Chapter eleven Part one: The beginning of the end.
His breathing was ragged, feverish as he downed another whisky, relishing the scorching pain as it hit his throat. He licked his lips loudly, smacking them together and gave a drunken giggle at the television screen.
"Harvey, Harvey, Harvey Dent, c'mon now, do it do it," His face an inch from the screen he saw his eyes staring madly back at him in his faint reflection
"C'mon, give me the batman, tell. me. who. he. IS." The joker's eyes shone in frantic anticipation as the press meeting unfolded.
"So be it," the picture of Harvey sighed, "Take the Batman into custody"
"Yes but who is he?" the joker whacked the side of the television as the reporter repeated his own question "TELL ME YOU-"
"I am the batman" Harvey said solemnly as the room went into uproar.
The joker laughed until tears ran from his eyes. He laughed till he had no breath to laugh and instead choked out pathetic gurgles, clutching at his sides.
The henchman laughed with him, grateful their boss was back after his unusual run in with that DA's assistant, Rachel Dawes. So they laughed too, until the joker shot three of them straight in the chest.
"ANYONE ELSE FIND IT FUNNY?" he roared, throwing his whisky glass at the wall. It smashed into a thousand crystal pieces that crunched under the joker's feet as he paced up and down, thinking intensely.
Curse him! Damn Harvey Dent! He may as well have stuck a big red target on Rachel's chest and very nicely asked the mob not to shoot her. DAMN DAMN DAMN. Why am I surrounded by idiots? Why me? Why him? Oh, of course her head's going to roll for this, think about it harvey! Maroni aint gunna be pleased that Batman's been getting so up close and personal with him. Oh no, and who's he going to take it out on? Rachel. Bloody. Dawes.
He slammed from the room into his private study. His men were already clearing up the dead bodies; since the commissioners service they'd got used to him killing people for no reason.
She needs protecting, proper protection, by someone who cares about her. Not that bumbling playboy Bruce Wayne; he's too busy looking after his public image and getting himself a reputation with girls. Where could I hide her though? Nowhere's safe for the mob, and…
A horrible thought occurred to him. What if they want me to kill her? Ohhhh Jack wouldn't like that no sirreee...
Somewhere safe, away from the mob, away from anyone who could be dangerous, away from here ...
He stopped pacing abruptly and tottered over drunkenly. When he thought about it, it was so OBVIOUS. Noone could protect her while she was alive, so….
"I have to kill Rachel," He laughed to himself manically, helping himself to a celebratory whisky.