Author's Note: Big gap since my last update. This chapter refused to cooperate for a while. Happy reading!

Trudging up the stairs, I was the epitome of dazed and confused. Leaving the club, calling the cab, driving back, I didn't remember any of it. The whole evening merged into one horrific blur.

Dragging my feet, I approached the door to my apartment weary of the days to come. My head pounded with thoughts of the Joker. I feared his smile and laugh were there to take up permanent residence. Entering my apartment, I leaned against the door as it shut. The wooden frame supported and prevented my knees from buckling. Hanging my head, I reached toward the light switch.

"Leave them off," a loud, gravelly voice thundered through the darkness. The unexpected command wrecked my last nerve.

My keys clattered against the floor. Clutching the doorknob, I turned toward the voice. The moonlight outlined the pointed ears and general towering, intimidating stature well enough. The infamous hero of Gotham, Batman, hovered at the window.

"Wh-What do you want?"

"You're being watched."

"By the Joker," I confirmed knowingly. Before this encounter, I never understood why Gotham's most corrupt feared a man in a suit. It all made sense now.

"What does he want?" It was a question, but he demanded an answer.

"How do you know about this? About him? About me?" A shred of confidence flew from my lips. Still, my hand remained glued to the door handle, ready to bolt. The man behind the mask supposedly embodied vigilante justice. I wondered if that sense of justice extended to the Joker's accomplices, even resentful ones.

"We have a friend in common."

"A friend?" Scoffing at the idea before the name came to me. "Gordon," My epiphany confirmed by his silence brought forth more confidence. "I need to talk to him. I need to talk to him now."

Ignoring my request, the Bat asked again, "What does the Joker want with you at Arkham?"

"I will only talk to Jim Gordon." My response, final and firm, hung in the air, thick with stubborn determination. If Jim Gordon considered him a friend, then Batman must be trustworthy. Perhaps if the Bat met the other me, the real me, the one who wasn't emotionally and physically drained, I'd be more agreeable. Instead, he received the one terrorized by the Joker. The one who had heard a man's head blown to pieces hours ago. The one who spent the better of those hours envisioning brain and blood splattered white couches.

Although shrouded in darkness, I observed Batman's movements. Reaching into the folds of his cape, he tossed something toward me. As the object skidded across the floor, he calmed my instinctual hesitance, "Keep it with you. Press it."

Crouching to the floor, I grabbed the small round device between my feet. The indentation on the front fit my thumb perfectly. Tracing its defined smooth curves, I pondered aloud, "Press it when?"

"When you need me."

By the time my attention returned to the window, Batman had disappeared. My sole visitor now, the fall breeze, drifted through the apartment.

Bewildered I crossed over to the couch, dropping Batman's calling card on the coffee table. Yanking off my shoes, I plopped down against the worn cushions. Shedding my jacket, I pulled out both phones. They weighed heavily on my hands, on my heart. Then again, they weren't phones anymore; they symbolized my life splitting. Two lives, one of my choosing and one that belonged to a green haired, nihilistic bastard.

Losing myself for the umpteenth time in thought, I considered my options. Somehow within the last week, my life turned into a game of chess. The Joker eliminated all moves. I couldn't label him as a single piece. He transformed into anything he saw fit at the moment. The sad fact of this game, I didn't know my own role. Was I pawn hoping to go unnoticed and survive? Then again, the king seemed a fair representation. Watching the Joker dismantle my life, leaving me always and forever in check. Regardless of which, both the pawn and king shared an unfortunate feature. They could only move one space. One move each turn, that's all I had to work with for now.

The familiar concoction of exhaustion, frustration, and fear induced a welcoming drowsy effect. Closing my eyes, I accepted sleep, praying for it to be dreamless.

Waking to a tickling sensation, I begrudgingly batted my eyes open. Text after text appeared from Vic.

Meeting tonight at 8.

Better. Have. Something.

If you don't, I'll kick you out of the group.

Before I could type my response, Ana's reply popped up.

