A/N: Hello! I know this is a day late, but I've been very busy. Play practice, school, college stuff….you all know the drill. Going to bed at 1 in the morning and waking up at 5 for play practice does not bode well with me. I am sleep-deprived. Not mention that The Hunger Games comes out tonight.
There is a flash forward/dream ahead for you! I was really debating whether or not to include it, but eventually, my own curiosity to what I would write won out. This may be the last one. Possibly one or two more. It depends. The Joker is ahead, but just a warning. I did the first part of the scene from memory, without the help of the film. It won't be perfect, but I can go back and fix it. You won't know what I'm talking about now, but there will be NO JOKER ROMANCE IN THIS STORY! Just daring. ;) Older Jonathan interacts with him a bit more, but not much.
I'm planning to without Jonathan for maybe one more chapter. Summer is almost over, I'm afraid. I'm just so eager to move ahead!
And pirates. Pirates all the way.
Thanks to Wafia Primo, Fruityloops87, Knightrunner, Comidia Del Arte, SheWhoDreamsByDarkness-x, SladeRavenFan, linnie kinda spinnie, kaflute14, LittleMissAngel, Decepticon-silverstreak, pourquoibella, Hope, thexdarkestxnightsx, Masked Gargoyle, tribute14, itspeanutbutterjellytimex3, nessieXnessie, Thunderscourge, Arlena4815162342, Zetsubel, Silential, and OfColorsAndPromises for the reviews!
Disclaimer: I own nothing. *jumps off a cliff* YAAAAAH! …..maybe I'll own stuff in paradise -_-
Chapter Twenty: Trust in Me and Fall as Well
Oh, there ain't no rest for the wicked.
Money don't grow on trees.
I've got bills to pay, I've got mouths to feed.
There ain't nothing in this world for free.
I know I can't slow down, I can't hold back,
Though you know I wish I could.
Oh no, there ain't no rest for the wicked,
Until we close our eyes for good.
~Cage the Elephant, Ain't No Rest for the Wicked
It all happens very quickly. Almost in slow motion.
The door of the bank swinging open, the men in clown masks, one raising an automatic above his head as he fires up into the ceiling.
She kicks herself for it, but she reacts the same way everyone else in the bank does. By starting violently and then collapsing to the floor. Minus the screaming. She doesn't cry out at the startling, rapid shots. Arms cradling her head, she huddles against a desk nearby, legs tucked under her long body and sitting upright. Invisible. Watching the chaos unfold around them all.
Of course, it has to be a bank robbery, the dark-haired woman thinks grimly. And I came here to do some inquiring around. Today of all days. Makes sense; it's a Mob bank after all.
Most of the sounds blur together: people screaming, random bursts of gunfire, and the goons yelling orders, pulling clerks and tellers over their desks and onto the floor. If you're already on the floor, it appears you're somewhat safe. Stay down, stay still, stay quiet. All those years of hunting down the Mob are doing nothing for me now. I never went for common criminals like these guys…not worth my time. Batman took care of 'em.
Something tells her that this isn't a common bank robbery.
Still staying quiet, she thinks furiously, massaging her temples. Okay, something's definitely off…but what? She pulls her gray suit jacket around her and tugs her matching skirt down to cover her knees. It hides the fact that she's studying the clowns very closely. Men in clown masks, she corrects herself wordlessly. Just men. Nothing more.
From where she's sitting, she counts two or three goons. There might be more. Out of sight. But this number…too few for a money needs to be loaded, the safe needs to be cracked. And don't forget the security.
One of the criminals is apparently in charge. He shouts things like "hands up, heads down!" and waves his automatic around. He had fired the shots before, to announce their presence. The few others mimic him, but whether or not this one is actually in charge is still up for question. It could all be posturing, she muses. Despite her restraint, the woman lets loose a small chuckle.
Said clown turns a warning eye in her direction. She looks at his feet, actually nervous. Hard to see through the blank mask of her hard face.
Goosebumps rise on her arms as she realizes she's being watched. No fear…he said to never show fear… One of the men is staring at her from behind his mask, gun in hand and head carefully tilted to the side. The floor presses up against her legs as the woman cringes and stares back somewhat defiantly, at her own risk.
