Author's Note:

Errrr, I don't have very much to say. It's been a busy week or so and probably will continue to be with classes starting up again, so chapters won't be popping up as frequently. (sad face) BUT, I do have this one and a few more that just need some editing.

Soo, here you are! Enjoy!

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Chapter 8: Wicked Games

Rose awoke to the sound of police sirens pounding in her head. She felt herself being jerked back and forth in what she assumed was the back seat of the police cruiser. She was handcuffed. Her coat was gone, and her gun along with it. Everything was dark—the Joker obviously had no desire of her seeing where he was taking her. She was blindfolded. Her head was pulsing, still sore from the force of the gun handle against the crown of her head. But all the constraint, the ignorance of her current location, even the throbbing pain in her head, hardly phased her. At that moment, Rose had no desire to speak, to struggle, to fight. She was tired, physically and emotionally. So, she rode the rest of the car ride silently, the only sounds in her presence were the quiet mumbles of her captor, who drove furiously, and the wail of the sirens.

After a few minutes the constant shriek of the police cruiser were silenced, probably to keep from drawing too much attention to its position. Rose could tell they had turned off the highway, where the stolen cruiser was being searched for, and the Joker probably didn't need to become a distraction in their new domain.

Rose was thankful for the end of the siren's noise, but it seemed to take away the edge, the rush of her kidnapping. But the silence was deadening, discomforting—the deep breath of calm before a wild storm. Rose sat, beginning to feel a newer, more profound terror consume her. This was different, much worse than before when she was on the side of the freeway, because now, she was physically helpless to do anything. When she felt the car take a rough right turn and begin to slow down, she knew they had arrived at the Joker's hideout.

The car stopped and Rose heard the Joker opening and closing his door. There was a moment when she thought he would leave her in the car, but no such luck. He ripped open her door and Rose could hear the demented excitement with which he spoke to her.

"Heeere, we are!" he professed, pulling her roughly out of the car. Despite her weakened state, she still put up a fight and could tell it was finally starting to annoy the clown-faced criminal. He pulled the blindfold more tightly around her head, making sure she couldn't see where she was being taken.

"Look, Rose," he began as he pushed her forward, making her walk. "I don't want you here anymore than you wanna be here. But Sal really put me in a pickllllle last year. I need a little... a little help from the inside. Let's just say you're, uh, handling some of his unfinished business-ah!"

She didn't say anything, only letting him push her into a building. She heard more feet joining her and the Joker, realizing his other cronies must have been waiting for them to return. He handed her off to them, saying that if they spoke to, touched, or hurt her at all, he'd feed them to his dogs. They did their boss's will, keeping silent as they led her up flights of stairs, through a series of rooms, and finally, stopping. Rose blinked as her blindfold was taken off, adjusting her eyes to the relative light of the moon coming through the window. She noticed she was in what looked like an abandoned apartment building, the tenth floor. One of the masked men opened a door that led into what had already been a dingy, dirty apartment, but after the building had been condemned had become even more desolate than before. She was pushed roughly through a kitchen and living room, down a hallway, and to another door. One crony opened it and another pushed her inside, then turned on the lights.

Rose turned around, demanding, "Where the hell am I?" but her only reply was the slamming of the door and the sound of locks being turned, obviously to make sure she couldn't get out. She looked around, finding a rusty wrought-iron daybed with very dirty looking sheets. A lone lightbulb swung hypnotically from the ceiling as the only source of light. The small window on the wall opposite the door had been boarded up. She noticed a red blinking light near the ceiling and looked up, to see the light of a security camera winking at her, its dark lens an extension of the Joker's fathomless eyes. There was a door, slightly off its hinges that revealed a small bathroom. A folding chair was placed against the wall, near the locked door. The room also had a small closet, with one old-looking dress inside. Rose was wearing a formal outfit, what she supposed was female mobster attire: tights, heels, and a formfitting dress under her long coat. She looked down at her outfit and decided that the hideous dress was her best and only option to stay comfortable in her confinement. She surveyed the bathroom with disgust, noticing the mildew and crust all over the walls, a filthy mirror and sink, and a toilet that made Rose long for the days of chamber pots.

