As always, thank you to ALL of you who are reading, and especially to those of you who are leaving me feedback. It's your feedback that spurred me to add author's notes - due to the chapters going up piecemeal, I realized that some things I'd written could be misconstrued since I couldn't provide the entire picture all at once. Hence, the notes to try to provide contextual elucidation.
* INSIDE THE ROOM *
Chapter 13
. . . . . . .
As Jones handed the video camera to Barker, Curtis came bounding down the basement stairs after him. Curtis wasn't exactly light on his feet, and Jones half-expected to hear the crack of a rotted wooden step split in two, giving way under the goon's weight. The way he threw his heft around without check, it was bound to happen sooner or later. When the sound of his footfalls changed from the groaning protests of a staircase to the shuffling on cement, Jones realized his own disappointment that Curtis hadn't broken a stair and fallen through.
As Curtis approached, Barker, in the Joker's service for his tech savvy, leaned forward in the computer chair and connected a video camera to a battery charger. The camera had a big white sticker on the side with a large number "2" written on it with frenzied strokes of red crayon, in a style that would have made Van Gogh proud. The camcorder sat nestled in its charger next to another camera with a crayon-scribbled "1" sticker, which had been used to film the earlier footage sent to the Gotham Police Department. Barker knew that there were other cameras in the Joker's bag, with stickers bearing a "3", "4" and a "5". They would be brought to him in numerical order as the night wore on. He was prepared to edit the footage any way the Joker instructed at a moment's notice, on the ready to pump the feed to the GPD servers, Gotham Cable News servers, or any other hub that the Joker chose.
Curtis removed his mask, tucking it under his arm, and leaned into Jones' stance to view the computer monitor. "So is it up yet? God, I can't wait to see it!"
Wallace was resting up against a wall, arms folded across his chest in pride. "You shoulda been there, man. It was freakin' righteous. People screamin', bodies everywhere, fire burnin' everything up. The explosion blew me onto my damned back! Wait to you see what I got on camera." He fanned his hands outward in front of himself, presenting the scope. "The bus was absolutely totaled. The blast even wiped out the news crew!" Wallace smiled and held a palm forward above his head, for an anticipated high-five of congratulations from Curtis.
Barker beat him to it, jumping out of his chair awkwardly to seize the opportunity to display some old-fashioned, macho male-bonding. He slapped Wallace's hand, and tried to give a manly exclamation of, "Good job!" but the mask muffled his words into something more like, "Guhn jah".
Wallace down looked at Barker in disgust. "Don't ever touch me again, you fuckin' faggot."
Barker shrank his diminutive frame back into the chair, and offered a feeble apology. Wallace eyed him up and down. Barker was a small man, barely 5'3" and couldn't have weighed more than a buck fifteen. Not the usual sort you'd see in a den of thieves, but the Joker had brought him into the fold from Arkham. Barker had formidable technical skills and a slavish devotion to the clown. As testament to this allegiance, he always kept his clown mask on.
Wallace chuckled. Barker was so small that the mask was almost as wide as his shoulders. He resembled a human Q-Tip. "You look like a total douche with your mask on. You know that, right?"
Barker stiffened in his chair. "Mr. Joker said that when guests are in the house, the masks have to say on. I'm obeying orders directly from Mr. Joker."
Jones, Curtis and Wallace all exchanged glances. Curtis and Wallace both gave each other knowing grins, silently mouthing MISTER JOKER in mockery between them. Jones remained stone-faced.
None of them had their masks on.
Barker continued his rebuke. "You fellas think it's okay to take them off just because he's not around, but Mr. Joker sees everything. He knows everything."
Wallace sneered in disgust. "You are one creepy little homo, you know that? Just show Curtis the video that I shot and keep your mouth shut."
Curtis shook his head and stood with arms akimbo. "Nah, I don't care about that. That's not the feed I was talking about."
Wallace's smirk faded, insulted and dumbstruck that anyone would want to see something other than his recording of the Oak Grove Retirement Home bus in flames. "Seriously?" How much cooler can you get than a first-hand account of C4 blowing a bus with a bunch of geezers to smithereens?