This one…this one has unnerved her from the very start. He's followed orders and done his part, like the rest of them. And yet…he's been silent. No cursing. No ordering, no threatening. Not a word spoken. And the whole time, he's remained poised and oddly calm. As if he lives and breathes chaos…as if it's a part of his everyday life. He's too quiet.
Silently dangerous…mysterious… I don't like this one. She draws back even more firmly, looking on. Don't look at me.
The fact that he's the only one in the place wearing a cheap purple suit makes him stand out to her even more. It's almost as if…he should be the one giving out the commands. And not following orders instead.
Their staredown continues for nearly thirty more seconds. Neither of them moves. No fear, no fear. He'd be proud, in his own twisted way.
He's looking at her as if he…recognizes her somehow. But how would he? she reasons. Never seen him before. That I know of. A few more seconds. And the man with the somehow distinguishable mask gives an almost flippant shrug and walks over to one of his cronies.
No, she decides numbly. No, I do not like him at all. An awful sense of foreboding. So she's unsure why, when the clowns hand out grenades to the innocent bystanders on the floor and tell them to hold on, she doesn't receive one.
Eight months of peace. Only. Eight. Months.
A couple minutes pass while the clowns parade around.
Eight months without a sign…of him. He's active, she's sure, but lies low. She hasn't seen him for nearly a year. Not since that night.
After all he's done to you, you still want him back?
Yes. God, I miss him. Her fingers find the ring on her left hand. Despite all her hate, she's never taken it off. There's a sort of sick dedication to all this. In her situation, the ridged feel of the ring is soothing. Please, don't let them take it.
A wild, desperate thought strikes her, and her head shoots up. Jon's in the underbelly of Gotham now; I'm sure of it. Could these be…friends of his? Does he know them? Work with them? She kills the idea immediately after it comes to her head. No. Not his type. She deflates.
A blast shatters the silence, along with a sprinkling of glass, and a clown drops. This time, she jumps like a normal human. What the—?
Oh.
The bank manager storms at them, firing shots from a shotgun he holds with both hands. He's clearly mad, clearly enjoying it. The two unharmed goons duck behind a desk for cover, definitely caught off-guard.
"Don't be a hero," she whispers quietly as the sleek manager pauses in his brave act.
"Do you have any idea who you're stealing from?" he yells. "You and your friends are dead!"
Most of the screaming people have quieted to a simple whimpering. She can't see those two. You'll only get yourself killed, sir.
"He's out, right?" she hears the leader ask the other clown gruffly. A pause. Probably a nod of confirmation in that pause, because the main crook stands up, only to drop back down again as another shotgun blast rattles the atmosphere.
The silent goon makes up for his so-called "error." He stands now that the manager is officially out of ammo and, in a spattering of gunfire, pumps him full of bullets.
Told you so, she thinks, shaking her head. It doesn't bother her that much.
The clown cocks his head to the side and watches the manager fall.
"Where did you learn to count?" the head honcho snarls at the other clown as he rises from the floor.
She must be insane, but she bites back a smile.
When the disgruntled criminal turns and stalks quickly away, she assumes he's running to the safe, draws the conclusion that there are definitely more than three crooks, and wonders if they've made nicknames for each other.
The silent clown glances her way again. She swallows. I shouldn't ask. To her relief, he proceeds with strolling around and keeping an eye on things. That automatic in his gloved hand, always ready to break the silence and to silence.
Five or ten minutes later, labored grunting can be heard from the direction of the safe. Someone's lugging bags of bucks, she thinks, powerless to stop anything as she watches the other man walk off to help.
Another thing that unnerves her about him. Of all the crooks with clown masks she had seen so far, his is the only one with a frown on its face.
This is oddly disturbing. What idiots think they can steal from the Mob?
The two clowns appear a few seconds later, hauling bags and bags of cash from the safe. Everyone watching, they begin to line them up in the general area of the front doors.
Then it hits her. Just these two came out…no one else for helping…but they can't have been the only ones on this job. They've been picking each other off. One by one, she realizes. She uses her raised hands to cover the disbelieving look on her sharply angled face. The fewer involved, the bigger the share.
It's genius.
"That's a lot of money," the boss clown speculates as the frowning one stacks the bags. "If this Joker guy was so smart, he'd have had us bring a bigger car." The silent man turns his back on the other, more talkative "partner."
