Author's Note:
Rather short, but important. This is a little more character development for Chelsea as she begins to delve deeper into her own conflicting emotion.
Thanks to all of my anonymous reviewers. You guys are the best! :D
And Kat, you rock my socks...as always. ;)
This is a rather short author's note.
Wow, I feel insufficient.
Anyway, onto the update.
The Joker belongs to DC Comics.
Chelsea Grant belongs to me.
By now, I'm trying not to burst into a fit of sobs, and it takes every last figment of my body to keep those tears that burn and prod behind my eyes at bay. I take Smithland up on his offer and sit down into the designated chair, collapsing on the table where I bury my face in my arms and try to escape a world that's slowly closing in around me. Claustrophobic tendencies begin to squeeze on my lungs, and my heart begins to throb deafeningly in my ears. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to remember where I was – but that just killed the moment for me, and I sunk deeper into the threat of impending tears.
"You look stressed, Chelsea." His remark was sardonic, and I looked up from my pitiable cocoon to find a complacent smile on his face.
"Nothing gets by you, sir." I retorted, wiping at my foggy eyes to rid them of any teary residue.
Smithland rose from his seat and started rummaging through a cabinet in the very corner of the staffroom. At first, I paid no attention to what he was doing until he pulled out a bottle of hard liquor and two shot glasses. My brow furrowed curiously; what in God's name was he up to?
"You look like you could use a drink." He slammed the shot glasses down on the table, one in front of me, and one in front of him.
The stench of alcohol wafted from the neck of the bottle as he tossed the cork to the side and poured the clear, toxic liquid into the two glasses, filling it up just beneath the half way mark before setting the bottle back down. In one swift motion, he threw back his head and emptied the contents of the shot glass down his throat, exhaling obnoxiously as he poured another shot.
"We're not supposed to drink at work, sir." I watched him closely as he took another swig of the liquor, wiping at his mouth distastefully. "It's against the rules."
"You know, Chelsea…I never did like how rigid you were with rules. Sure, there are rules that are made to make sure things are kept in order. But some rules are made to be broken," He spat at me, but in a contradicting gesture, pushed the shot glass my way, the one I dared not touch. "Go on. Let loose a little…you look like you're going to explode."
"Thank you, sir, but I make it a point to always follow the rules. Because, see, I figure it's made for a purpose, not just to be broken on a whim."
I pushed the shot glass back toward him and he chuckled. He didn't look so tired now, not with liquid courage in his system.
"You were always the morally responsible one, weren't you? It's not like people your age…you're supposed to be reckless."
"Perhaps sometimes it's better to break the mold." I quipped, and he didn't seem to hear my comment. He merely continued to indulge in his vile drink, while I sat there pointlessly with the rest of the hospital going on with their work behind me. I wanted to return to my job, not loiter around, waiting for Smithland to come to his sense and remember the discussion we were supposed to be having.
"You were working with Gordon the entire time…" My eyes narrowed suspiciously, and I crossed my arms over my chest in a stance of defense. "Weren't you?"
"You catch on quick, Grant. I was hoping you'd figure that out soon. What caused you to believe that?"
"Nothing, actually. Just women's intuition. The way you hid it was quite crafty…I would've never been able to figure it out if you hadn't specifically asked for Gordon when you were talking with Agnes. Oh yeah, I heard you. And so did the Joker."
"You're a smart girl. It's not a wonder they hired you." He wagged his finger at me, hiccupping from all the liquor.
"Just observant, doctor," I sighed heavily, realizing that there had been a plan going on all along behind my back and I'd been too lost in my own inhibition to find it out sooner.
"Well, I'm guessing you'd like to know how long this has been going on?" He suggested, quirking an eyebrow at me quizzically.
"Yes, sir."
He nodded heedfully, looking down thoughtfully at the ground. "The first day he got here, that's when. I thought I wouldn't have to, you see, 'cause no one was stepping up to help him in the first place. But then you came along and tried to convince us to help him, and I knew you were gonna do something about it the moment you overheard me talking to Agnes about the Joker being in the abandoned wing. Right when you went down there with those tools, that's when I called Gordon…that's when this whole thing started."
I listened carefully, but none of his endeavors surprised me. Smithland had never fully trusted me; hell, he didn't trust anyone but himself. It was Gordon that had me staggered, perhaps even disappointed. I'd looked up to him as an authority figure. I idolized him in almost every way possible, like a daughter aspiring to be just like her honorable father someday.
But then, I took into consideration the fact that Smithland was sneaky, and his lack of trust may have affected his choice on telling Gordon that I wasn't in on the scheme. Gordon might have never known that I was oblivious to the whole ordeal, and that maybe, he thought I'd been in on it all along…hence the reason he was so quick to trust me when I went in to ask him to remove the guard from the Joker's room.