It was a far cry from her apartment in New York or Gotham—a far cry from any place she had ever stayed. But she told herself she wouldn't let these shortcomings break her; she wouldn't let the Joker get the better of her. She would persevere and she would get out of this mess.

She just didn't exactly now how.

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The next morning (she could tell by the yellow light escaping through the cracks of the boards on her window), Rose awoke to the sound of her door being unlocked. She braced herself, but then immediately forced herself to relax, not letting herself show any fear to her captor. But it hadn't been the Joker, just two of his masked henchmen. One was wielding a bag and plastic cup of coffee from McDonald's, the other a gun, probably in the off chance that she tried anything funny. The first unfolded the chair and placed the food down, telling her, "The Boss wants to make sure you eat," before he and his partner left just as quickly as they came, locking the door.

Rose felt confused that he would be feeding her, but then again, a starved hostage isn't as easy to deal with as a well-fed one, even if the food came from McDonald's. But she certainly wasn't complaining as she kneeled in front of the chair, feeling her hunger getting the best of her. She inhaled the smell of grease and opened the bag to find two Egg McMuffins and two hash browns. She snorted ironically; McMuffins were the only thing she ate at McDonald's. She sighed as memories of childhood came to her, eating half of the sandwich with her mom, sitting on the swivel chairs at their local McDonald's, just a few blocks from their house in Chevy Chase. They would stare outside at the crowds of businessman and politicians walking by, laughing at the particularly frazzled ones, making up stories about them all. When she sunk her teeth into the warm English muffin, nothing else seemed to matter but devouring the breakfast sandwich and its twin, despite the sodium and saturated fat she knew she was consuming.

When she finished and put all of the trash in the bag and on the floor, unsure of what to do with it, she went back to sit on the bed. It was extremely uncomfortable, but she would live. She hardly had time to recuperate from her last visitors before the door opened again, this time to reveal the Joker in all his infernal glory, purple suit, clown makeup, and all, carrying an old dusty duffle bag. He grinned wildly at her as he entered and threw the bag on the ground carelessly. He moved the folding chair closer to her bed and sat on it backwards. He rested his face on his hands and sighed happily.

"Well, hey there!" he said enthusiastically, as if greeting an old friend.

Rose didn't bother saying anything, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, but not wanting to anger him, either. She merely stared at him, waiting for him to finish.

He titled his head down and staring up at her. "Looks like someone's a little upset with me, huh?"

"You could say that," she shot back, arms crossed in front of her.

He winced, feigning guilt. "Listen, Rosie, it's nothing personal," he reasoned, "your uncle and I, ah, just have a few things to settle. But I can't seem to find him, so I was hopiiiinggg," he stretched out, "that you could... help me in that departmen-tah."

She huffed. "Well, did you check his house? You know, where he lives and everything?" she asked conspicuously.

"Of course we did!" he laughed, nonplussed by her blatant questioning of his criminal intelligence. "But don't ya think that when you didn't show up for your little, ah, meeting, that he'd stick around in his hummmmble abode?"

"Well, search me." Rose shrugged, still glaring at the Joker. "I don't know where he goes when Insane Clown Posse rejects are after him."

He sighed sadly. "Well, I guess we'll just have to keep you here for a while longer, at least until your, ah, me-mo-ry comes back to you," he said in a detached tone.

Rose just rolled her eyes. Well, duh, you're not just gonna let me go after less than twelve hours, you goon, she thought angrily.