Her ears perk up at the mention of that name. The Joker. It has been thrown around these past months. A petty criminal, a minor threat, blah blah blah. Apparently, he's in charge of this operation. Minor threat, my ass. She scowls.
The sound of a gun being cocked pulls her back into reality as the sad-faced crook slowly turns back around. She sees the leader pointing his gun at him. Someone's thinking ahead, she muses. And now, I get to see it happen.
"I'm betting the Joker told you to kill me soon as we loaded the cash." She notices that the arm holding the handgun is slightly trembling.
The silent man checks the watch on his wrist, sighs, and finally speaks. "No, no, no, no, I kill the bus driver." Extra grenade in hand, he sidesteps to his right. He then places it on his belt.
Bus driver? She frowns in confusion, trying to erase the goosebumps the man's voice has caused. Grubby, lilting, oddly deranged. Lighter-toned. She doesn't know what it is, but something about it scares her. And she hates being scared.
The boss clown, in turn, also steps to his right, in order to keep the gun trained on his partner. He voices her confusion. "Bus driver?"
The previously silent goon moves right again. Almost as if he's positioning something or moving out of the way…or both.
The boss snaps, "What bus driver—?"
And as if the day couldn't get any stranger, a school bus comes crashing in, rear end first, through the doors of the Mob bank. And sends the head clown flying.
She jumps and simultaneously thinks, Yep. He's done for.
The wise guy didn't even flinch at that moving hulk of yellow metal. Simply watches his partner go down while backing up a few steps.
The rear doors of the school bus fly open and another, pudgier henchman jumps out, proudly proclaiming, "School's out. Time to go." He pauses to look at his downed buddy on the floor. "That guy's not getting up, is he?" Laughter clearly evident in his tone.
The man in the purple suit remains silent again. He bends over and begins tossing bags of cash to his newfound helper.
"That's a lot of money," the new clown says greedily as he throws the sacks in the back of the bus. The last bag is loaded before he stands there awkwardly, looking around, and asks dumbly, "What happened to the rest of the guys?"
Almost nonchalantly, the frowning goon carelessly points his weapon backwards and guns down the stupid one.
He's the only one left. That has to mean…She won't complete the thought. He ignores her now, instead going back for a bag he has missed. Now that he's the only one left, there's a carefree, lazy swing in his step. She sees a weak movement out of the corner of her eye.
After retrieving the last bag, the last clown tosses it into the back of the bus and prepares to swing himself into it when a pained, weak voice breaks the silence.
"You think you're smart, huh?"
This time, she's not afraid to gasp aloud. How the hell is he still alive? she wonders, hopeful.
No longer the last man standing, the criminal turns back around.
She spots the manager turned onto his side, limp and head barely raised above the floor, shotgun just out of reach of his splayed hands. "The guy that hired youse…" he slurs the last few words together, coughing and chuckling at the same time, "…he'll just do the same to you." Barely kicking.
All she can do is watch the man's bravery and watch the last clown's hand go to his belt and unlatch something as he strolls forward. Walking toward the manager.
He already knows how to take care of this little problem.
The bank manager's honest voice becomes tainted with longing and saturated with rage. "Oh, criminals in this town used to believe in things." He is unfaltering, unaffected by the fearsome sight of the monster approaching him. "Honor…respect."
Clown gets closer. He notices.
"Look at you," he snarls angrily. "What do you believe in, huh? What do you believe in—?"
His voice cuts off with a choking noise as the goon crouches above him and shoves something into the manager's mouth. She can't see what from her current angle. Breathing deep, she takes the risk and crawls forward about ten feet. Closer, now. Almost too close. She can actually see the victim's terrified face.
But the clown does answer his question. In a dangerous, scathing tone.
"I believe whatever doesn't kill you simply makes you…" he trails off as he reaches up to pull off his mask. She screams and claps a hand over her mouth.
"…stranger."
He sneers and moves away, trailing behind a wire or a string that's attached to the grenade in the manager's mouth, taking it with him. He hops into the back of the bus and shuts the door on it, holding it in place.
She can't even fathom what's happening or what's going to happen; she's still reeling from the shock of seeing his face. There is no question, with all that makeup they've been hearing about, of who he is.
The Joker, ladies and gentlemen. And as of now, she's survived. Survived an encounter with the Joker. Why or how, she'll never know.
And she had been right about his mask. An everlasting frown to cover up a permanent smile.