All indications of dismay on my part flooded out of my system. Gordon had been just as oblivious to Smithland's whole plan as I was. We were both just pawns on the board…Smithland wanted the King now, and he'd kept us off to the side so he could lash out and get a hold on the Joker. But he'd missed…I could thank God for at least that. The Joker was safely manacled to his cot, in his room, alive and breathing with his body unscathed by a biting bullet. Someday, I would have to answer to God for being so shamefully grateful for that fact that he was still alive…but for now, I could savor the verity, even with that twinge of disgrace to tarnish a bittersweet victory.
I waited solemnly for Smithland to down another drink before he went on with his confessions.
"Anyhow, I never told Gordon about you, really. I just said that you were taking care of him and knew the sacrifices you were making for nurturing the whack job back to health. Of course, Gordon couldn't have you thinking he was watching your every move, so he told me to keep an eye on you, and if there was any trouble at all, he would send in a guard to watch over the Joker. So, when Miranda quit and filed a police report, he took that as a sign of trouble."
"So is this your plan, Smithland? Kill the Joker and have your revenge? This isn't the way the law works-"
He suddenly whirled on me in a flash of unexpected rage.
"Screw your precious law, kid! You don't know what it's like, to have him rip something you love and cherish right out of yours hands!" His fingers curled, and the depth and volume of his voice frightened me back in to my chair, cowering from his looming figure. I was sure he was going to hit me, but instead, he calmed himself and sat back down. I'd never been afraid of him like this before…not quiet, haggard old Doctor Smithland, who spent his days at the mindless drone, with only his patients to care for and look forward to. He was lonely, and it drove him to reclusion, to isolate himself from everyone around him.
An awkward silence ensued, but only for a moment.
"Look, I'm sorry I – I just can't let him get away with what he did, Chelsea. You have to understand…what he did was unforgiveable. I can never just let it go." He sighed, pushing feebly at his half full shot glass and sighing as he shoved it completely away.
I bit my lip, feeling suddenly ashamed of disliking him for so long when I didn't even know why…he was just another broken heart, someone that needed compassion.
"What did he do, doctor?" I mumbled, wringing my hands awkwardly.
"He took my wife away. She had gone to the bank to deposit a check, and the next thing I know, I turn on the news to find that bank in ruins after the Joker robbed it and detonated it into a thousand little pieces. My wife was the first hostage he shot…just because she was there, Chelsea. Just because she was there…"
"How did you find this out?"
"One of the hostages got away before the building could explode. I heard it on the news a short time later, that a Maureen Smithland was the first to be shot in the Joker's hostile takeover. The hostage told one of the news reporters, Mike Engel I think it was…he told him that she'd not made a sound, that he was just checking to see if his gun was working properly and shot her to test drive it. He's a monster, Chelsea, and I hate him for it. I'll always hate him for it…no matter how long I live, no matter how much I try to let it go."
I sighed and got up from my chair, searching for a Kleenex box as Smithland began to snivel into his drink again. His hands were shaking, and I tried to calm them as I knelt down in front of him, stuffing a tissue into his gnarled, wrinkled fingers.
For once, I didn't know what to say…I just sat there, feeling hypocritical and foolish for ever thinking of Smithland as a coldhearted brute who didn't have any capability of emotion. Of course he was empty…he'd been struck by tragedy, and by the hand of the man I was caring for no less. But for the life of me, I couldn't hate the Joker…I couldn't do it, even though he was a ruthless fiend, and even I was aware of that.
"Look, sir, I-"
"Go back to work, Chelsea." He muttered, looking down at the crumpled tissues in between his fists.
"What?" I blinked incredulously at his command, stunned for a moment by the suddenness of it.
"I said go back to work! I don't want you here anymore…just leave!" His voice rose again, and he looked up at me with a heated glare.
It was then that it struck me like a flying fist, as I walked out of the staffroom and shut the door behind me. Smithland would never forgive me for showing compassion to the person who'd thoughtlessly killed his wife…I would always be on his bad side, no matter what I did to try and redeem myself.
I guess it was right, what they always said…you just can't please everyone; there's always going to be someone left out in the cold.
The day just couldn't possibly get worse. I wasn't allowed to go back into the Joker's room, seeing that Agnes was determined about following Gordon's newly instated rules, and I tried not to think about him as I tended to my other patients. I was secretly crushed when I heard that the old woman that had been the kindest to me, the one who'd imparted words of infinite wisdom to me only a day before, had died from internal complications following a gunshot wound.
And it only obliterated me even more to find out from her husband, a weakly old man with tears in his wizened blue eyes, that she'd been shot by the Joker…another wonderful addition to pile up on the list of casualties the Joker had left in his path.
It was getting harder and harder for me to cope with the fact that I still couldn't hate him, even with the many lives he'd taken and the families he'd left devastated in his wake. He was like a rampant tornado, ripping the foundation of life from beneath Gotham's feet until there was nothing left but a pile of rubble to their name. I felt like I was the only one left untouched by his wrath…but something told me my turn would soon come.
