Worst Fear - a Joker Story
Meeoko
Summary : They say the night is darkest before the dawn. But I like the dark - I like it a lot! That's why I built an army. An army of fallen angels. Joker-focused fic. Begins just before The Dark Knight. Rated M.
Author's Note's : Two chapters in one day. How well do I treat you guys? Yes yes, I know. Love me! Lol.
Jim felt his blood turning to thick, ice cold porridge in his veins. It clogged at his heart and stuck there. And it hurt like hell.
"Hello?" he called into the darkness. "Who's out there!"
He got no reply.
He struggled against the handcuffs, but it was useless. How had this happened? What had happened to the GFD? Goddamnit, where were his men? They were being shot at! The fire! And he was on the roof! And the Batman! What had gone wrong? Where had...? How had he...? What had...?
There were a million and one questions flying around inside Jim's head, but he could only answer one. What had he done wrong? And the answer was everything. He had done everything wrong! He had been unprepared and reckless and stupid! And it had cost him five men – and the rest to a madman! God, this was insane! Where was Romerez? She'd been shot, for the love of God! She needed to get to a hospital! Not stewing in some rotting, God forsaken run-down warehouse!
Bang!
Light flooded the dark space and Jim winced. He hadn't seen the light for almost a whole day. How long had he been here?
"Afternoon, Gordon."
The voice sent a chill through his spine. It was him. How could it possibly be anybody else? Jim lunged forward in his chair, but it was useless. The handcuffs cut into his wrists and dug into the flesh. His mouth felt too warm and he tasted metal. He guessed that he'd opened up the cut again. The cut that he had given him. The Joker.
The clash of the metal door sounded again as it swung closed and Jim was instantly thrust back into darkness. There was very little light and he couldn't see much. His vision was failing him in his age. But he glared into the darkness acidly, at the very same spot where The Joker had been standing before the lights went out. He knew what to do in a hostage situation, he was trained to know! But this was so much more different than anything he'd ever been prepared for. There was nothing by the book about this guy.
"Comfortable?"
Jim jumped a mile. The slinky voice was right behind had he moved so quickly? Jim tried to steady himself. The same stale smell of face paint wafted over him and he knew that The Joker was close. Too close. He could almost feel the breeze as the green hair swept past his face.
"Where....where are my men?" he asked as steadily as he could. He looked straight ahead into the darkness.
Silence. Jim strained his ears, trying to pick out any kind of movement. He didn't know where his captor was in the darkness. It was like the man was built for the shadows.
"They're.....around." the same sleek voice replied to his left.
Jim instantly darted his head in the direction of the voice. But he couldn't see anything. Surely he'd be able to see the white face paint like a beacon? A bead of cold sweat dripped down the nape of Jim's neck. He found himself thinking about Barbra, and not for the first time.
He swallowed a lump in his throat. It didn't budge. He glared into the darkness, but never could he see the black rimmed pair of eyes staring back at him.
"You disappoint me, Officer."
Again, Jim's head darted in the direction of the voice. He thought he saw a flash of movement, but it was gone as quickly as it came.
"Bullet proof vests now, eh?" the voice came again "And I thought you were better than that..."
Jim was confused. It seemed as if The Joker was everywhere at once. He couldn't place his voice. It was like trying to keep track of a shadow in the darkness! He could just make out The Joker tutting, as if he was disapproving of a naughty child.
"Now now, Gordon..." he spoke "Taking unnecessary precautions like this. You're gonna hurt my feelings. All this needless protection. Makes me think you're....worried about something."
Jim wrung his hands together, trying to dislodge the cuffs behind his back. It wasn't working and his sweaty palms kept slipping against the metal.
"Are you trying to say something to me, Gordon?"
There was a pause. Jim thought he saw the glistening of a smile in the darkness, but it disappeared as soon as he had spotted it. It unnerved him, being alone like this, unable to even see the monster that had taken him hostage.