Terrifying. Truly. Madness. Chaos. All soon to come.
The engine of the bus starts, and it begins to pull away from the bank's entrance.
The string pulls taught, just for a second, and yanks the pin out of the grenade.
It starts to smoke.
The manager moans.
She is a blur of motion, springing to her feet and heading toward the bus-made exit at a dead sprint. Running for her life. No grenade for her, no reason to stay behind. But she hopes that anyone who can is following her.
Desperate, hysterical. No time to think.
Why am I alive? How?
She makes it out just before the explosion racks the entire building behind her.
I shoot upright in bed, sweating profusely and breathing heavily, covers tangled about my legs. Shakily, I lift my palms to wipe the sheet a sweat from my forehead. And I'd been going quite some time without having one of them…
What do these dreams mean?
It's my sanity, saying good-bye.
Yep. "I'm blowing a fuse," I mutter, shivering.
Probably. I had all but forgotten the first two, but now this one? It had been the strangest of them all.
I realize that my window, the one nearest to the head of my bed, is open. The wind had picked up during the night, and it roars around the emptiness outside. I listen to it howl. Oddly enough, the sound helps calm me down enough to do some thinking.
Jonathan's on vacation. It's two in the way-early morning of Thursday, June 25th. I've been at my new job for three days already, and I'm meeting with Naomi and some girls when I get off work tonight. I pause in my whirlwind of thoughts.
Oh, yeah. I'm going nuts.
There it is.
Who was that woman? The men in clown masks? The impossible Mob bank robbery?
…the Joker?
I don't know who he is, but he sounds like one of those big-name criminals. To me, these dreams are like a series. Dark and violent. And confusing. Just how messed up is my brain?
I mean, crooks in masks and costumes aren't new in Gotham. One of the biggest ones I've heard about was a fellow who called himself the Cleaver, back in the 70's. More of a serial killer than a petty thief. But the cops nabbed him somehow. No one likes to talk about him much.
Part of the reason Commissioner Loeb is so smiled upon now, I think sourly.
And now, with horror, I realize that because of the daydreaming path my thoughts have taken, the dream is fading out of sight. Like all the others.
I press the heels of my palms into my eyes and strain-strain-strain-strain to remember, but come up with a blank. "Dammit!" I exclaim angrily.
I should start writing these down. Now, I'm left with nothing more than a haunting memory. How can they be so detailed and so real, but can vanish within five minutes?
Frustrated, I take my hands away from my face. It feels like my brain is turning to mush and leaking out of my ears. For ten minutes, I sit there and try to remember, but…nothing. Nada. Zip.
My name should be Spacey Stacey.
Next, I lay back down in bed, covers off, and try to get some more sleep. After a while, I deduce that this is also not happening. Grand. I need sleep but can't reach it.
I get out of bed and cautiously walk over to the open window. The darkness, broken by the huge lightpost in our yard, presses against my eyes.
No crows. Now that both the Cranes are gone, there are no crows. Peace. I look out across the cornfield for their house. Pitch-black. No lights. No yelling. Eerie silence.
There's something else in that cornfield.
My eyes then fall to the tree just outside my window. One sturdy, gnarled branch reaches out to me, taunting me, tempting me. Calling me. Should I?
Oh, well. I have insomnia anyway.
With less difficulty than the last time, I manage to scramble down the knobby tree trunk. What am I doing? What am I doing?
I don't even know.
My feet hit newly grown grass, and I take off running. Into the cornfield. Disregarding any possibility of rabies-infested creatures and dangerous criminals. As stupid as I may seem to you, I do not have a death wish.
I make it through the cornfield unscathed. There's the clearing. And there's the scarecrow, as creepy and lonely as I'd remembered it. I sink to the ground before it, staring up at its burlap face.
I'm clinging to a memory. Of him. No matter how bad it may be. With no crows in the sky, the scarecrow isn't all that scary.
"Scarecrow! Scarecrow! Johnny Rake's a scarecrow!"
I press my forehead to my knees. I really just want to forget all that. Old haunts. Bad memories. I sigh. How will I survive? Have I really come to lean on him that much?
The scarecrow sways in the strong wind. My hair whips around my head. The corn is nearly done growing, and so it moves, too. Rustling. My main fear is that the scarecrow will topple over and crash down on top of me.
