Chapter 25
Barbara winced as the hot stem from her stew reached her hand. She'd have to give it time to cool before Jim got home. She quickly ran it under cold water and removed the bandage from her other hand. It still stung from the other day, but the swelling had started to go down.
She had kept the radio turned off; for fear that the Joker might reach out from it and grab her. It was a silly fear, but she wasn't going to even risk hearing that psychopath's voice again. She couldn't imagine what Jim had to be going through. Being gassed by that monster while he killed somebody right next to him! Jim was a hardened policeman, but it was like Joker was trying to break him, drive him insane.
She had bolted the doors tightly, closed the windows, and kept a gun underneath her pillow. But she still didn't feel any safer if Jim wasn't around. She had watched him hobble away that morning, back to the daily grind. She had begged him not to go. The doctors had told him not to go. But nothing would change his mind. He always put the welfare of the city above his own.
Suddenly, a loud rapping rang out from the door. She froze, and all of the worst scenarios flashed through her mind. Terrible things. Anything from a deranged maniac to a mythical hellspawn could have been behind the door. She didn't want to look. She couldn't look. She couldn't answer the door, not even if she wanted to.
The knocking came again, louder this time. She left the kitchen and cautiously crept into the bedroom, retrieving the handgun from underneath her pillow. More knocking: harder, more irregular. She was sorely tempted to fire the gun at the door, just to kill whatever might be behind it. But that would be foolish. Suppose it was a neighbor, wanting to check up on her, or even Jim come home early from work. She couldn't let paranoia get the best of her.
"Who is it?" she said demurely, but loud enough to be hear through the door.
The voice that answered was deep and gravelly, almost fake. "Special delivery for Mrs. Gordon!"
"I'm sorry sir. I didn't order anything."
"I know." The voice was higher now, more familiar. She had heard it before: the same faux-aristocratic accent, the same broken and insane speech pattern. No! Not him!
She heard a beating on the door again, then a hacking sound. He was taking an axe to the door! He was coming in! That monster was coming in! She excitedly fired the gun three times. Her aim was off. Only one shot even hit the door. And the hacking continued. She fired again. No yelp, no scream. Either he liked being shot at or she was still missing. She pulled back the hammer and tried to fire again. Empty. The gun was empty after only four shots. No!
She saw splinters of the door bursting inward, then a gangly purple glove shove itself inward and wiggle its fingers. Then a great red fire-axe finally broke a hole through the wood. And she saw the face. The ghoulish white clown face squeezed through the cracks and flashed Barbara its most sadistic and terrifying grin.
"Heeeeeere's Joker!"