "Gretchen." Why was it that I still had to think about it when someone asked me my name after all this time?
He resumed his stroking. "Ahh...ahh...that's so sad. Poor little Gretchy. Left alone because her hubby jumped in front of a truck to get away with her.
Somehow I found the strength to jerk out of his grip, knowing that I was reacting to something designed to provoke me. "That's not true!" I cried out, hurt, swinging my arm around to slap him – pure animal instinct.
My blow never reached him. His hand caught hold of my wrist before it could get halfway there, and then he'd pushed me flat on my back again before I could blink a second time. "I'm in charge here Gretch. Don't make the mistake of hitting me."
"He was hit by a drunk driver you bastard!" I shot out at the same time he spoke, falling temporarily into the lie, too caught up in the lie to see how deep of a hole I was digging for myself.
He stopped me with a hand that roughly covered my mouth. Although his tone was light, his words were not. "Here's another one of my little rules cupcake. Do not ever call me bastard or I will take my dues in a pound of flesssh."
I gasped when the threat reached me. It spread through my body and eventually centered right in the pit of my stomach. My fear for my own health muddled my head, but not so much that I couldn't conclude that trespassing like that again would be very unwise. For real. I think that even he saw that look in my eyes too. Because he seemed satisfied as soon as I had reached that decision.
"Do you understand, kitty?" he questioned, removing his hand. I almost got angry again, because I knew that he knew the answer and was just asking me a question so that I'd have to speak with him. But then I remembered his threat and my anger melted away.
"Yes." I bit my lip and couldn't help but look away.
Joker, sighed, exasperated with me for some reason. Again. "What was that? I didn't quite hear you?" He tapped my cheek with one hard finger.
"Yes, I understand." I spat the words out this time.
"What. Was. That?" He narrowed his eyes at me, waiting, baiting me purposefully.
"I do! I do! I understand! " I said, shaking under his hands.
Joker grinned at me, satisfied. Then he went back to brushing away my newest tears while sucking on his scars thoughtfully. After a moment, he rolled back off me and began to strip off his purple jacket.
I watched him warily, not quite sure of what he was doing. The subtle bulge of his muscles underneath the hexagon printed fabric of his shirt made me gulp and scoot away as much as I could.
He laughed and continued to roll up his sleeves. For the first time I noticed that his hands were streaked with face paint – white, red, and black. There was probably some of it on my face too, then. I tried not to let that bother me. "Let's finally play that game I promised you Gretch." Joker told me, still chuckling. All his anger seemed to have evaporated within seconds and replaced by a different, charming, but still dangerous man.
What was with this guy? Why was he like this?
I stood up and slowly brushed my hands over my body, lingering almost noticeably, nervously on my left shoulder. Dust bloomed off my body, covering that weakness. Joker laughed and waved his hands around floppily. "What, trying to, uh, make a dust cloud in here woman?" he demanded, then cackled at his own not-so-funny joke.
"Well...I didn't mean..." Why was my tongue not working? Why was I having such a hard time speaking all of a sudden? This was exactly how I had acted when I first met Jack!
That froze me. Oh. Freakin'. No. Do not tell me that I was starting to fall into some sort of love with this loon. That was insane! He was my kidnapper! My. Kid. Nap. Per. Disgust and anger burned in my limbs and I grabbed my head with one hand, perhaps to shake the nonsense out of myself, but the subsequent, if slight change in balance almost toppled me again.
He caught me, damn it. "Woopsy! Don't want you getting hurt before our little game now, do we?"
All my previous feelings disappeared and I wanted to snap back at him that there was no we, that I was already hurt, and that I hated him! He was like this big, bully kid stuck in a grown man's body. I couldn't like that! Maybe it was Stockholm Syndrome. I liked that. Stockholm Syndrome. It had a nice ring to it. And I was praying that it was true; I'd take a mental disorder over loving this guy any day.
I pulled away from him so that I wouldn't be caught in his grasp for more than absolutely necessary and pretended to straighten my clothes in a very professional manner, like we were in the headquarters of a high end law firm instead of what looked like a shabby, abandoned motel.
"What was this game you had in mind?" I asked with out thinking, then immediately kicked myself. Did I have a death wish, or what?
Joker grinned, stepped back from me, and once again pulled out his pocket knife. "I'm so glad that you asked that princess. Now, uh, listen carefully." He waited, looking at me.
I looked back, also waiting.
…
"Are you listening?"
I almost rolled my eyes, then remembered that I wasn't sixteen and arguing my mother about, of all things, dating Jack. "Yes."