At her silence, he stood up, slamming the chair against the wall. He winced sarcastically at the sound of metal hitting the foundation. "Oops," he laughed, sounding like a little child who had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Well, Rosie," he turned back to the woman who sat stiffly, trying and failing to hide the slight fear in her eyes, "whenever you feel like talking again, you just talk right into that camera," he pointed to the one in the corner and spun on his heel to walk out, but made a 360, facing her again.

"Oh, I almost forgot." He strolled over to the duffle bag he had thrown on the floor and picked it up. He tossed it onto her bed. "I stopped by your apartment while you were sleeping and picked up some clothes and few other things for you. As lovelyyy as that dress was," he licked his lips in memory of her figure in the ensemble, which scared and repulsed Rose, "I thought you'd want something to, ah, change into. Though, I see you've taken matters into your own hands," he giggled at her drab, faded ensemble, a far cry from what she had been wearing before. "Black really doesn't suit you," he told her as he finally slammed the door and did all the eight of the locks (Rose counted).

She looked skeptically at the bag, but when she didn't hear the ticking she was so worried about coming from the duffle, she un-zippered it. Rose felt almost scandalized at this new development; obviously, the Joker was willing to play the "good cop, bad cop" routine. First, capture her and demand information, then give her a few luxuries of home to lull her into a sense of security. She wouldn't fall for it, though. The guy was holding her against her will, after all. But she couldn't help but be thankful for this little indulgence, so that she didn't have to wear the ratty old dress anymore.

Again, surprise washed over he as she searched the bag's contents. He had brought her an array of clothes, from t-shirts and sweats to leggings, blouses, and two of her favorite dresses. The asshole even put some essential toiletries in there. Rose felt strange knowing that he had slipped into her house, unnoticed, but if he could escape from Arkham, her house, guarded by her uncle's associates, was hardly a problem.

She couldn't help but worry about her cats, though. Relieved that she had put down wet food food and more dry food than usual, as well as fresh water, she knew they would be okay for about three days, but she was nervous for the days after that. Maybe Sal had stopped by to take them after he and his family escaped? But she doubted that; her uncle had never shown a fondness for Molly and Atticus whenever he visited. Maybe, just maybe, she could work out a deal with the clown fiend to bring them to... wherever she was? It seemed unlikely, but maybe she could convince him, especially since he had brought her clothes and bathroom essentials.

"Well, fuck me," she sighed unhappily as she stormed into the bathroom with the duffle.

Rose stood in the shower for a while, letting the lukewarm water run over her as she considered her options, but she soon realized there were slim to none. She could tell the Joker everything she knew about her uncle, she could offer him a huge cash reward for letting her go, but she figured that he hadn't taken on a life of terror and chaos for the money. Rose knew it would be hopeless trying to escape, as she had no idea how to get out or where she was, though she assumed it was the Narrows, a haven for Gotham's scum.

The police had to be sniffing around for her; Sal was probably worried. Even if she had had loads and loads of cocaine in the car, he wouldn't leave his niece abandoned, not after all she'd done for him. Her uncle had probably called the police, but had his own search party going. After all, Rose was supposed to be the next boss of the Maroni family. Yes, she wasn't being abandoned, left at the will of the Joker. Rose decided to do the least dangerous thing in her situation.

Wait.

And it was easier said than done.

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The next few days passed and Rose was feeling antsy and anxious about her cats. They were the only part of her old life that she had left; she couldn't lose them. That night, when the Joker's cronies brought her more fast food, she asked them if they could tell "the Boss" that she was ready to talk. Neither said a word, but she knew they had heard her. She sat patiently as they left, eating her food nervously as she waited. After about ten minutes, the Joker entered, a smug grin plastered on his face.

"I knew you couldn't resist," he laughed self-assuredly, leaning against the closed door. "What can I, ah, what can I do for you?"

Rose stood this time, not wanting to feel intimidated by the maniac. "I know you've been to my house, you saw my cats," she began with authority. "I want to know if they're safe."