By the time six rolled around, Agnes permitted me to venture back into the unknown, following me like an overly caring parent watching her child slip deeper into the haphazard realm of danger. She looked slightly unsettled by the darkness and the silence that surrounded us, breaking over us like waves pounding on the shores of a wasted beach. It certainly felt like being held beneath water…and that same sensation of feeling unable to breathe afflicted the both of us as we inched closer and closer toward that damnable room.
I told her she could wait outside the door, and she nodded in compliance, eager to fulfill my request.
Then, I sucked in a deep breath and exhaled as I pushed open the door, finding a set of impetuous, unpredictable eyes fixated expectantly on me. He'd been waiting for me; at least that was evident in the way his cheeks began to crinkle into a smug, knowing sneer.
"Aren't you the brave little solider…embarking on a quest into no man's land without an ah-comp-uh-liss?" He giggled hysterically, his body quivering with delight, but the look in his eyes depicted that he was amused by something completely different…I knew exactly what it was, too, and it was enough to make me feel reduced to the height of a worthless ant.
"I brought the front desk clerk with me. She's standing right outside the door." I corrected him, and he frowned, turning his head away from me in displeasure. It seemed I discontented him often these days…a pang of repentance pummeled my heart and made it sputter pitifully.
"Ya know, doc…I gotta hand it to you. You're one sick puppy…you just can't get enough of me, can ya?"
"I only do what I am told to do. Nothing more, nothing less."
"There ya go, kiddo. Lyin' to yourself…you'd be better off drowning yourself in a tub of holy water with the way you're goin'. You'll be inheriting a one way ticket straight to Hell for all the lies you've been spittin' at me."
"I'm not lying. I'm not…I swear I'm not." I felt the tears brush past my eyes once again, promising to reveal me for the pathetic creature I really was…right in front of him, right before the Devil himself.
"Oh, but yes…yes you are, sweets. I can see it in those ah- those lovely little eyes of yours. What, did ya really take me for a fool? Humm, I beg to differ, snookums…I know, uh, how things work. And now you, I'll admit you were a tricky puzzle to finish…but I've got you all sorted out, now that I've got a hang of the way you tick. You're a bomb just waitin' to go off, and I just love explosives."
He licked at his lips, and though I couldn't see it with my back turned, I could hear that nauseating popping sound as he smacked his lips together. He'd already found me out before I could even put together the pieces…I didn't know what it was that he knew, and I was afraid to find out. But all I knew at the moment was that I couldn't let him get to me.
I only have five minutes left to suffer around him. Five minutes in which I had to check his gauze, leave him food and water and get out of there as soon as I could before I broke down in tears right in front of him.
He didn't say anything else...just leered at me with that wicked, arrogant grin of his as I turned and stepped cautiously toward him, my arms outstretched for the bloodstained fabric of his vest and shirt. His eyes darkened even more, two gluttonous pits of Hell staring at me straight from the depths of the netherworld. I had to keep reminding myself he was shackled to the cot…he couldn't do anything to me, even if he wanted to. He was defenseless.
But as I reached abruptly forward in an impulsive spurt of confidence, he caught the back of my head with his spider-like fingers, the gloved hands keeping my head steady as he growled enthusiastically and that serpent's tongue reached from the caverns of his mouth, slipping the entirety of its sweltering hot length over my neck, his hot, fervent breath making my skin crawl uncomfortably beneath his animalistic gesture…I suddenly felt dirty, unclean like some leper.
He was tasting me, testing the meat to see if it was tender enough for his preference, and by the way he let out a lecherous little sound of satisfaction, I knew that he liked what he'd found…
I ripped myself away from him, and would have lost my footing if it'd not been for the wall behind me that I latched myself onto and held like a vice for dear life. My breathing was labored, and I couldn't tell if it was from sheer horror or brazen stimulation…my eyes widened at the thought of even asking myself that question.
The Joker chuckled mockingly, a resonation that rumbled deep within his throat. Couldn't Agnes see what was going on in here? Couldn't she see how conflicted I was?
Should I stay, or should I go…the inquisition branded into my mind and stayed there, appearing intermittently within my head like an unanticipated blinding light.
In a rush, I performed the duties I was expected to carry out…check his gauze, which was clean enough and get him food and drink. I threw a sandwich at him and a bottle of water without stopping to see if they'd even made it to his bed. He cackled manically behind me…oh, how my tangled emotions pleased him.
That's all I'd become to him…a doll to throw around and verbally abuse at his will. But I had to care for him…I couldn't leave him to die. Besides, I was too involved with the scheme to let little things like his perpetual mind games knock me out of the way.
Despite how rattled and dirty I felt from the encounter I'd had with the Joker only moments before, I walked home in a slow form of inflating peace, knowing somewhere, in the opaque shade, there was a dark angel looking over me.
And he knew and understood my pain.