She will not. Won't let her. :)

Rubbing the bridge of my nose, I blinked several times. The suns rays, unforgiving this morning, shined through the windows. Almost noon, I'd slept all night and part of the day. No messages or calls from Gordon, a grumbling stomach, and a crick in my neck - that's what I had to show for last night.

Staring at my phone, I counted the reasons I shouldn't go tonight. They piled on top of one another with the Joker's beaming smile remaining the chart-topper.

Can't wait.

Biting my lip, I hovered over the blue send arrow. I wanted to go, but I thought better of it. I'd only put Anna, Vic, and Tom in danger.

Sorry everyone, can't make it tonight. Working on a big project. Don't worry, Vic. I will email everyone the short story I've been working on before group tonight. Be there next week. Sware.

Of course, I hadn't written a short story. Another lie to keep up pretenses and maintain a semblance of a life.

Accepting my decision, I went through the motions of preparing myself a full meal for the first time in days. I took a shower and changed into tights and a long sleeve shirt before settling in with my laptop. A blinking cursor on a blank document taunted me for some time. Leaning my head back, I stared at the ceiling, rapping my fingers against the keyboard.

No news from Joel on the Arkham story yet. No messages from Frost or the Joker either. Regardless, the Joker's presence wormed its way in, I could feel him. His snaking arms slid down my body, grinning maniacally. I gritted my teeth, remembering the feel of his body against mine. Unable to shake the gripping paranoia of being watched, I swept my eyes across the apartment. No one here aside from me.

"I hate you." I spat, clenching my fists. Vocalizing my hatred felt incredible, a cathartic release.

But typing the words felt even better. Once I started this cleansing action, I couldn't stop. A story unfolded effortlessly. They say to write what you know. Unfortunately, I knew a tale of a man entangling a woman in murderous and sadistic schemes. Timeframes, dates, location - I changed it all. His looks didn't stay either, but I allowed the iconic smile to remain.

After emailing the story to the group, I slammed my laptop shut. The anger from writing every letter, every word, every sentence pulsated through me. Writing about the Joker temporarily halted that debilitating sense of powerlessness. Sharing this dirty secret strengthened my resolve to get out of this mess.

Hearing that familiar buzz, I glanced down at my phone. An unknown caller rang through twice before I answered. Hitting the green icon, I brought it to my ear, "This is Natalie Voce."

"Natalie," Gordon's gruff yet kind voice soothed my anger.

"Gordon!" I exclaimed, "I need to see you."

"Natalie, you need to tell me what happened last night."

Surprised by his demand, I held back. What had Batman told him? "Gordon, I can't tell you about last night. I need something from you, first."

"What do you need?"

"What does it take to get immunity?"

"Natalie..." Gordon trailed off.

"Gordon, if you want more information on Arkham, get me this." For the first time this evening, thoughts of the orphanage plagued my mind. The Joker hadn't accepted that business deal, but someone would. What chance would those kids have? "If you want more than the Joker," I kept it brief, "you will get me what I need. There's a chance I won't make it out of this alive. If I do, I need a life to come back too."

"Natalie, it doesn't work like that. Give me some time. I can't.."

I cut him off. "I can't go into detail now. Without some sort of guarantee, I'm not sure there will be a way," I stopped. Strained and thick with emotion, I pushed through. "I'm not sure there will be a way to come back from the things he will make me do."

His reply came quickly, "Meet me tomorrow afternoon at the same station."

"Are you inviting any friends this time?"

"There will be no friends there, Natalie."

Understanding the meaning behind his words, I thanked him before ending the call. Reaching for the other phone, I grappled with what to say. Keeping an open line of communication with the Joker seemed ridiculous. But if someone informed him about my visit tomorrow before I did, what would he do?

Sighing, I wrote a message to Frost. I couldn't bring myself to send one to the Joker directly.

Meeting the police tomorrow morning.