Curtis bent forward to rest his hands on the table, and raised his eyebrows. "I want to see what the Joker just recorded inside The Room."
Jones' jaw tightened. He had his suspicions about what had happened, but he certainly didn't want to watch it. He shook his head in disagreement. "I don't think we've got time to waste." He put his hand on Barker's shoulder, thankful that he could rely on the man's devotion to the Joker as reinforcement to his point. "Barker's got work to do with the footage. He's got to add what Wallace filmed to the end. Let's leave him in peace so he can do his job."
Barker nodded, puffing up with importance imbued from the responsibility entrusted to him.
Curtis eyed Jones in annoyance. "If Barker's got to add Wallace's footage to the end of what the boss just shot, then he has to watch the video from the start, right?"
Jones swallowed. "No, it's digital. He can just cut right to the end—"
"It won't take long at all," Barker interrupted. "There only appears to be 10 minutes of footage, probably less."
Jones scowled at the back of the man's masked head. Thanks, Barker, you worm.
Barker smiled behind his mask at the prospect of watching Mr. Joker in action. It thrilled him to think what Mr. Joker might say to the camera. Watching Mr. Joker speak to the camera was almost the same as having Mr. Joker speak directly to him. Those moments were rare, but he brought them out of his memory bank from time to time, savoring them as a stray mutt would a bone scrap from a butcher's garbage.
Barker slipped the mini-disc into the drive. It spun its whirling dervish dance, and the monitor flickered as the footage rolled.
Curtis, Barker and Wallace all leaned forward toward the screen in eager anticipation.
Jones hugged himself tightly, stepped back, and cast his eyes over to a black basement corner. He wondered if the vortex he fixed his eyes on were half as dark as the bottomless sinkholes that pocked the Joker's conscience.
He also wondered if there were a way to obscure the sound that poured out of the computer's speakers, short of his own screaming.
"Ah… ha. Ha ha. Welcome back to Gotham Live." (smack) "We're glad you could join us tonight."
The screen was black. There was a muffled rustling akin to the sound heard when holding a seashell to one's ear, a soft roaring as something passed over the camera's microphone, temporarily and unwittingly muffling the audio. The sound made when someone is fumbling for leverage and for a steady grip.
A few clicks. Light flooded the screen as the camera's lens cap was removed. Streaks of brightness stained the frame and faded, as the camera swung away from the harsh glare onto something darker.
Then the monitor's screen was filled with navy.
As the camera shifted and the auto-focus kicked in, a dark blue cloth belt came into focus, resting above the sharp navy peak of a hipbone under fabric. It was the waistline of Lois' pants. She was lying on the floor.
The Joker's voice was taut and shrill. "In this segment of our show, we'll be asking some questionssss. Where shall we start?" The Joker could be heard slapping his knee as he burst forward with a chortle. "I guess that was a question, in an of itself, wasn't it?" Another cackle. "Oops, another one!"
Lois' hip was still centered in the screen. It made the monologue seem all the more disjointed, the visual incongruous to the audio.
The Joker made a dramatic overture to clear his throat deeply. "But seriously, ladies and gentlemen, let's start with a question that has crossed my mind a time or two. Did anyone at Metropolis Live ever stop for… a moment, to consider if there might be…" he made a sucking sound off camera. "…consequences to a broadcast that amounted to slander?"
Only then did the camera move, panning upwards a few inches to a stained shirt.
Blood-stained.
A man's hand came in from the left side of the frame, an open switchblade held fast to the palm by his thumb. The splayed fingers pulled up at the fabric of Lois' shirt – white, with thin navy stripes, and an occasional gossamer stripe of gold thrown in. The shirt had been purchased from the women's floor at Macy's, in the career section that showcased the wares of high-profile designers, marketed for high-income ball-busters. It was an elegant shirt with a whispered tailoring of no-nonsense, meticulously crafted for that career woman who wanted to look styled while stepping on the aspirations of those unfortunate enough to stand in her way to the top.