"Are you trying to say that maybe I'm..."
Silence. Jim tensed, unable to hear anything at all. Not even the sound of The Joker's maniacal breathing. A drop of water sounded in the distance. A bead of sweat slowly trickled down his neck.
"SCARY?"
Jim gasped, wincing as the Joker thrust his face out of the shadows, right in front of him. The piercing black eyes danced with unspoken laughter when he saw the officer wincing in fear and suddenly, Jim hated himself for showing the sign of weakness. Standing where he was, barely an inch away from his face, The Joker's mouth twitched, slowly growing into a smile that crept up along his face like poison ivy. But he didn't laugh like Jim had expected. No. Instead, he just stood there, his demon-like eyes bearing down on Jim like Satan himself. Smiling. Always smiling.
How he hated it.
"What...what do you want?" Jim asked, clearing his throat and trying to regain his composure.
The smell of burnt hair and more face paint filled his nostrils. There was soot on his face, mixed in with the murky dark rimmed face paint and he smelt musky. Obviously, The Joker had been just as lucky as he had to escape the blaze. But Jim knew that that was all part of the plan. The sick son of a bitch had planned to take a gamble like that. He was willing to risk his own life to pursue these sick homicidal needs.
The Joker sighed, rolling his eyes.
"Why....do people keep asking me that?" he shook his head. "It's such a stupid question! There's just so many answers I could give! I can't explain it. Because....I don't want anything – and yet, I want everything!"
He suddenly leant back, shadowing him back into the darkness. Jim could just make out his outline. It looked as though he'd thrown his arms wide.
"It's a pointless, unanswerable question. Your uh, your buddy Ray asked me that earlier....and look what happened to him."
Jim froze. Ray. Ray.... The name rang a bell. Then it hit him. Raymond Naylor! The war vet in the beat force! He hadn't turned up for work the day before. Had this sick son of a bitch gotten hold of him somehow? What had happened to him?
Jim tried to clear his throat. The big lump still didn't dislodge itself. He was too hot. It was the goddamn bullet proof vest, which had obviously done nothing to improve his chances. His shoulders ached from being pulled backwards for so long.
"Where is he?" Jim asked, squinting at the silhouetted figure of The Joker. "Raymond. Where is he?"
The Joker puffed out some air from between his lips. Jim could see his silhouette and was almost certain that he was rolling his eyes. How could somebody be so callous? So....inhuman?
"Now that's a stupid question." he replied.
And Jim knew he was right. He had a sinking feeling he knew exactly what had happened to Raymond Naylor.
He took a deep, steadying breath through his nose. It was difficult trying to keep track of the formidable shadow of the homicidal clown in the darkness. It was like he was built just to live in the darkness. To lie in wait, watching as the prey lie unsuspecting and squirming. Just like all of the nefarious horrors that used to plague children's stories.
Jim had never been scared of clowns, like some people. But he had a feeling that he soon would be.
"My men need medical attention." Jim finally replied, speaking as slowly as he could. "Just let them go. We can work this out."
He heard it, finally. That laugh. But it was too deep. Too slow. There was nothing funny about the way that he was laughing at Jim. It was the laugh of a man who had nothing left to lose. Jim heard him this time, the slow footsteps echoing as if from somewhere far away. Until the footsteps stopped directly behind him and he smelt a mixture of burnt hair and face paint wash over him. The Joker leant down, so close now that Jim could have heard him breathing if a gun went off.
His breath whispered past his ear as The Joker spoke the one word that Jim had been expecting.
"No."
–
Newcomer wasn't sure what to do with himself, but he was happy. So very happy that he thought his butterflies were going to start flapping their wings and carry him off into the sky! He wouldn't even need his wings back if that happened! Something kept swimming around and around inside his head like a pool of water with the plug pulled out.
Sweetheart.