The Joker waved his hands exasperatedly. "Don't worry, don't worry, your little furry friends are fine," he said airily. "Trust me." He giggled fiercely when Rose raised an eyebrow in the irony of his statement.

"I wouldn't trust me, either," he said finally as the last tremors of laughter faded. "Now, ah, what did you say about information on your uncle?"

"I didn't," she said, folding her arms. Despite her want to know more, she certainly wasn't going to turn her uncle in to this guy. She knew squealing would make her free, but she had no desire of being the one who brought Sal down, of seeing reports of his death on the news or the grieving faces of Gina and the kids when they found out she was the reason why he was dead or worse. No, she couldn't, and wouldn't give up all that she knew.

"Are you sure?" The Joker asked, eyebrow raised in. Rose was already growing tired of him. He was so theatrical, so blatantly sardonic and mocking all the time, she wished more than ever to stick a bullet right in his frontal lobe.

"I don't know where he went if he's not at his house or the hideout; those are the only places he owns that I'm aware of."

"That you're aware of," he repeated, flicking his tongue against the edges of his mouth. "That's odd. For as much as you did for him in the past few months, I was sure he trusted you a little bit more."

Rose knew what he was doing; he was testing her, teasing her, trying to get her to say something, to attack him, to do anything that showed him he was getting to her. But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"So, what's the point of asking me if you know he doesn't tell me much? And besides, if you knew I was working for him, then you must know what we had been doing," she shot back.

He only laughed at her remark, reaching into his pocket. Rose's eyes were suddenly glued to the knife he pulled out. She felt her heartbeat quicken, but wouldn't let him see her fear, not this time. Her mob instincts were kicking in, the ones that told her to stand tall, look him in the eyes with a stern, proud look in her eyes.

"So, we were interrupted last time," he began casually, approaching her, despite her refusal to be intimidated by him, "and I never got a straight answer. Do you wanna know how I got these scars?"

"Not particularly," Rose replied, standing her ground. He was trying to distract her from the comment about her uncle, to scare her.

He waved his hand, ignoring her reply. "Oh, well, I'll tell you anyway." And in a flash, he had her pinned against the wall, the knife's cold steel resting gently against her cheek, a stark contrast to the tightening grip the Joker had on her left arm.

He squinted his eyes, his pupils darting back and forth, as he searched for the right words to begin. "I had a, ah, fiancée. A beaaauutiful one, just like you," he said reminiscently as he stared deeply into Rose's eyes, his tongue twitching around his scars and Rose could hear the saliva slide against his skin. "I loved her more than anything. She was my soul-mate. And very..." he waved his hand in the air as he pondered for a moment, "...very, ah, English. But a sweet little thing," he growled into Rose's ear, making her shudder at the dark tone in his voice, a sudden rush went down her spine in fear. "And she's always telling me to be happy, to smile a little more," he said sinisterly.

"So, we decided to go there, England, to tell her parents the great news!" he said cheerfully, his scars stretching across his face as he smiled. "Now, she's from London, a pretty, ah, dodgy part of the city. And when we go to her parents' house for dinner and announce our upcoming nuptials-sah," he hissed, "her dad hits the roof, can't believe she marrying a Yank like me," his voice dropped an octave, the rage he often kept pent-up escaping. "So, he kicks us out of the house, before we even have dessert!" he laughed.