Haute couture for the female corporate vulture. Fitting for an ambitious reporter.
But not terribly imposing to a man wielding a knife, with a basementful of semi-automatic weapons and an unrelenting grudge.
No, the expensive shirt now amounted to little more than a decorative bandage, soaking up blood in thirsty, spotty patches, the crimson stains all the more visible set in contrast to the crisp white stripes.
"Hee. Ho ha. Heh… uh, look." His hand hiked the shirt up higher, exposing flesh up to the first rib below her left breast. A woman's stomach filled the frame, glistening with fear-induced sweat and slick with blood from a long diagonal cut, a few inches down and to the right of the belly button. The stomach rose and fell with spasms of hyperventilating breath. The Joker's hand folded the waist of the pants down a few inches, fingers curling under her belt, allowing the camera a better shot of the injury. High-pitched whimpering could be heard between gasps for air.
"Now, ah, you see what happens when the media" (smack) "runs stories without checking the merit of their sources. This," he pointed to the gash on Lois' stomach, tapping the knife's blade on her flesh near the cut. "is a consequence of the ill-informed broadcast that Metropolis Live chose to run last night-ah."
With his fingertips he pushed on the skin above the cut, applying increasing force until the cut visually thickened with blood pooling from the pressure. Lois' stomach muscles reflexively tightened, and her whispered curse was barely audible, as she spit it out through sharp breaths. "You! Bastard!"
The Joker made no show that he recognized her having said anything, continuing with his attention on the wound. "This consequence will be just one. Of. Many." The knife's blade retracted, and seemed to disappear into his palm. He took his index finger and swiped it the length of the cut from bottom to top, collecting blood as he dragged it at an infuriatingly slow pace, with purpose. Lois drew her breath in and gasped in pain. The camera panned off to the side near Lois' waist, and focused on the floorboards. His hand came back into the frame, and using his finger as a paintbrush, he dabbed a fingerprint of blood onto the floor.
Then a second, close to the first.
Below those, he traced the bottom half of a circle.
The proximity of his mouth to the camera's microphone made his cackle deafening. He howled in amusement as he manually manipulated the camera's zoom feature in and out repeatedly on the smiley face he had drawn in Lois' blood.
There was a blur of skin, and the Joker brought Lois' left forearm into the picture, holding her tightly by the wrist. He turned her arm to expose the pale underside, her shirtsleeve having been cut off above the elbow. The camera fixed on the lengthy cuts running down her forearm, wounds too shallow to hit muscle or sinew, but deep enough to bleed generously. "And here's another. Consequence." He twisted her wrist to and fro, to expose the cuts relentlessly to the camera. "Oooh, those look like they ah… they hurt. Do they hurt? Lois? That's a question just for you."
The camera swung up the length of her torso and focused on the underside of her jaw. Her chin was tipped upward as her head lay back on the floor. She didn't respond.
The frame swung and pitched, as the Joker hiked himself up to a vantage point allowing him to film Lois' face. The erratic movement of the camera was enough to make Curtis a little unsteady on his feet as he watched, his equilibrium momentarily challenged by the undulations and shifting focal point. At one point, Mooney's corpse flashed into the field of view, still on the floor several few feet away.
"Lois Lane, I am talking to you." From the camera's angle one could deduce that the Joker had straddled Lois, looking straight down at her face from a distance of only a few feet. Her cheeks were tear-stained, and her mascara had run into unflattering ebony streaks below her eyes. Her lips and chin were still red from the Joker's own mouth, with some white greasepaint streaking on the lower part of her jaw to a bleak gray. Her eyes shifted back and forth rapidly, from the camera to something just to the left of the frame.
To the Joker's face.
One could see that she was trying to anticipate what was coming next.
"Answer the question, Loissss. Do. They. Hurt?" The camera panned down to her forearm, then back up to her face.
Her mouth tightened and her jaw set. She narrowed her eyes as she looked at him. Her voice was quiet, but defiant. "No."