He'd heard the angel's voice calling his name and he knew that it was the most beautiful thing that he would ever hear in his entire life. She had said that he had butterflies in his eyes. Shining and brilliant and white, like the pretty flowers outside the windows. She remembered them. Yes. Just like he did. But she was prettier than the flowers. She was prettier than a whole field of flowers!
He was wearing his mask again. The boss had told him to. And he didn't mind. He liked his mask. It made him feel safe. Safe and important. He heard another loud banging on the big metal door behind him and he slammed a fist behind him, banging it right back. Those people were so noisy! What if the boss was trying to sleep?
"You better let me outta here, ya little cop killer!" he heard from behind the big door. "We got wounded in here, for fuck's sake!"
Newcomer pouted, letting air from between his lips like he'd seen the boss do so many times. They were so pesky, these people. Why wouldn't they just let him be in peace, so that he could think about Sweetheart? Hadn't they ever seen the most beautiful girl in the world before? He didn't think they had. If they had, they'd be thinking about her too. Not being loud.
"Goddamnit, let us out!" he heard another voice, followed by another big bang on the door. "At least get me some freakin' bandages!"
Hmm. That was a thought. Did the boss really mind at all if the bad men bled? He didn't think so. But what if they were important people like ? He wouldn't want them dying, would he? Because then he'd get in big trouble with the boss. Very big trouble. And he didn't like to upset the boss.
Turning around to look at the door, Newcomer ignored the banging sounds coming from the other side. He looked around the corridor. Bandages. Where could he get bandages? Then he spotted it. A first air kit, nailed on to the wall a few metres down. He walked down the dirty hall, liking the echo his boots made on the floor until he reached it. He opened the door. It creaked very angrily and he had to pull quite hard to get it open. He looked around for a moment, pawing through the strange contents until he found something that looked vaguely like a wad of bandages.
"You're going to get in trouble!" the voices whined. "The boss is going to be angry!"
Newcomer ignored them, holding his nose high. The voices had been wrong before about Sweetheart and they were wrong this time! He had been on cloud nine since he had spoken to the beautiful angel and the voices had not been pleased with his success. Listening to his echoing footsteps, newcomer headed back down towards the big metal door, hearing the loud banging start up again. Before he reached out to touch the handle, Newcomer sniffed and clicked off the safety trigger on his rifle. He never did like the safety trigger.
The banging stopped when he pushed down the handle. Slowly, Newcomer shoved open the heavy, squealing door. It was dark inside the room and it smelled strongly of metal. Sticky wet metal. Like blood.
Newcomer walked into the room, gun first and squinting. He couldn't see much. He took a tentative step forward, then another. All he heard was the dripping of water.
Bang!
His gun was suddenly pushed downwards. It fired, hitting the concrete floor and pinging against the metal walls. Newcomer span around to point the gun in the direction of the blow, but something grabbed him from the side and pulled him sharply backwards. His arms went wide and he held tightly on to the gun as he fired a second round.
Bang!
The clashing of metal boomed in the tiny room as the bullet clanged off the corrugated walls. Newcomer whined as he was pulled backwards, thrashing around uncontrollably. The force behind him staggered, losing his balance. They both fell backwards, Newcomer's weight coming crashing down on the man.
Bang!
Again, the gun went off, hitting up into the roof as the butt of the battle rifle hit the floor. Newcomer winced as the wind was knocked out of him. An arm came up behind him and wrapped around his neck. He choked as someone tried to grab away the battle rifle in his hands. His mask had come loose from his face and gasping for breath, Newcomer bit down on the arm wrapped around his neck as hard as he could. He heard a scream and a sudden burst of warm, gooey metal filled his mouth. He spat it out, kicking out at another armoured man who was grabbing at his legs.
A boot came up to kick him in the stomach and Newcomer felt all of the breath leave his lungs. He dropped the gun, lurching forward as he gasped for air. There was a struggle behind him. He heard someone grunting. He gulped in gasps of air, his eyes going wide as he watched black spots dancing in front of them.