Through my sketching and through my actions right now, I've come to think that the scarecrow, in a way, symbolizes Jonathan. Skinny, like him. Freaky, like him. Abused, like him. But for me, through indirectly, it keeps the crows away.
How symbolic.
I'm not sure how long I sit there in the cornfield, but eventually, somehow, I make it back to my house, climb the tree, and haul myself into bed. And now, I'm cold and tired enough to burrow into the warmth of the covers and fall asleep.
Mom wakes me up at ten without a word, before leaving to go to her appointment. I'll leave at eleven thirty; I know that by now. My job is pretty routine: shelve books, check them for damage, and help people who ask for it. And I don't even have to be in uniform. Only a nametag.
Let's just forget my insanity from this morning. Not good for my health.
I like to think on little, non-Jonathan things. Like Don. And my job. And how my life is going down the toilet.
Don… Don is starting to change. Majorly. I frown as get my head stuck in Mom's borrowed sweater. At work, these three days, he's changed. Quite gradually over the short time period. He's still nice but very…inquisitive. Personal questions. Mostly about me, my past, and my mother. Especially my mother. Light in general but pressing enough to make me uncomfortable.
Though I still like Don well enough, I seem to have the urge to avoid him now. Most of my time spent working yesterday had been dedicated to this.
He's too interested in me. I don't like it.
But he is cute. And nice. Very nice.
Maybe I'm paranoid. Maybe he really is interested in me. I know how I can be.
Why? He's too old! Off-limits!
It's all too complicated; I'm confused. How do I remain cautious, but still maintain that roll-with-the-punches attitude?
Remain awkward.
As usual (these past three days anyway), I get to work right on time. I try to hurry past the front desks and librarians as quickly as I'm able.
"Hey, Ames! How's your mom? She good today?" Don calls out me as I rush past him to check in.
I blush (dangit) and toss back over my shoulder a simple, "Fine."
"And what did you say her name was again?"
Well, I don't want to be rude. And he's still cute, with that blonde hair falling into his always-sparkling eyes. I sigh in defeat, growing farther away.
"Jane."
And I'm gone.
I'm also quite surprised at myself; I find that now, I'm looking forward to the night out. It'll take my mind off things. If I'm lucky, this'll bring me further in the direction of becoming a social butterfly. I'm actually going out, for practically the first time in my life. Something I've never seen for myself. I've always viewed myself as a social recluse, not even worth glancing at. Now, Jonathan's gone, I'm getting not-entirely-unwanted attention from Don, and other, less-snobby girls are noticing me.
Oh joy.
In a way, I don't want to… I don't like it. Part of me wants to cling to my old self, to keep only that special, odd relationship Jonathan and I have. It's just the weird feeling that he…should be my only friend. It's a staggering realization.
And Lord, I feel like I'm betraying him.
I'll admit, I'm not known for being unfriendly. I'm just…not known. But I guess not for long.
Five o'clock rolls around eventually, and with a permanent furrow in my brow, I glance at the clock on the wall and decide to sign out. After, I dread going back up front but do it anyway. I wheel my now-empty cart back up front and set aside the two damaged books I'd discovered shoved far back, hidden, into their shelves. Poor things.
Ugh, Don. Maybe I can avoid him…
I nod to Mr. Kipling, who's nearby, and freeze when I'm near the front doors.
"Ames!" Naomi calls out, waving. She runs up to me and gives me a hug. Taken aback, I awkwardly pat her on the shoulder. Kelly and Annie stand just inside of the glass doors, waiting. She releases me, and I give her a once-over, thinking immediately that I'm quite underdressed for this.
Naomi has the cute little blouse and skirt ensemble going on. Her chocolate brown skin glows, her makeup is perfectly glorious, and her dark mocha-colored hair curls prettily around her face. Annie and Kelly look very similar.
I'm an ogre. What else is new?
"So you work here?" Naomi asks lightly, casting her sparkling gaze around the library.
"Um, yeah—" I cut off when I realize that Naomi is no longer paying attention to a word I'm saying. Instead, she's standing stock-still with both hands clasped over her heart, luminous brown eyes fixed straight ahead. On something.
Or someone.
"Who's that?" she breathes, awestruck.
"Who?" I ask, frowning, and turn around.
