Hehehe I just realized that I posted the chapter before this on 7/11, as in 7-eleven, like the store? Hahaha…gosh I have no life.
Poison Maker, Darkness Takes Over, and Not Human, your reviews make me feel all fuzzy inside, and they have spurred me to complete the so far longest chappie I've written in less time than the others. I have definitely broken out of my writer's block, and after this chappie the plot will start to speed up (I hope) cause I'll be including and interweaving through the movie scenes, which will be a big help. Sooo without further ado, I present the next chappie, but first I shall renew my disclaimer:
Don't own anything, nada, nothing AT ALL, except Velina, the plot, and several random characters.
Chapter 9: Because of You
I blearily cracked my eyes open, immediately shutting them when a white light filled my vision and thousands of glass shards reverberated throughout my skull, crashing against my forehead like a…mallet.
A groan escaped my lips. I placed a hand to my forehead only to find that it was dressed in gauze. My head rested upon a pillow. I dared to open my eyes again, this time squinting against the blaring luminosity that pierced my head.
"Ah, Miss Samuels, you're awake."
"Wha…?" I turned my head in the direction of the voice; a blurry white figure stood at the foot of the bed I was currently lying in.
"Miss Samuels?" The blob walked over to my side. "Can you hear me?"
I blinked several times in order to clear my vision and opened my eyes a fraction wider. The throbbing sensation erupted behind my eyes, but I forced myself to keep them open. The figure was a man dressed in a white jacket, and that was when I noted my odd surroundings.
"Where…?"
The walls were a dingy grey, the floor a dismal brown with the tiling coming undone. I was covered in a white sheet from the waist down, and I noticed I was wearing one of those flimsy hospital gowns. I'd only worn one once in my life, and I'd hoped that I wouldn't encounter the same fashion statement ever again.
"Miss Samuels, do you remember anything? Do you remember what happened?" The man looked at me with worried dark blue eyes behind a pair or spectacles. Rumpled brown hair and bags beneath his eyes made me think that he was either stressed or unrested...or perhaps both.
Who's Miss Samuels?
"Who is...?"
"Miss Samuels, my name is Dr. Bradshaw. You're in Gotham General. You took a rather hard hit to your forehead."
I closed my eyes. So…my last name was Samuels? For some odd reason, that didn't sound right. I wondered if perhaps everything had only been a dream. But then, I couldn't remember falling asleep in the first place. I couldn't remember. I didn't even know who I–
"The young man who brought you in wanted you to have this the moment you woke up. He was very insistent."
The doctor lifted a sealed envelope from a table and placed it in my hand; I squinted at the tiny scrawl printed on one side. It read: Jester
Opening the envelope, there was a small note inside.
Had some things to do. Be back for you in a few days.
J.
PS: Don't leave. I've got my eye on you.
I looked up from the paper to find that the doctor was still by my side.
"Miss Samuels? Is everything all right?"
"Uh…y-yes. How…how long have I been here?"
"Four days, not surprising though, considering what happened. You received a slight fracture in the front of your skull, minor, but more than enough to cause a concussion."
His words barely registered in my mind. "Oh…" I placed my fingertips against my forehead again and winced at the slight pressure.
"Are you in any pain?"
"No, I-I'm…fine." That was anything but the truth. My head felt as though it was about to split down the middle and every sound erupted new throbbing pangs throughout my cranium. "I'm just tired."
He gave me a sympathetic smile and clasped his hands behind his back. "Well, try to get some rest. I'll be back to check in on you soon."
His footfalls sounded out the room and down the hallway, but I didn't care about the doctor. I kept staring at those scribbled words in my hands, trying to make some sense out of them; they held no meaning whatsoever. Who was J? A friend? A relative? Why couldn't I remember them? And since when was my last name Samuels? Since when wasn't it? What was my first name? Nothing was making sense!
Velina!
I froze, wild-eyed with shock at the sound of a girl's voice, which seemed to originate from within my battered head.
"He-hello?" I tried, wondering if perhaps I had simply imagined the outburst.
Sweetie, calm down. Just breathe and try to get your thoughts together.