"You're going to die!" the voices screamed in his ear "Kill him! Kill him!"
The man underneath him lurched sideways, throwing Newcomer onto the dirty, muddied ground. He gasped, desperately trying to regain his breath. He whimpered, watching as images flashed inside his head. Things he thought he had forgotten.
"Get him up!" he heard someone shouting and he was roughly hoisted to his feet.
Something hard hit him in the face. Newcomer reeled. It felt like a steam train had ploughed into his face! The gooey metal sprang up again in his mouth and he heard something crunching.
"Sick little bastard!" he heard the screaming in the darkness. "Now so big now, are ya?!"
Click.
Newcomer froze. He knew what that sound was. A hand grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him upwards. He couldn't breathe. He was spun around, an arm twisted painfully behind his back. He started whimpering when he realised he was staring down the barrel of his own battle rifle. The flashes kept coming. Explosions. Noise. Blood and dirt. People screaming. Him bleeding.
"Shoot him! Shoot him!" the voices screamed in his ears, laughing.
""You're gonna get us out of here, you sick son of a bitch!" the angry voice holding the gun spat.
Newcomer froze. His eyes went wide and he stopped breathing. Holding the rifle, standing in front of him, was one of them. The Shadow Men! No! How had they found him?
His body began to tremble. A terrified tear slid down his face as he looked up at the sneering, looming shadow. He struggled, thrashing violently to get away. His arm twisted further behind him, but he didn't care. He had to get away! Far, far away from the Shadow Men!
"No!" he screamed, blinded by complete and total terror. "Go away! Go away!"
"The Shadow Men! The Shadow Men!" the voices screamed with laughter "Back to the White Room! Back to the White Room!"
He thrashed like an animal caught in a trap as the man behind tried to restrain him. Sweat trickled down his forehead as he screamed, his throat becoming raw. No! No! How had they found him? Not here! Please, please no! Not them! Not them!
"Just fucking shoot him!" the voice holding him screamed. "Now! Do it now!"
"Do it now!" the voices chanted "Do it now!"
"I won't go back!" Newcomer screamed, petrified tears streaming down his face. "Don't make me go back! No!"
Bang!
Thud!
Something clattered to the floor at Newcomer's feet. The noise stopped. Even the man holding him stopped still. Newcomer took in haggard breaths as he stopped screaming. Tears stung his face and he blinked them away with wide eyes. He darted his head towards the black and lifeless lump on the floor, the battle rifle lying beside it on the floor.
Newcomer let out another choked breath, almost falling forward as the arms wrapped around him let go. He was panting hard, looking with blurry wide eyes at the shape on the floor. The...the Shadow Man. It was....dead!
He looked out through the door to the light outside. There was no movement now. The Shadow Men retreated backwards into their disgusting, slinky corners. Newcomer looked towards the light of the corridor and tittered with a mixture of tears and happiness as he saw who was standing in the doorway.
There, firmly stood, holding a smoking battle rifle in her hands and the light bouncing off her beautiful shiny hair, was Sweetheart. His saviour. His beautiful, angelic saviour.
Killer of the Shadow Men.
–
God, it was fun toying with these people!
"You won't get away with this." he heard Gordon saying, though he was looking around into the darkness like a blind rat.
He rolled his eyes. Jesus, he wished he wouldn't keep saying that. It was just so....cliché! He was on the move again. It was obvious that Officer Gordon didn't really know his left from his right. He kept looking around blankly into the darkness, squinting and wrinkling his nose. It looked kind of funny. But he didn't blame the officer. He was good at what he did. And he'd always liked the dark.
"Oh, but I am, Gordon." he replied, slinking through the darkness. "I'm good at what I do."
And he was sure that Officer Gordon didn't doubt it. The officer started squirming again and The Joker rolled his eyes, getting bored with the game of cat and mouse.
"Why am I here?" Gordon asked against the darkness, sounding very angry indeed. "What do you want with us?"
