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Chapter Nine

Rage

Quarrel? Nonsense; we have not quarrelled. If one is not to get into a rage sometimes, what is the good of being friends?

-George Eliot

What do you hear when you wake up in the morning?

Do you hear the sound of birds singing in that old oak tree at the back of your garden? Maybe the sounds of a sizzling pan are the first things that reach your sensitive ears. Or, perhaps, the sounds of your little brother or sister stomping about the house are the first things you have the unpleasant surprise of hearing. On the other hand, if you have no siblings – you may hear the gentle morning murmurings of your parents.

In my case, of course, I usually heard my older brother bustling about, getting ready for work. It was better on his days off – the sound of a sizzling pan was always good on my ears. No bickering younger siblings or gentle murmurings of parents, obviously – both did not exist in my life.

But in yours? Well, who knows? That's for you to know, not me.

However, I will tell you, that the morning I woke up to the sounds of somebody singing in my ear was not something I had ever experienced before. And trust me when I say it was most definitely not a sweet lullaby.

My eardrums burned with a ferocity in which I had never felt before, and I flinched back at whoever was stupid enough to scream like that in my ear. My eyes snapped open. Icy-blue orbs met dark, pitch black ones.

The Joker grinned back at me on the bed, his head lying on the pillow that mine had previously been on. His garish hair lay in greasy strands over the once white pillow – which was now smudged red and black from his facepaint. Today he was wearing a blue button-up shirt, patterned with hexagons. His sleeves were rolled up above his elbows, and he wore an unusual tie. Of course, he was wearing purple pants and colourful socks. I noticed a discarded green vest on the edge of the bed, and a pair of brown shoes lay near the door.

"Did you, uh, enjoy my singing, doll?" He asked, grinning widely. He wiggled his multicoloured-socked feet as he said this.

I scowled. "It was excruciatingly bad." I rubbed my throbbing ear for good measure. The Joker rolled his eyes, and my unimpressed features caused my scowl to deepen. His good mood was irritating me. Or maybe it was just because I wasn't a morning person.

"Why on earth did you scream in my ear like that?" I hissed, scooting back when the clown tried to bring me into him with his arm. The Joker pouted looking down at his hands like a scolded child might. I wasn't expecting what came next, however. The Joker flashed his eyes up to mine, and leapt forward. I squealed in fright when his arms snaked around my waist, and this time, he did bring me up against his chest.

I would be lying if I said it felt unpleasant. His arms were so very muscly –

Halt those thoughts!

The Joker smirked down at me knowingly. I stiffened in his arms when I felt his hand brush over a silver of skin on my back that the black shirt hadn't fully covered. I tried to extract my arms from his embrace so I could pull my top down my back. Dignity, please.

The Joker chuckled, and tightened his grip, keeping my arms locked against his chest. His hand stayed in place on my back, and he casually started to rub little circles into the showing skin. I wriggled against him, hating how he could easily overpower me like this. I stopped abruptly when I heard the Joker moan throatily.

"Keep, uh, doing that dollface. It's rather nice-ah."

I blushed furiously, half embarrassed, half angry. I was just glad I'd decided to keep my grey sweats on to sleep. "You're disgusting," I growled. I decided to stay as still as possible. I didn't need that kind of reaction out of him.

The Joker chuckled again, and his hand slowly ascended up my back. "You're the one, ahh, sleeping in my bed, doll."

I frowned. "There was nowhere else," – I 'eeped' in shock when his fingers brushed my bare back – "And could you please remove your arm from under my shirt?"

The Joker grinned again, showing off those attractive yellow teeth. "Don't, uh, pretend you aren't enjoying it, A-bi-gail." He took one look at my grimace and laughed. I felt it rumble through his chest. "And there was a spare bed in the corner, dollface." He gestured his head at a wooded panel that seemed to jut out from the wall.

A pull-down bed, I thought glumly. I wouldn't be in this position right now if I'd used that.

"Right, well then. I think I'll move over there, instead," I said quickly. The Joker didn't budge an inch, and his hand still lingered on my skin, leaving an unwanted tingling feeling on my flesh.

"Ah-ta-ta," He warned me, his black eyes boring into mine, "You aren't going anywhere. You should listen to me more. You don't wanna anger me, doll." He squashed his nose against mine, and I could feel his hot breath. We were close enough to kiss.

I struggled against him again. I didn't care about brushing against certain…areas, as long as I got to be as far away from the Joker as possible. The fact that I was still straining to get away seemed to make him angry. Suddenly, I felt his nails dig into my back – no more the gentle caress. I winced inwardly when he snarled in my face.

"I told you not to anger me," The Joker hissed. I swallowed quietly, keeping my body still again. He reminded me too much of a ticking timebomb – one wrong move, and boom, he was set off. In a flash, I was sitting up, my back against the front headboard, and the Joker's large hand wrapped around my neck.

"Alright, I'm sorry," I gasped, clawing at his one hand with both of mine. The Joker seemed to assess my sincerity, before he seemed to deflate – almost like a balloon losing air – and his hand slackened. Though I didn't move away – I wouldn't dare make any sudden movements until I knew he'd gotten over his rage.

The Joker patted my head, stood up, and stretched. I gaped at him, still at a loss at how he could change his mood so quickly. Why had fate decided to bring me, your average cowardly idiot, together with a crazed bi-polar clown who had an unhealthy obsession with guns? I knew God didn't exactly favour me, but come on!