"No? Really?" Giggling. "Gosh, I guess I'm just not trying hard enough. To make my ah, point."
The camera dropped down to film her throat, as the Joker leaned back and to the side in distraction. The high-pitched clinking of metal on metal – a belt buckle – could be heard off camera being unfastened, followed by the friction of leather being pulled free with haste from belt loops. The camera dipped low as hands briefly came into focus, doubling a woman's navy blue belt over on itself to form a loop. The camera's focus jolted upward again to just under Lois' chin. A loud hollow slap could be heard, as the Joker brought the leather down with swift force on the wounds on her arm. Lois' neck arched, filling the camera's view as she shrieked in pain.
The camera shifted up to her face, eyes wet, welling with tears. "That didn't hurt-ah? Tell me true, honey-do. We can do this again with the buckle end, if that's what it takessss."
Jones' mouth fell open, and he finally turned toward the monitor with the other three men to see what would come next. Wallace winced while he watched. Curtis smiled. Barker sat absolutely still.
The camera teetered in for too-close of a close-up, Lois' left eye and part of her forehead filling the screen. The Joker could be heard licking his lips. "And if it takes all night, then I can go all night. Let's try this again-ah. I know you want to play nice during our Q and A segment of the show, so I'll ask again. Did. That. Hurt?"
The lens drew back to capture her whole face. Seething through gritted teeth, she growled at him. "Yes, it hurt!"
He stroked the right side of her face with his left hand. "Ladies and gentlemen, isn't she just a vision?" He then patted her face twice, hard enough to sound two resounding smacks. Lois squinted her eyes, bracing against the slaps. She blinked several times, the bright lights from the overhead spotlights stinging her eyes as badly as the tears.
"Another question for you, Sweet Tart. How do you feel knowing that no one's going to get you out of this pree-DIC-a-ment, hmmmm?"
Lois snorted in contempt and turned her face to the side.
"Don't like that one? Mmmm, how 'bout this one: didn't you once publish an interview with The Man of Steel?"
Lois' eyes visibly started to tear with that question. She remained silent.
"If he's such a fantastic... super-ah hero, then why hasn't he figured out that one of Metropolis' own is in danger yet?"
No reaction from Lois. The silence drew out.
"Why hasn't he come crashing through the walls to sweep you away and pummel my bones into dust? Any idea? Any at all?"
She bit her lip, and shook her head back and forth in barely visible motions.
"And what's up with that hideous outfit he wears?"
Silence.
"Red briefs on the outside of blue long underwear? A red cape?"
Her lip started to tremble.
The tone of his voice conveyed excitement. "Do you know who else wears a cape? The. Bat. Man. Think he knows where you are?"
Lois closed her eyes.
The camera spun back to the Joker's face. "Want to know what I think?" He licked his lips. "I think that the Batman doesn't like the Superman, and I don't think that the Superman likes the Batman, either. I think that the flying freak won't come to Gotham, because this is supposed to be the Batman's city."
The camera spun back on Lois, whose breathing was becoming labored. His hand brushed the hair from her forehead, and he took her chin in his hand, tilting her face up to the camera.
"The Batman hasn't been seen in a long, long time in this city, Mizzzz Lane. You know what I think that means?" His voice lowered to a raspy whisper. "I think it means that it's just you and me for the long haul, toots. It's no use screaming," his hand moved down to cover up her mouth to underscore his point. "because not only does no one know where you are, in very short while, you are going to be one of the last things on people's minds." Her brow knotted, confusion evident in her eyes.
He clarified. "There are a few other... distractions in the making."
His hand withdrew from the frame. The camera spun, catching Mooney's body again, the wall, then the bright lights of the spotlights rigged to the ceiling. The harsh white filled the frame, and then the camera spun again. The Joker had positioned himself on his back, on the floor next to Lois, leaning his head against hers. He held the camera above them both.