Ah, so many questions, so little time. The Joker mulled it over for a moment, chewing on the insides of his mouth and prodding at the scar tissue with his tongue. To be honest, there was no particular reason he'd decided to kidnap the entire Major Crimes Department. If anything, it was just to piss the Batman off. And it was fun.
"Ya know, Gordon..." The Joker replied, trailing off as his eyes scanned the waiting darkness. "Ta' me, you seem like the kinda guy with a family. Lovely wife, cute kids, maybe even a dog or somethin'. The whole schibang! Am I right?"
He was right. He could see it in Gordon's frozen, tight face. He smiled, showing his teeth. Bingo.
"Ya see," he continued. "I'm not the kinda guy to take things lightly. I've done my research."
He shrugged, mainly to himself, waving a hand at Gordon.
"Have you done yours?"
The officer sat there for a moment, a concentrated frown furrowing his brow. It was a disguise. The Joker could see that easily. All part of 'the plan'. Don't let them see they've affected you. Keep a cool head. All that crap. And Gordon was trying to keep his up, though he was pretty sure it wasn't working.
The silence dragged on. Water dripped in the distance and a breeze blew through the empty holding bay. A minute passed, maybe two. It was fine with him. He could wait. He'd wait all day if he had to, just to see the look on Gordon's face when he replied. That was all part of the enjoyment, after all. Why set a bunch of domino's up if you weren't just going to push them down all over again?
"No name." Gordon finally replied. "No matches on prints. No dental or health records. Plenty of jail time, but for how long and when are unknown. Time spent in several asylums across the country, including Archym. No next of kin. No other alias."
The Joker's smile spread slowly across his lips. So, Gordon had done some of his homework after all. Too bad he'd been so thorough. It was all for nothing. Slowly, The Joker stepped out of the shadows towards Gordon. He watched the officer's muscles tighten and the deadly smile grew a little larger.
"Of course there wouldn't be." he replied, suddenly sounding angry and serious, towering over Gordon, even from five feet away. "In a game of chance, you don't leave the cards lying on the table."
Gordon scowled. The Joker thought he might even have heard a growl coming from him. His smile remained. He was impressed, even if the officer had allowed his entire unit to be kidnapped and shot at. Gordon had balls, that was for damn sure
"But ya see," he continued, suddenly perking up again. "that's the funny thing about chance. Chance can be your, uh, your maker, or your undoing. You took a chance. Look where it got you. I took a chance, and I came out on top."
The officer looked stumped, but slowly turned back into a careful frown.
"Leave my family out of this." he said simply.
He was taken aback. How polite of Gordon to simply ask him outright! What a nice gesture. He took another step closer towards Gordon, a surprised and slightly offended look on his face.
"Me?" he asked, sounding almost hurt. "Hurt them? Why Gordon, you give me too much credit. No. No, I won't hurt them. No. Not dear sweet...Barbra, wasn't it?"
Gordon winced. The sight made him smile.
"And little.....Jim Junior?"
The tortured look of both panic and pain stayed stuck on Gordon's face, though he hid it well. It was just because The Joker was good at what he did. He could spot it easily. He was what his father had once liked to call 'a people person'.
Gordon looked incredulously at the floor, scowling through his swollen lip. For a brief minute, The Joker felt bad. He'd been the one to give Gordon that cut up lip, after all. But he quickly shook his head, banishing the humanity back down into the watery depths. There was no room for empathy. No, no, no.
"Why get them involved?" Gordon asked solemnly to the floor. "You couldn't. So much needless bloodshed."
He looked up into the darkness, finally looking at the right spot. He had the look about him too. The humanity.
"You must have some family too, somewhere."
'Somewhere' being the operative word. He thought to himself.