"But I don't have any thoughts!" I pressed my lips together, processing the fact that a voice was speaking to me inside my head. Then I flopped back onto my pillow and wailed, "I'm going crazy!" cringing when my head throbbed again.
Shut up.
The voice sounded annoyed, and much too mature. It was as though it belonged to a kid pretending to be an adult.
"I-if you don't mind me asking, who are you and why are you in my head?" I sounded much too timid for my taste. A fluttery laugh echoed in my ears, and I supposed that I had somehow managed to amuse the voice. It trailed off, however, when I remained silent.
Oh…you're not joking, my apologies. Don't worry, we'll have you fixed in a jiffy.
There was silence for several moments, during which I wondered if the voice had gone away. Then, it hit me.
A violent torrent of sounds and flashes of color flooded into my head, filling the empty spaces with pictures and voices of every sort that at first I couldn't recognize. As I began to wander through the continuous stream of incoming memories, I felt as though I was reliving my entire life all over again.
"Why can't you have something to eat? Because your father is dead and I don't get paid at either of my jobs for another week!"
"I can get you out of here. You come with me, and a whole world of excitement will be waiting for you."
"Sooo…I take it you're one of the real nuts in this place?"
"Sh sh sh, stop squirming, it'll only hurt worse."
"Run, dammit!"
"Here's what I'm thinking: Joker and Jester, together."
"Oh, God, I'm—Lina, I—"
"Ladies and gentlemen, so sorry, but Mr. Gaston is unable to speak at the moment. But don't worry; this next act is sure to "blow" you all right out of your seats."
"Lucky for you, that little bastard's gone. Now you don't have to share the limelight."
"Fine, let's close that mouth. There, that'll keep you quiet while I finish. You can still breathe through your nose. Dolls aren't supposed to talk, anyway."
"The circus was in town, and no one thought to give me a call? That hurts, that really just...hurts."
"Oh, you are so, just so precious."
The onslaught of memories left me somewhat disoriented at first. When the room ended its horrid spinning, I could feel a warm sensation begin to creep up the back of my neck as I clenched my fists.
Jack.
Darkness swam before my eyes, and I lost myself to its welcoming embrace.
~*****~
Dear Lina,
Meet me in the costume tent half an hour before the show starts. Please, I need to talk to you.
Jack
I looked from side to side, searching the area for any sign of him. How could I trust that he wouldn't try anything like last time? The truth was that I couldn't. I clutched my costume in my hands, stood, and left the gloomy truck in exchange for the blaring sunlight.
When I came to, the room was pitch black but for a faint glow spilling from beneath the closed door. I welcomed the lack of light, for at least it did nothing to aggravate the low pulsation in my head. The only thing I could hear was my own breathing, mixed with the soft sound of curtains brushing against each other due to a breeze coming from a cracked open window. I couldn't recall that window being open earlier, and I doubted that a nurse had opened it, what with the obvious risk of airborne illnesses attempting to murder me in my sleep.
But…perhaps the window had been open, and my memory was still lacking in some areas. What couldn't I remember? I decided that it was best to leave such thoughts in the dust and instead rejoice at the fact that I could recall anything at all. Still, that open window was worrying me. I pulled my sheets up to my chin when the possibility of burglary entered my mind.
My head still swimming with thoughts of armed men wearing ski masks, I sat up quickly when a soft click reached my ears; I just about fainted when a gloved hand covered my mouth. However, I did scream bloody murder, though the cloth greatly muffled my cry for help. I allowed a tear to roll down my cheek when I felt the barrel of a gun press against my temple. This was it; I was going to die right then and there. The only thought that somewhat calmed me was that at least I would breathe my last breath in a hospital bed like many others in the building.
My assailant pressed the gun a bit harder against my head, and the pain it created brought out a whine from between my lips. The thug made several tsking sounds and slowly lifted their hand away from my mouth.
"You uh, need to learn to loosen up, doll face." I turned to stare incredulously at my so-called-attacker, and he responded to my open-mouthed gaping by holding his thumb and pointer finger about an inch apart and saying, "Just a bit."