"Lois and I are so glad that you could join us tonight—"
Lois seized the opportunity. As the Joker lay in a prone position next to her, she tried to make a getaway. She rolled herself out of the camera frame, and moved to stand up.
"Ah, ah, ah!" The chiding came after the camera had been set down with little care onto the floor with a clamor, as the Joker jumped up after her. For the first time, the camera was perfectly still, the profile of Mooney's corpse filling the frame from a distance of about 7 feet, arm down at his side, hand palm-up. Sounds of a struggle could be heard out of view off to the side, along with the Joker's giggling. "Where. Do you think. You're going?"
There was a stomping sound on the floor. Someone hit a wall. A scuffing sound as feet dragged across the floorboards. The sound of a slap to a man's chest, and then another burst of the Joker's laughter.
Worn men's shoes stepped forward into view, along with a pair of women's navy heeled boots that were stumbling backward. Both pairs of feet shuffled back and forth in the camera's frame, as Lois struggled and the Joker got his hold. A cracking noise blasted through the computer's speakers and all four men in the basement jumped back at the noise, as the camera was kicked near the microphone and spun on the floor. It stopped its spin so that the top half of Mooney's head could be seen in profile, including the raised flesh near the wounds where the bullets had pierced his skull.
"You are making this so. Much. FUN!" More cackling. A cry of frustration from Lois.
A heavy thud sounded. Bodies hitting the floor in unison. "C'mon, there's a good girllll." Another giggle. The sounds of more struggling. Then a sharp cry of pain from Lois. The camera shifted quickly, jostled once again by the fracas.
It stopped moving and filmed its subjects from only a few feet away. The Joker's body and Lois' spanned the width of the screen. He had her pinned under the full length of him. She was forced down on her stomach, he on her back. Their heads and shoulders were out of the frame to the right, as were their legs below the knees to the left, leaving a tangle of torsos, arms and hips to fill the screen. The computer monitor was awash in a visual cacophony of colors; a forest green vest, royal purple pants, a purple-blue shirt mottled with confounding patterns. A white striped shirt with random blood stains. Navy pants.
The Joker moved his hand to her waist, and held it there. Whispering. A man's deep voice speaking in a low threatening tone, too low to be made out on camera. Centered in the camera's frame, he tapped her on her right hip as an imperative for her to move, then he hoisted himself up a few inches and rolled her over onto her back. Her wounded left forearm now in the camera's view at her side. He lowered himself back down on top of her.
More hushed words from the Joker. A whimper of a protest from Lois. In the camera's view, the Joker slipped his hand down the length of Lois' bleeding forearm. Not scratching her or aggravating the cuts. Just brushing the arm, searching for her hand. When his hand reached her wrist, he smoothed his fingers into her open palm, spreading out her fingers with his and entwining his hand with hers. He squeezed it tightly, then brought both of their hands up out of the camera's view toward their faces.
It was an uncomfortably intimate gesture to watch, and Jones' teeth were clenched, jaw tight.
The Joker's voice droned on, too low for the camera to record clearly. Only Lois was meant to hear it. From the sound of her muffled reply, she didn't like what she was hearing.
Curtis hit Barker's shoulder with the back of his hand. "What's he saying to her? Turn it up!"
Barker reached to adjust the audio, then froze as he saw the Joker lift himself up onto his knees. A shadow fell on the camera as he reached for it. The sound of bodies shifting could be heard once again.
The camera found their faces as it was lifted and held at arm's length. Lois was sitting up on the floor like a Raggedy Ann doll, and the Joker was sitting right behind her. He had his legs wrapped loosely around her hips, the weight of his legs holding hers down. With his left arm, he gripped her around the torso tightly, pinning her arms to her side. He rested his chin on her right shoulder, so they were cheek to cheek. Her hair was as disheveled and wild looking as his. He looked into the camera and licked his lips.
"My lov-el-ee co-host and I want to leave you with one more question, before we take another break-ah." He sucked his cheeks in, turned his face slightly toward Lois' and looked askance at her from the corners of his eyes. "Dar-lingggg, do you want to ask them, or ah, or should I?"