But wow, was that unexpected. Officer Gordon, capable of showing compassion. That unnerved him a bit and he shook his head. No. No, why would his new pet be as humane as the rest of them? Surely not. No, he didn't care about his family aesthetics. It was just another cheap cop trick. Another cheap trick that he wouldn't fall for. Shaking his head as quickly as he could, he tried to get back on track.
His family. Wow, that was a thought. It had been at least nine years since he'd thought about them last. Who would have thought that Officer Gordon bringing them up would have upset him so much? Geez, it didn't even matter! They were almost certainly all dead by now anyway! He'd made sure of it. Or had he? He was almost certain that he'd taken down the mailbox with a chainsaw as a starter. Things were getting so much harder to remember these days....
He ignored Gordon's statement. God, he was too shaken up! Why was this bothering him so freakin' much? It didn't fucking matter – as usual! It was that bastard humanity again! That goddamn look Gordon had given him!
He stalked into the shadows and away from Gordon. He received no reply, nor would he. Stupid fucking pig had really pissed him off now! He knew it was only a matter of time before that stupid snot-nosed kid came back again, bitching and whining like always. And it was all Gordon's fault!
Striding out of the shadows in the single long step, he lurched forward and punched Gordon square in the face. The officer's head shot backwards, his glasses dislodging and clattering onto the concrete floor beneath him. A small trickle of blood leaked underneath the bridge of his nose. But it didn't make The Joker smile. No. Not now, not anymore. He had had too much now. Too much humanity for one day. And it pissed him off.
He stood there, looking down at Gordon, breathing a little too heavily. The officer's head slowly came back to its original place and he squinted against the darkness without his glasses, like a naked mole rat in a brightly lit mall. He clenched his fists and felt them trembling until his nails dug into the palms of his hands. He felt a prick, like a small tearing of skin and sighed greatly through his nose when he realised that he'd drawn blood.
Better. He told himself. Better.
With another deep sigh and a single fist still shaking, The Joker leant down to pick up Gordon's glasses, placed them back on the officer's face and tapped him on the cheek. Without a second thought, he then turned back around towards the exit, flooding the empty holding room with light from the outside.
Officer Gordon was immediately snuffed out when the door closed again.
–
The door slammed shut. He felt for his head, feeling the thumping pain behind it. He hadn't been doing anything, but it had made him angry. He was always angry.
Wiping the trace of blood from his eyes, he swayed as he looked down at the usual space on the floor, near the doormat. This time, he wasn't disappointed. It was here! Finally!
Ignoring the loud squalling sound from across the hall and the throbbing pain behind his eyes, he knelt down and picked up the mail on the floor. Hopefully his father would be done with him for today. Hopefully, he would go back to his needles and his friends. He needed to take every advantage that he could.
Rifling through the mail in his hand, he sought for the one with his name on it. The one that he knew was his be all and end all. He sniffed, feeling himself swaying on the spot. How hard had he hit him this time? Was it just a little too much? Not that he cared anyway.
The squalling continued. His eyebrow twitched in annoyance, but he ignored it a minute longer. The house smelt like burning chemicals and dirt. No doubt his father's attempts at home brewing again. He wouldn't be surprised if his mother was down the hall now, passed out on the stuff. Or worse. He hadn't seen her in a few days.
"Where'ar ya, ya little shit?"
He shuddered at the loud gravelly voice, taking his first shaky step into the run-down little place that was called his home. It was called that, but he didn't feel that it was. He didn't feel at home anywhere. His father made sure of that. He took another tender step forward, listening out for the low mewing sound. They'd probably left him alone again. He wondered how long it had been since the kid had eaten.
When he heard the low moaning of his baby brother, he breathed out a sigh of relief. It meant he was still breathing. Hopefully his father had gone back to doing whatever it was he needed to do, thou he doubted it. It would bide him some more time. Looking down at the mail in his hands, he finally came across the one he had been looking for. His mail. His hands shook a little as he looked at it and he licked at his lips. A droplet of blood fell from above his eyebrow, staining the white paper. He looked at it, wondering if he was a little concust. Blood was a very pretty thing to behold. White and red. Death and nothingness. It made no sense to him, yet all the sense in the world at the same time. He opened his mouth a little, breathing a bit too hard. His eyes ached. How long had it been since he'd slept? Probably three days.