"So, we decide to head back to our hotel to figure out what to do about dear ole Dad. I was so distracted with trying to comfort her, stop her from crying, I didn't see her brother coming out of the shadows with his little buddies. A nasty bastard, her brother, and he seemed to be pre-tty drunk, having spent the night out. He grabs my fiancée from me, telling her that Daddyy told him about her little boyfriend and that she shouldn't be out with the likes of him. She cries that I'm 'The One,' that it shouldn't matter that I'm American. Now," his eyes were getting wild, his voice deepening as he continued, licking his lips, "big brother doesn't like backtalk. Not. One. Bit. So he hits her pretty hard and she falls down. I tried to help her, tried to get him off her, but his li-ttle friends are pretty strong. One of them goes to grab her, holding her against him as Big Brother whips out a knife, just like this," he gestures to the one currently in Rose's mouth. "And he says, 'Let's put a smile on that face!'" He perfectly mimics a Cockney accent and digs the knife against the inside of her cheeks, causing her to shake in fear of what he would do next. "And right in front of his sister..." he stopped, letting the knife drop to the ground, pulling her closely to his face. "Well, I guess you can figure out what happened next," he laughed hysterically. "And this is the best part," he paused, his laughter getting the better of him, "you'll loooove this. My fiancée, after all that happened? She can't even look at me, says she can't live with the scars! She leaves me! Isn't that hilarious??" He let go of Rose and stepped back from her, letting her move quickly from her entrapment while he continued to laugh deliriously.

"So," he said, moving to sit again in the chair, resting his ankle on his thigh. "Now you know! Good story, right?"

Rose glared at him, angry that she let him scare her again with his knife tricks. She stomped into the bathroom and closed the door as harshly as she could, hearing his sinister laughter through the broken barrier between the rooms.

"Aww, come on, Rosie," he practically cooed, inches away from the door on the other side as she sat on top of the sink. "That was a pretty good joke. Come out of there. Besides, you owe me some in-for-ma-tion."

Rose knew he was right; besides, she wanted more details about Molly and Atticus. She pushed the door open suddenly, hoping it would hit him in the face, but he moved out of the way just in time. He wagged his finger at her and tutted. "Now, that's not very nice," he chided lightly, before grabbing her arm and pushed her into a sitting position on the bed. "Go on, tell me," he goaded, knife in hand. "What's Uncle Sal told you? Hmm?"

"I already told you, I don't know," Rose spat angrily, hoping he would believe her lie. "He was gonna make a killing off of the coke and then buy out some stocks in Wayne Enterprises. That's all I've got."

The Joker seemed to buy it, tapping his chin with his knife in thought. "Hmm, seems strange that Maroni would go through all of that for some, ah, leverage in Bruce Wayne's company."

"Are you kidding?" she scoffed. "Look at the numbers; Wayne Enterprises is probably one of the only major corporations in the world that isn't struggling in this shit economy. Wayne's making money, becoming more efficient, and still manages to give his employees holiday bonuses. Who wouldn't wanna get in on that?" This much was true, Rose had done research on Wayne's conglomeration before the gala and was hardly surprised to see his company flourishing.

"Innnnteresting," her captor remarked, licking his lips.

"Well, now you know. Now, will you please tell me about my cats?" she asked, trying to hide the desperation in her voice.

"I already told you," he told her calmly, unfazed by having his train of though derailed. "They're fine. And by that, I mean alive and well-taken care of. Nothing to worry your little head over." He patted her head for good measure, before bringing his face level with hers.

"What?" Rose asked, feeling irritated. He had been pushing her buttons long enough today; she just wanted him to leave so she could just be alone.

His expression changed suddenly, no longer mocking and demonically giddy, but he still held the darkness, the terrifying depravity that shook Rose to the core. He searched her eyes, for what, she didn't know. But he gazed at her intently for what felt like hours. She refused to give into the demonic scrutiny of his eyes, made darker by the greasepaint makeup surrounding them. Then he said something Rose hadn't expected to hear from his lips, not if she had a million guesses as to what he would say.

"You really are beautiful, Rosie."

And without another word, he stood up and walked out, leaving his prisoner utterly bewildered.

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Welllll, my little monsters, that's it! I hope you liked this. I toyed with this for a while, just because I'm struggling a lot with how to make the Joker believable, staying away from clichés, hinting at things without giving anything away, etc.

And you know how I love love all your feedback so if you could, tell me what you liked, didn't like, what I can improve on. Thank you, my darlings, who have stuck with me thus far. :)

Bonhiver