The Joker swivelled round, his red lips stretched up in a bright grin. "Well, uh, A-bi-gail. Get dressed fast-ah!" He giggled a little at himself. I forced myself to hold back a sigh.

"Why?" I muttered quietly. The Joker cackled.

"Why so serious, doll?" He shook his head. Though a second later, he was grinning madly again, and his hands flung themselves up into the air. "We're going on an ad-ven-ture!"

"Adventure?" I didn't like the sound of that.

The Joker hooted a laugh, before skipping out the room. Although this Joker was decidedly safer – it was a side of him that made someone feel like repeatedly banging their head against a concrete wall. It was that annoying.

Just be grateful that he didn't choke the life out of you there, Abby!

I sighed, and sunk against the ruined pillow. How did I get myself into this mess again?

The moment my innocent eyes laid upon the Hyams 'slaughter' truck, I knew I was well and truly screwed.

"I am not getting in that thing."

"Yes you are!" The Joker squealed in delight. He stood behind me and clapped two heavy gloved hands onto my shoulders. I could easily feel the threat in that. It gave me the 'get in the truck or I'll kill you' feeling.

"Why?" I asked cautiously. The Joker looked around at his goons, and laughed loudly. The goons laughed along, but theirs were forced and nervous-sounding. Of course, I had absolutely no idea what they were laughing about. I couldn't see how getting into a van like that would be anything less than suicide.

"Why? Why, why, why indeed!" The Joker cackled gleefully, and he took the liberty of messing up my hair. I scowled, but stayed stock-still. I'd learnt my lesson. Fighting back against the Joker was never a good idea.

He noticed my loss of fight, apparently, because the Joker frowned. He bent down so that his breath was tickling my earlobe, and spoke in my ear, all hushed and quiet-like. "Did I ever mention that I'd like my woman to have a bit of fight in her?"

I gulped. "Yeah – something along those lines?"

The Joker let out a long breath. I could feel the cool material of his glove at the nape of my neck, gently caressing as his mouth hovered at the shell of my ear. "Then, uh, where has my fierce little Abigail gone?" He sounded a little sad as he pressed his lips to the top of my ear. I forgot momentarily that he hadn't even broken up the syllables in my name like he usually did.

"Boss, are we going to –"

BANG!

I jumped about a feet in the air, and landed in the Joker's arms (though I had a feeling he held them out on purpose). I looked to my right to see that the goon, who'd tried to speak, was lying dead in a pool of his own blood. My eyes widened, and looked back to the Joker – who was scowling at the dead guy.

"Anyone, uh, else wanna interrupt me?" The Joker asked, growling. The rest of the goons shook their heads, and I noticed him tuck a gun back into his pocket. "Then everyone get in the truck, or I'll, uh, shoot all of ya." The Joker was laughing hysterically to himself as he carried me into the van.

"You are crazy," I mumbled, shocked. I'd seen too many dead people since the Joker had kidnapped me.

"I'm not-ah," He replied hotly, shoving me into the back of the van. The other goons filed in after us, and sat around me. The Joker sent them each a scathing look. "Touch her anywhere, uh, inappropriate and you're dead." Then he skipped to the front, laughing again.

Needless to say, the goons hastily shuffled away from me.

I sighed wearily, and shuffled up against the van wall as much as I could. Though I really didn't want to, my eyes unconsciously scanned the interior of the van. It was dark, but I could make out the goons' white masks – a stark contrast against the blackness. It was rather creepy. It reminded me briefly of those disembodied people you saw in horror movies.

I rolled my eyes. Trust me to think of disembodied people at times like these…

I could just about make out the crude shapes of weapons piled up against the opposite wall – guns no doubt. Whatever 'adventure' the Joker was taking me on, I had a feeling it wasn't going to be a leisurely drive through Gotham.

I cleared my throat, catching the attention of the silent goons. "What is it that we're doing exactly?" I asked hesitantly, cautious.

A goon somewhere to my right snickered. "You'll find out soon enough, Dent."

I frowned. "Why can't you just tell me?"

"Boss's orders," Another goon grunted. I groaned and slid down the wall. A sick feeling had started to gnaw at my insides – something didn't feel right about all this. Something bad was going to happen. But what? Why was I feeling so apprehensive?

My thoughts were cut off when I heard the engine start. The wall behind me started to shake as the engine rumbled, so I leant forward. The goons all tensed up suddenly, and they automatically reached out for a weapon. I felt compelled to take a gun myself, but I stopped that idea in its tracks. The mere thought of holding a device which could hurt somebody made me want to vomit. I promised myself after my mother and father died that I would never touch a weapon. Never.

I crossed my arms and looked away from the weapons, as the truck started to move.

Of course, I'd seen bad driving before. Harvey wasn't exactly the safest driver around, but he was alright for short periods of driving. I thought I knew what reckless driving was. I really did.

Though I realised a second later, that I really had no idea what reckless driving meant until the van started to speed up. And I mean seriously speed up.

It was only when I was falling about on my head that I asked the question.

"Who the hell is driving this bloody thing?!"

A chorus of groans followed after my shout. "Who do you think, kid?" A voice said over the screeching tyres of the van. "The Joker."

I repeat: how did I get myself into this mess again?