"You…you…" I trailed off, far too angry with him to even form a complete sentence.
He cocked his head to the side, watching me with an expectant look on his face. "I believe the words you're looking for are Thank you."
"Th-thank you?" I nearly shouted, raising my arms in exasperation. "Um, excuse me, but you are the reason that I'm here in the first place!"
He smacked his lips together and chewed on the inside of his cheek, peering down at me through squinted eyes.
"Yes, that's right. I was only testing your reflexes, and you decided to bleed alllll over my bathroom. I could have let you bleed to death, but I was kind enough to have one of my boys bring you here. Speaking of which, I was forced to kill said boy. Since he was seen with you, if he was seen with me then they might be able to connect you to me, and that would just ruin e-vry-thing. So, in order to keep you safe and alive, I lost one of my best boys and one of my best shirts." His entire speech was kept at an eerily conversational tone that scared me more than if he'd been shouting at me. That tone meant that he was royally pissed off and ready to cut me up, something that I deeply wished to avoid. He hauled me up by the collar of my gown, looked straight in the eye, and licked his lips. "Do you know how hard it is to get out bloodstains, girlie girl?"
Much too afraid to trust my voice, I simply shook my head in response. I could feel myself shaking with absolute terror, but for once, my fear didn't seem to amuse him. His face remained frighteningly cool and emotionless. After dropping me back onto the bed, he turned away and went to stare out the window, resting his hands on the sill.
"Hard," he spat.
"Thank you," I whispered, feeling much like a spoiled, ungrateful child who doesn't know how good she has it. Truthfully, I wasn't completely convinced that I had it particularly good. However, I came to the quick conclusion that it would be in my best interest to not point out the fact that this whole mess could have been avoided if he had simply tried out my reflexes with something far less heavy, like perhaps his fist.
"Not that I'm not used to it, and by now I can get them out in a flash, but is it that hard to show a little consideration?" he mumbled. That comment almost sent me into a shouting rage, but I wisely kept my lips firmly pressed together. I was so tempted to walk right up to him and say, I apologize that I didn't think to move my bleeding head away from your precious shirt while I was unconscious after you decided to whack me in the head with a fucking mallet!, but I was aware that such an act would not end with results in my favor. It appeared as though my words of gratitude had gone unheard, so I repeated them a few levels louder.
He tapped his fingers against the sill. I could see him watching me intently in the window's reflection.
"Anything eeeelse?"
I sighed, twisting the edge of the sheet in my hands. "I'm sorry."
"Ahhhh," he turned away from the window, "there's those magic words I was waiting for." He came to kneel beside me. He grabbed both my cheeks in one hand and squeezed them so that I had fish lips. I could see that he was trying to keep back a snicker at the way I looked. "But, sorry's just not gonna cut it." Frowning at me, he turned my head from side to side several times.
"What do you want?" I asked through my pinched lips.
At this, he did begin to giggle, and it was only when the small fit ended that he answered me. "I've got some plans tomorrow night, and I want you to tag along. Ya see, I'd like to think that I can trust my boys, but I know I can't, and I'm gonna be in a rather…vulnerable po-si-tion with what some of them might consider a pretty tasty bounty on my head. So, you're gonna make sure that I. Don't. Die. Got it?" That serpentine tongue darted out for a moment.
He nodded my head up and down for me several times, released me, and patted me on the head. "That's a good girl."
Standing up, he looked around the room. "Now, where did Chucky put your clothes?"
"Who's Chucky?"
"Uh, a buddy of mine who works here. I got something I can't fix on my own, I go to him. He doesn't ask questions and keeps his mouth shut. I usually just make a uh, a house call, but if it's bad enough I come here. This part of the hospital hasn't been used in aaaages, so I get to keep my privacy, and I am a man who enjoys his pa-rivacy. Had my boy tell him that just your pretty little head needed fixing, but I guess he thought that he needed to change you as well. Gonna have to talk to him about that…."
To say that this bit of news startled me would be an understatement. I had been under the watch of some shady doctor for four days, during which I was unconscious. If he had decided to change my clothing, I couldn't help but fear if he had chosen to do anything else.