Sending it, I slammed the phone on the coffee table. There, I took my turn. I made my move. Now, the Joker knew. If I appeared to be loyal, true to my word, then he would believe me. If I reported everything, then I would avoid suspicion. At least, I hoped as much.

Rising off the couch, I refused to sit and wait for a response. Padding over to the balcony, I wondered how time slipped away from me today. Writing and editing one short story followed by a single phone call allowed the sun to lower. A full moon replaced it.

There hadn't been many opportunities for an uninterrupted, rested sleep the last few days. I would take them where I could get them. Moving to my bed, I fell into the plush bedding. My fingertips glided across the downy, fuzzy blankets. I sought solace in the smell of fresh, clean sheets. While my ordinary life crumbled, these small comforts meant the world. Curling into a ball, I smiled genuinely, nuzzling into my haven. Just one second of normalcy, that's all I desired.

A sweet melodious tapping of rain against the window panes met my ears. Groggy from the interruption, I grumbled against the pillow. Determined to stay asleep, I settled into the cozy bundle of blankets I'd created through the night. A pleasant but thick sweet, cool fragrance wafted through the air.

Stretching, I moaned. An unfamiliar warmth and fabric met my fingertips. Confused, I gripped the material, my hand grazing across soft skin. Jolting up, wide-eyed, I froze. Red lips formed into an enthusiastic smile on the pillow beside me. Desperate to create space between the two of us, I sprang back. Seizing my wrists quickly, the Joker pulled me close. My cries of frustration did nothing, he pinned me underneath him with ease.

Breathing heavily, I looked into the dancing blue eyes above me. "It's nice to see you so soon," I muttered.

"Ha. Ha. Ha." Shaking his head back and forth, his slicked back hair falling against the motion, "I understand you have a message for me."

"The police called me in for a second interview." I lied. My cheeks reddened the more I squirmed underneath him.

Releasing one of my hands, his pale fingers brushed lightly against my lips. "You have many suitors. I'm curious, who is your favorite?"

Swallowing hard, I pleaded, begged for the unexpected visit to end. In no mood for games, I tried to stay on the topic at hand, "What would you like me to tell them?"

His eyes darted between my eyes and mouth. Drawing back, he sat, straddling me, "Why, the truth of course." Releasing my other hand, he jerked me forward. For a moment, I faced his chest. A tattoo, the image of a skeletal jester, peeked from behind his maroon shirt, "You surely haven't forgotten already. You do remember what the truth is?"

His hot breath on my skin paired with the firm grip muddled my thoughts.

"Hmm?" Prompting an answer, he raised my head to meet his mock quizzical expression. Winding his hands around my neck, he applied gentle pressure, running his thumbs up and down my throat. His patience only extended so far.

Wary of my situation, I told my truth, "You've coerced me into taking the Arkham story. If I don't go, you'll probably kill me."

His body relaxed. Resting his forehead against mine, his said smoothly, "Well, if that's the truth, Natalie..." Enjoying the control, he tarried. A fleeting and leering glance flashed across his face before he let go and rose off my bed, walking to the door.

I hopped up after him quickly, "What do you want me to do at Arkham?" Admittedly the words came out much harsher than expected. Almost commanding, willing this unstable man to give a straightforward answer.

Surprised by my outburst, he halted. Pushing back his green flyaways with both hands, he straightened. Turning on his heel, he swung around. The insanity manifested in his movements. Swinging his head around in a languid circle, he clicked his tongue against his teeth. A rumbling growl followed. I maintained eye contact as he advanced toward me steadily, "You know what I want, Natalie." Grabbing the sides of my head, he whispered in my ear. "I want you," pulling back, he grinned, "to write your story."

"That's all?" I whispered, disbelieving of my simple mission.

"Mhmm, since you've asked," pulling my hand up, he slapped cards face down in my palm. "For two friends at Arkham."

"What friends?"

Spinning back toward the door, he didn't stop to answer my question this time. As it happened before, Frost opened the door from the outside, allowing the Joker to leave. When it clicked shut, I flipped the two cards over. Two dancing jokers grinned wildly at me.