She looked directly into the camera for the first time, acceptance of defeat written across her features. She kept still, stewing with anger, hampered by pain, weak with physical exhaustion.
The Joker raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders. "Mmmmkay, I guess I'll ask the question." He turned his eyes back toward the camera, his trademark Glasgow smile stretching the expanse of his face.
"If I am a man without mercy…" He kept his eyes fixed on the camera, unblinking, as he tipped his chin down toward Lois' neck. He kissed it.
"… a man so cruel…" He kissed her neck again, higher up, with increased pressure.
"…a man showing such wanton malice… " His tongue slid out over his ruby lips and he licked the side of Lois' face. She recoiled from the touch, eyes clamped shut.
"… to be able to kill a bus filled with the defenseless retired elderly…"
Lois' eyes snapped open at this revelation.
He removed his hand from around her waist, brought it up to her chin and roughly turned her head to face him. He planted a deep, hard kiss on her mouth, nearly out of the camera's frame from the compromise of balance. He pulled away from her forcefully, and looked back at the camera, his leer filling the entire frame.
"… then just what other surprises could I be capable of on this fine night in Gotham?" His tongue darted out quickly, licking his lips in subconscious anticipation. "If I were you, citizens of Gothammmm-ah, I'd get the hell out of this city as quickly as I could. You see," (smack) "I've planted some… explosives. In different areas, all around. Not just on buses with grandmas."
Lois' face had gone stark white and she started to shake visibly.
"Ha aha, heh. Not that I wanted to do any of this, I hope you understand. Ah, no… " He paused, and turned his face to Lois'. "My hand was forced, when this little. Sweet. Tart. Broadcast her show claiming that I'm just some…"
He closed his eyes, shook his head and bared his teeth. "Ridiculous circus freak who merrily skips about the city, popping children's balloons or spitting chewing gum on the sidewalk-ah."
His eyes blackened on the screen from anger. "Now, I ah, I just couldn't allow my vaunted re-pyoo-TA-shun to be tainted without a fight, could I?"
He tightened his grip around Lois again. "Gotham, as one of your citizenssss, I think you should feel my pain, as well. My personal injury will become yours. The fireworks haven't been hidden in train stations or schools… they've been secured to the sides of residential homes. To the backs of random garages. To the laundry facilities in selected government housing buildingsssss."
Lois appeared to go slack in his arms. He smiled into the camera, scars puckering and pulling his cheeks taut like a hyena. "This is your doing, Metropolissss. Think you can kick a clown when he's down—" (smack) "—and not expect a few repercussionsssss? Since I can't strike out at your city… I'll just have to use my ownnnn. To demonstrate. My. Point-ah."
He sucked in his cheeks, cocked an eyebrow, and winked at the camera. "T. T. F. N, Gothammmm."
The camera tipped backward, a fumbling noise covered the microphone, and then a clicking sound.
The screen went black as the lens cap was put back in place.
The audio was still recording. "Barkerrrr, this feed goes out with Wallace's to the GPD, GCN, and to Metropolis Live. And you will send it out immediately. Capice, little pal?"
Another click, and the video stopped.
. . . . . . .
Author's Notes for "Inside The Room"
. . . . . . .
The Joker is really getting into the taunting portion of his fun with Lois. The cuts, the man-handling and the probing questions are carefully chosen to extend Lois' suffering. The physical wounds weren't deep enough to critically injure her; he wants her well enough to draw out the evening. The deepest cuts could very well be the psychological ones.
Usually I like to provide the characters' frame of mind during a scene, offering context for their words and actions. However, as the actions that transpired inside The Room were presented as a video feed, there could be no commentary behind either the Joker's or Lois' thoughts. None of the men watching the video would know what their thoughts were, so I had to keep the reader in the dark as well. That illumination will come in the next chapter.
In that chapter, I'll detail what's going on between Lois and the Joker right now when all the men are in the basement, gathered around the computer watching the video...
-4oC, 2008.11.09