"Jay, ya little gobshite!"
He wanted to stay and look at the blood, but that same gravelly voice stirred him into action. Fear clung at his insides like molten lead and he froze in place. He would have to keep moving. If he didn't, he was sure to fall into another of his father's hellish lessons. But first thing was first.
Swallowing a big lump in his throat, he walked down the dank and dingy hallway towards his brother's room. Barely six months old, born into a family that would never care for him. As he suspected, there the little boy was, sat in his cot, mewing for a mother that would never come. No doubt she was passed out in the kitchen again. It was a wonder she was still alive, really.
Reaching into the cot and picking up his little brother underneath the arms, he bobbed up and down trying to soothe him. The movement made him dizzy again and he swayed on the spot, retching. Luckily, after a minute, it passed. He must have really been hit hard this time. His vision was starting to blur.
He looked down at the little boy in his arms. He stank like anything. The little boy needed a bath. Not that there was anything to bathe him with. The bills hadn't been paid again. They had bigger problems to worry about.
Wrinkling his nose at the smell, he carried his little brother through the hallway towards the kitchen. Hopefully there would be something there. If at all. The letter remained clutched tightly in his hand.
"Gemme' my pills!" he heard his father screaming in the next room.
He walked into the kitchen, expecting something.
He expected to see his mother there, lying against the breakfast bar with her eyes cast skywards. But instead, she was on the floor. He stood there for a moment, holding his baby brother and looking down at her lifeless body slumped on the filthy kitchen tiles. His voice sounded louder to him that the screaming wind in his ears.
"M-mom?"
She didn't respond. His little brother began squalling again, rubbing at his eyes with tiny malnourished fists. He bounced him up and down a few times, uncertain of what to do. There looked like a large brown stain next to her head. Maybe she'd spilt something again. What if she'd had one of her episodes when he wasn't there? He hadn't been home in four days. That's why his father had been so angry. The house smelt worse the normal. Had his father been making something again?
"Mom."
Still nothing. His ears pounded, echoing inside his brain and bouncing off the walls like a mental patient at Archym. Swallowing another lump in his throat, he placed his baby brother down on the tar stained linoleum, ignoring him when he squealed in protest. For a minute, he stood there. Looking down on the lifeless form of his mother. Her curly brown hair was matted and foul smelling and she looked paler than normal, though he couldn't see her face. She was turned away from him, slumped down on the floor at an odd angle.
He coughed, hoping to make his presence heard. It sounded too loud to him. Like an avalanche. Still his mother did nothing. She just lay there, unmoving. Probably not breathing. Stinking and foul.
"Jay!" his father screamed. "Gemme' my fuckin' pills! Your mam fell!"
But his mother hadn't fallen. He knew that already. He balled his hands into fists, crumpling up the letter in his hand as he did so. His small fists shook angrily, trembling silently as he stared down at the lifeless form of his mother. She was dirty and broken and soulless. He had decided that long ago. He had decided long ago that souls were a load of lying bullshit.
"M-mom...." his voice trembled as he bit down as hard as he could on the inside of his mouth.
He couldn't cry. Crying was for the weak. That's what his father said. When he cried, he had to be taught otherwise. He wasn't allowed to show the weakness. His father called it 'the humanity'. Sometimes he would say that the human people of the world all deserved to die screaming in fiery agony. He couldn't understand that. Weren't they all people? Wasn't his father a human too?
"I-I hate you, Mom...."
The muffled, angry voice inside his head replied for her.
"I know, son."
Author's Note's : I don't really like that last memory, but obviously, it's yours to judge. Chapters will be up and running as soon as I can get access to a computer. I promise you now, things will get done!