"But…he acted so doctor-ish. If I wasn't a real patient, then why did he talk to me like I was one?"
"Ah, you see, that's one of Chucky's…quirks. He is first and foremossst, or so he says, a doc-tor. So, he treats every little person the same, no matter who or what they are…at least when they're awake."
"He called me Miss Samuels. Why?"
"Told my boy to give him a fake name. He never told me what it was…didn't really get a uh, chance to." I could detect a trace of laughter in his voice. Obviously, he didn't take the death of one of his "best boys" too seriously.
He dropped a small pile of clothes onto my lap, consisting of the pajama bottoms, tank top, and a gray hoodie. Perhaps my memory was still hazy, but I thought that I'd been wearing Jester's dress when my little "mishap" occurred. For my mind's sake, I forced myself to believe that my recollection was incorrect.
"Get dressed," he muttered. Because this room was in the older wing, there was no lavatory. I knew that he would not allow me to leave the room simply because that's just how he was. I threw my legs over the side of the bed and attempted to stand; my knees immediately buckled, and I held onto the edge of the bed for support. When I was confident that my legs had somewhat solidified, as at first they had surely been made of jelly, I waited for him to turn around. At first, he didn't seem to get the hint, but when I looked from him, to the clothes, and back to him, he understood.
"Oh, you don't want me to see your girl junk, I get it." Grinning mischievously, he put his hands over his eyes. "Don't worry, I won't take a look-see, promise."
Hesitantly, I untied the gown, watching for even the slightest move on his part. After several moments, I allowed the gown to fall from my figure, shivering when the breeze from the window sent gooseflesh rippling along my skin. As I dressed, I heard him mutter something along the lines of:
"I swear, you grow a pair of mosquito bites and suddenly there's this wall between us. I thought we were closer than this."
For the record, I was definitely not flat-chested; however, like most exceptionally thin women, my breasts were…small. At one point, Gaston had attempted to corner me into having silicone implants, but I'd somehow managed in a long-winded explanation composed entirely of made-up facts to convince him that such frivolities would only hinder my contortionism.
What he said was true though; we had been close, so close that I'd considered him something akin to an older brother. He had been my confidant and protector, and I lost him when he assaulted me and shattered my trust.
I found it almost funny how both times I'd been in a hospital, he was the reason for it. The only difference was that this time, he was actually here to take me home. Home…that was an odd thing to call my current residence, but it was also the only word that really fit. I could call it my prison, but I didn't wish to escape from it.
I pulled the sweatshirt over my head, wincing when it rubbed against my forehead. I was still in some pain, but this was nothing compared to what I'd felt when I'd first woken up. I cleared my throat, letting him know that I was finished. He lowered his hands and smirked.
"My, don't you look like a bag-o-bones." He placed a hand to his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm, I think I'll have Randy go out and get you something. I can't have you wearing my clothes 24/7."
With that, he made his way back to the window and pushed up the pane. He glanced back at me one more time before climbing out the window and walking away. I took that as my cue to follow, and once I was out the window, I shut it and chased him into the parking lot. It struck me as almost funny how I could make a run for it at any moment, but there I was following him like some obedient puppy. That was how things had always been, though. I had constantly followed Jack blindly; just like now, he always expected me to tag along, never once looking back to make sure I was there. Either he had completely trusted me, or I was pathetically predictable.
But…perhaps this was a test. He was giving me a chance to attempt to escape, seeing if he could trust me. I had the choice, to either turn on my master or stand obediently by his side. Stuffing my hands into the front pocket of the hoodie, I continued after my dangerous, violent haven.
We stopped at a black SUV. He opened the passenger side door and performed a slight bow with a flourish of his hand, drawing a small smile from my lips.
Just as we were exiting the lot, my stomach decided to growl – loudly. He glanced at me, a smirk playing on his face, "You uh, huuungy, cupcake?"
I shrugged my shoulders, unsure if he was actually making an offer or simply mocking me.
"Well, I am. How do you feel about the uh, the big M?"
I didn't respond, as I wasn't exactly sure what the big M was. My musings were answered several minutes later, when we pulled into a McDonalds drive thru.