Don. She's staring at Don. And he's staring right back at her. With a thunderstruck expression on his face. Anyone passing by, even without knowing what's really going on, would be able to tell that he is only one thing:
Whipped.
Typical.
With me looking on, Don and Naomi walk toward each other, and I'm forced to watch them make goo-goo eyes at the other.
Age difference doesn't stop her. That's it; I'm done. I could never compare to Naomi. Unable to watch the gloppy introductions, I spin around to Annie and Kelly, fully expecting them to be reacting in a similar manner to mine. I find the opposite. The two girls are squealing, jumping up and down with interlocked hands.
I openly roll my eyes. This won't work out at all for me. I guess, with Don now occupied with a new interest, that I'm relieved.
Not exactly heartbroken.
Five minutes later, Naomi bounces away from Don with his phone number clenched in her fist, while he ogles admiringly at her back. There's something deceptive about it. Once we're outside, we all pile into Naomi's cute Volkswagen Beetle. I end up squished between Annie and Kelly. All their purses are piled into the front seat.
Naomi starts the car and pulls onto the street. "Wasn't he just dreamy?" she gushes.
"A hunk," Annie agrees.
"A-list hottie," Kelly adds.
I work with him, I think.
I resist the urge to smother my ears with my hands. My bad mood steadily worsens as I listen to them babble for ten minutes. Then it comes to me that we're driving through downtown Gotham, and I'm forced to interrupt the nauseating conversation. "Um, sorry. Naomi? What exactly are we doing this evening?"
Naomi giggles, still blushing. "Oh! Well, Sleepless in Seattle came out today, so we're going to the movie theater. I've been wanting to see it forever!"
With difficulty, my hand snakes down to touch my jeans' pocket and the money I randomly stuffed in there this morning. "Think six bucks will cover it?"
"Without a doubt."
I'm pretty silent for the rest of the trip, but I can't shake the feeling of dread that I've acquired over the past hour. Most of the time, now that it's twilight, I stare at the lights of the city. Beautiful.
A pop song comes on the radio, and all three girls sing at the top of their lungs and dance around in their seats. I'm the only one not moving. Scowling and unseen, instead. Too peppy, too silly, too shallow… Disgusting.
I'm stuck in a car filled with girls dressed like women of loose-moral character. But I won't hurt anyone's feeling with my dark side and pissy thoughts.
The rest of the way is spent gossiping. At one point, Naomi lets something slip (about Summer, I think) and turns around anxiously in the front seat, looking at me imploringly, asking, "You won't tell her I said that, will you, Ames?"
I had missed it but assure her I won't. "My lips are sealed up tighter than a popcorn's fart," I promise. Silence in the car. I flush.
She pulls onto a brightly lit street. "Let's park here," Naomi decides. "I don't mind walking a bit." And that's how we do it. A group of four strolling up the sidewalk, casual as you please, chit-chatting the whole way. Not me.
Alleyways everywhere. I can see the small movie theater up ahead. Then, Naomi surprises me again by throwing an arm around my neck as we near another alley. "Thanks so much for coming," she whispers. It really means that much to her?
I'm about to open my mouth and respond when I glimpse something near the mouth of the alleyway ahead. And suddenly, I remember. Too late.
Falcone has spies everywhere. The other girls are oblivious to the figure's presence. I'm not. Our eyes meet. In the shadows, the henchman looks at me, and then looks at Naomi.
And smiles.
He has seen.
As a result, Falcone will know.
A/N: Sorry to leave off on a somber note. And yup, this was a filler.
The first thing I'm going to do is ask for help on the timeline of the Batman movies. I think I've got the years figured out ok. 8 months between Batman Begins and The Dark Knight, and 8 years between The Dark Knight and The Dark Knight Rises. But in the first movie, the time of months screw me up. At one point, it's Bruce Wayne's birthday, which is February 19. But it didn't look like February most of the time. Maybe Gotham's weather is different? I don't know. HELP is greatly appreciated. HELP!
In case you were wondering, the average price of a movie ticket in 1993 was $5.50. I'm just trying to be accurate.
Question of the Day: Pretty basic, what's your favorite color?
Please leave a review! It's in your best interest, and I try to get back to everyone. I take ideas, and some people can testify, I do give scant hints of what's to come. ;)
The absent Jonathan will be helped next chapter. :D
SEE YA!