He was standing two feet away, his index finger curled at his lip. His eyes were large and unfocused, staring blindly at the wall. He did nothing but stand. Not blinking, not swallowing, and she could have sworn he wasn't breathing. He was like a statue of Satan, carved out of marble. At first, she had watched him curiously, cautiously, but after a few minutes she had given up her search as to what exactly it was he was doing. She didn't speak in the fear of waking him from his trance and infuriating him.

And finally, what felt like hours later, he twitched, like a paused movie flickering back into motion. His hand dropped from his face, and he took a step forward, his deadly eyes dropping to hers. He said nothing, just smirked like he was the power behind all evil forces. He stooped down, moving his arms around her and touched her wrists. The alarm, that was forever a light haze under everything, rose and convulsed until she felt a sudden relief around her hands, and realized with a jolt of shock and gratitude that he was removing the belt.

He leaned back, straightening the band from its crinkled, winding form. He watched her with enjoyment as she observed her hands, red traces of the stiff material imprinted upon her flesh. She ran her fingers over it, savoring the sensation of freedom. It was like when your hair was pinned back into a sharp, nagging ponytail and then, finally, at the end of the day, you pulled the elastic bound from it. Such a lovely, aching relief that simply made you want to close your eyes in bliss.

She almost smiled, and she could have had he not been there. He probably wouldn't have liked seeing her smile, anyway.

"That was my good deed of the month," he muttered with a snicker. His voice, whether high or lower, was always tainted with a particular rasp, like dead leaves sweeping over asphalt. She suspected it from the constant yelling or laughing. It could have been that he smoked too much, but the image of the Joker striding into a corner store and purchasing a pack of cigarettes didn't seem to fit. "You know, I must say. I'm impressed."

"By what?" She asked, unsure if he was sarcastic or not.

He grinned down at her. "You're, ah, survival. Most people I kidnap, they tend to lose their head after a few days in the house of Joker. Figuratively and literally."

She swallowed, averted her eyes from the intensity of his gaze. Just a single glance made her feel like he was stripping away her flesh.

"So, Doll Face. I've been meaning to ask you a little something."

She glanced up at him; his face was creased with a mischievous beam, one she didn't like in the least. "What?" She croaked, feeling about as small as an ant.

"Have you ever…" he paused, eyes narrowing in what seemed to be curiosity. Although, she had the feeling he did it only to create suspense. "…Held… a gun?"

"No. Why?"

"You, ah, look like someone who would know how to use a gun."

"Well, I don't," she said firmly.

"What a shame. Such… promising skills put to waste." He dropped a black-crusted eye into a horrible, knowing wink, and Ginger thought back to the reasoning behind Gordon's disproval of her desire to be an artist. "But… we can fix that, can't we? How would you like to learn?"

She frowned. "What?"

"It won't be hard. I mean, you've already managed to protect yourself nicely with nothing but your own mouth. A gun will be a piece of cake!"

"You're going to teach me how to fire a gun?" She demanded in bewilderment.

He licked his lips, resembling a conniving snake, and bared his rotting teeth. For an instant—and Ginger couldn't be sure if she imagine it or not—she caught a glimpse of youth in his face, like he was a teenager up to no good just for the hell of it. She found herself wondering again how old he was. It was almost impossible to tell with the makeup embellishing his face; it accentuated every crinkle and crease of his skin. The only clue to his age would have been his eyes—but they were nothing but empty caverns. They betrayed nothing but the monstrosity slumbering deep within its tunnels. "I think that everyone should get the chance to hold a gun at least once in their life. Think of it this way," he said, seeing her skeptism. "If there ever comes the time, you'll be able to kill me with it."


Next chapter will be longer, I promise. This chapter was actually about 3000 words, but I divided it. So, yeah, I hope you liked it. I'll be away for May 24 weekend. So, when I get back home on Sunday, I might post the next chapter! It all depends on you guys. Anyway, I shouldn't even be on the computer right now because I had to go pack. So, have a nice weekend guys!

Don't forget to review :)