A bit of static fizzled out of the drive thru speaker for a moment before a teenager's drawl took over. "Yeah?" the feminine voice slurred. I stared at the car's neon green clock while he began to order; it was 12:07. No wonder the kid sounded like she didn't give a care. I could actually feel my own eyelids begin to droop with fatigue. For some reason, almost five days of rest hadn't been enough.
A slap on my shoulder roused me.
"What do you want, sleepy head?"
I simply shook my head in response, too tired to even force my lips to move. He glared at me, my silence definitely grating his nerves.
Turning back to the speaker, he added, "And a uh...one of those chicken happy meal things."
"That'll be thirteen —" Another wave of static engulfed the rest of her words.
As we pulled up to the window, I once again closed my eyes and allowed my chin to rest against my chest. This time, it was an agonizing slap to the back of my head that woke me. A cry of pain escaped my lips as I blinked away the flashes of color that formed before my eyes.
"You better not be trying to staaaarve yourself," he growled. He tangled his fingers in my hair and pulled me toward him, making me gag when my seatbelt began to strangle me. "Because I won't, I won't like that."
"I-I'm not!" I choked out. He simply stared at me, those cold, dark orbs penetrating my very core. I'm sure that he would've continued to completely unnerve me, but he settled for simply backhanding me across the face when the squeak of a door sounded. I held a hand to my burning cheek as more explosions went off inside my head.
"Thirteen eighty—"
I wondered why the girl had suddenly cut off. Looking out the driver side window, I could see her, mouth wide open, features pulled in an expression of absolute terror. Well, I should've been expecting such a face. I supposed it wasn't everyday that you had the Joker pull up to the drive thru window…with a gun pointed at your face. I gulped when I saw the piece of metal he held so nonchalantly.
"Hey there, sweetheart," he began in a casual voice. "Listen, I seem to be short a few bucks. That uh, that isn't going to be a pa-roblem…is it?" On the last word, he cocked the gun's hammer.
I immediately froze, wanting to swipe that gun out of his hand, but at the same time paralyzed with the knowledge that I would pay for being so brash. Silently, I watched as the terrified girl gave him the food, her hands visibly shaking.
He placed the bag behind him into my unprepared arms; I almost dropped the entire thing.
"Don't shoot, please don't shoot," I whispered beneath my breath.
He cocked his head to the side, as though he'd heard my plea.
"Thank you, my dear. But…I hope you don't give away too many freebees, otherwise you might just get fired." A bullet blew the soft drink dispenser to pieces, spilling soda onto the counter and floor. With that, he slammed his foot on the accelerator, leaving the sound of screeching tires mingled with howls of laughter in our wake.
The bag, whose tantalizing aromas were beginning to make me salivate, warmed my hands and chest, as I'd held it protectively against my body when the car took off. Leaning back in the seat, I once again felt sleep trying to pull down my eyelids, but one thought would not allow me to relax in peace.
"You didn't shoot her," I mumbled.
He didn't answer me at first, but the smile he'd been wearing fell from his face. After a moment, he glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. "Yeah? And your point is?"
"You were going to. Why didn't you?"
"Who are you to say what I was or wasn't going to do? I do what I want to do, and what I wanted to do obviously wasn't shoot her, otherwise I would have." He was sly, as he never actually said that he didn't want to shoot her. He was a man of his word, and I knew he couldn't lie. However, his answer didn't fool me, not a bit.
He had wanted to. I had felt it radiating off him, that awful yearning for malevolence, pain, and chaos that I'd warily become accustomed to when Jack wasn't himself. Sometimes during shows, the knives he threw would come too fast and a bit too close and actually graze me, sometimes he'd hold my throat too long in his hands that were squeezing much too tightly, and sometimes the laughter that was rehearsed for certain intervals would ring out too often and sound much too real. Everything he did became too much, and I knew that he had enjoyed it.
He had wanted to shoot that girl, but for some reason he didn't. I wasn't sure why he didn't, but nonetheless, it made me smile.
Like it? Hate it? Please leave a review and tell me what you think!