"Good." He strolled over to the metal cart and instantly, I became tense again. That thing rattled all by itself, I swear. It was haunted! By sharp instruments. Instruments in the sense of shiny metal things used for surgery and hacking a body to bits, not the kind that made pretty noises for elementary school kids who were attending the Met on a field trip for the first time. He placed one hand on the cart and whipped off the pale cloth covering.
The sight did me no good. It was indeed covered with all manner of things sharp. Hunting blades, kitchen knives, even a scalpel or two. At that point I could almost feel the edge of it tracing my arms, slowly sawing them off, turning me into a 21st century Black Dahlia. Joker placed his pocket knife, which looked friendly in comparison, down onto the cart.
"I'm going to put this guy here, and then," He picked up a scalpel with a dexterous sigh, "I want you to meet this little guy here. He'll be my game partner."
I looked around. Where was my table or sharp, scary tool?
"Do I get a game partner?" I questioned him. I really hoped it was an AK-47.
Joker looked pleased that I asked, pleased that I was taking some sort of interest. But first he made sure to roll the cart of scary toys back out into the hall. "Yes, you do my lovely. You get this room."
"This room?"
"This room." He confirmed.
"Not the weapons room?"
He laughed, like I just made an uproarious political joke or did a great comedic magic trick, even going so far as to slap his knee. I knew when I was being mocked, and those annoying, useless tears itched in my tear ducts. "You are a riot Gretch, I tell ya." Before I could back away he had his arm around my shoulders. "This is your room. You get to use it in any way you like."
Grrreeeaaattt. That thrilled me. And explained why he removed all the other weapons.
"Like I said before now half pint, this is a learning exercise, to see how...we both think. I'm going to stand in that corner of the room." He pointed to one relatively un-crowded bit of space. "And you are going to stand over there." He gestured in the opposite direction, then looked at me expectantly. "Now ask me a question."
I frowned at the turn of events, the alien randomness of them. "I'm…not sure what to ask."
"Anything. Anything. Anything at all babe." He prompted me eagerly.
I thought about that. If I could ask the Joker anything at all, what would it be? I don't think I'd ask him why he did what he did – that was too cliché. And I wasn't going to waste on something as mundane and meaningless as what kind of shampoo he used. But it had to be classics, personal...hmm.
"I can see the cogs rolling in your head from here girly." He volunteered smugly. "Ask me the damn question already."
"Why do you always say my name like its a lie?" There. The perfect balance of eclecticism and classical curiosity.
Joker shook his head, squeezing my arms very tight, and he licked his lips viciously again, a silent signal of unshed turmoil. "Ah ah. I can't answer that. Ask me something else."
"But you said any -"
"Anything about the game, was what I meant." He interrupted, which translated into 'Liar.' in my head. "Anything about the game." When he told me this his voice was curiously smooth and deep, unlike it had ever been before, like he was a snake trying to lure the little mouse in.
I did not like being a mouse.
"Will it be dangerous?" I thought that might be a good question, if boring. It would help me react to the situation and protect myself accordingly – if I could gage him correctly. Clearly something I excelled at. Really.
"Yes. No. I don't know. Maybe. It could be."
Well, that was no answer. "Ah." I told him, as if I understood. "So can you finish explaining to me what's to happen?"
"Certainly." Joker led me over to my corner and positioned me just right, then headed to his spot. "I'll stand here." He shouted across the room like I was a child. "And you'll stand there. Then I'm going to say 'go' and then I'll hunt," He giggled, and when he started again he expelled the first word with a great breath of hunger. " hunt you around the room. First blood ends it."
My eyes widened. First blood? Were we talking a scratch and a lonely drop or a torrent here?
[END OF CHAPTER]
I did edit this chapter a little bit from it's original text - but not too much. I agree with all of you that I should put in more of the Joker's thoughts, but I subsequently feel that said thoughts and feelings merit their own mini-chapters. Whose with me?
On the other hand, I am trying to put in little clues for both you and Ellie respectively to indicate who he is (Ellie - my girl's a little slow on the uptake. can you blame her though?), and how he is feeling (you). Anyone notice the significance of how he made her say that she understood? How he panicked when she cried? How he focused specifically on the topic of her husband, trying to draw out a lie? They are there (the clues, that is), you just have to look for them. I promise.
In the mean time, lease don't hurt me. =)
I lieu of hurting me, you are all hereby given the permission to email me (its on my profile) and yell at me or ask me questions. Or tell me how brilliant I am - either one.
The next chapter will have a great deal of swearing and chasing and falling down and playing of The Game. The chapter after that will bring some more excitement, although not specifically of the physical kind.
Thanks so much to Erikslittleangel13, Darkness Takes Over, HoistTheColours (you're like the 20 year man of reading and reviewing aren't you? you're really sticking with me and I appreciate that!), and TyphoidKat. You're all wonderful!
PS - make reviews, not war.
