CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

If you only knew

He stared across the bed at her, wondering why she was so upset. Of all the things he'd done murdering those two had been near the bottom of his list in terms of bad. To him anyway. There were so many other things. Years and years of things. Hell, by the time he'd met her at the factory he'd already killed four people.

And by the time he'd come back to her he'd murdered so many that he couldn't keep count of them all.

"Look Sam," he began carefully. "It wasn't like they were baking cookies and then I blew 'em away with a shotgun. Okay? There's, um, a whole story behind it."

They'd been his father's parents and that was all that needed to be said. Both sides of his family were bad but his dad's side was the worst. He could remember the drinking and the beatings vividly. Sometimes he'd lay awake and his mind would go back to those violet-hued and hazy days. Invariably he'd smile.

Sent to his grandparent's farm upstate for setting fires. His grandfather staring at him with icy disgust, snapping his belt as he laid out the ground rules.

It hadn't stopped him from setting fires. In fact he'd escalated. He remembered lighting up an old shed in the woods and watching the inferno in a trance. That feeling of power was erotic, although at the time he was too young to recognize it as such. All he knew was that it felt good.

He found himself telling Samantha all this and wondered if maybe it wasn't such a good idea to let her in on so much. He couldn't stop himself though. The words came out in a rush, damning him, saving him. It didn't really matter.

At first he'd hated it there but after a while he got used to it, even started to like it. The rural setting was good for secrets. He could stay gone all day, alone with his thoughts and his fires and other things he didn't want to talk about and no one ever bothered him. He'd come home after dark and his grandparents would yell and curse, sometimes even hit him, but he was used to his dad doing worse so it wasn't a big deal.

And then summer was over. Time to go back to the city and his parents. His grandparents were happy to be rid of their odd grandson but he wasn't ready to go. In a rare display of vulnerability he'd begged them to let him stay but they had none of it. And he knew. They hated him, thought he was a freak. The way they both looked at him, with barely concealed distaste, told him as much.

And so he made his decision. If they wouldn't have him he'd get himself put away.

A few days later he killed them both with a .12 gauge shotgun as they slept and burned their house to ashes. He'd stood in the early morning light, smiling at the yellow flames and thought about how perfect it all was. Now he'd get sent away, maybe for good. No more mom and dad. And the icing on the cake....he'd gotten his revenge on his grandparents for rejecting him.

As luck would have it he was only sent away for two years. His father was a judge and he had pulled strings to make his son's stay in the state hospital as short as possible. His father had always pulled strings.

It worked. He'd often wondered what would have happened if his dad had just left him in there.

When he was finished telling Sam all this she just sat there. Her back was to him. He stared at the back of her head, at her dripping hair and wondered what else he could say to make her understand. It occurred to him that Crane was right. She was one of them.

"See, it isn't so bad. Right?" The wheedling tone of his own voice aggravated him.

I want her. She's going to understand. If she doesn't then she'll get over it. If she can live with the other things she can live with this.

Finally she turned around to face him. She still wouldn't look at him but he figured it was a start.

"I guess I can't call you Jack anymore can I?" Her voice was quiet. Sad. Silly for her to be sad over his grandparents but he let it slide.

"I don't like the other name either."

"Joseph," she said with a short laugh. "Joseph Kerr. And I thought it was a joke. Never would have believed that was your real name."

She was talking about when he'd been waiting for her outside Arkham's tunnels. He didn't like to think about that night.

Her eyes finally met his. She looked tired.

She wants to lay down but she doesn't trust me. After all I've done for her and she doesn't trust me.

Anger flashed through him and he held it back. So far things were going his way. No point in spoiling it now. And anyway, he didn't want her to be tired.

"You can lie down," he told her. "I'm not going to do anything to you."

"I know. Hey, I've been wondering....what do you think would have happened if I'd never met you or offered you a ride?"

He mulled that one over for a while. "I would have still been the way I am now. And we would still run into each other, one way or the other. This is the way it's supposed to be with us Sam."

After a few minutes she stretched out next to him, keeping her body away from his. A few more minutes and she was asleep. He watched her for a while and edged closer. She didn't wake up, didn't move away.

"I meant what I said," he whispered into her ear. "Everything."

Her hand found his and clasped it tightly, as if telling him to stop. But she didn't let go and he fell into a fitful sleep next to her. Tomorrow she'd probably want him to leave.

Tomorrow didn't matter, he told himself.

"I'm Officer Kerr. Joe Kerr."

Samantha's eyes snapped open. Beside her the Joker dozed.

Dominic had been there. He'd heard the name, seen the name tag. And Dominic wasn't dead.

She thought of him lying comatose in his hospital bed and wondered if Jack - she couldn't think of him as Joe, it didn't fit him - remembered telling Dominic his name.

Because if he does......

She shut her eyes and tried to go back to sleep.