Warnings: Language. Lack of cat.
A/N: Sorry for not updating in a bit. Adult life getting in the way, unfortunately. Also sorry for the lack of Arthur himself in these latest chapters, but hopefully some of what I have here and coming up will make up for it, including something in this chapter I'm sure we all wanted to see in the movie but didn't get, unfortunately.
….
Jennifer sat at home alone that night. Poured herself some whiskey, before poring over the file again.
There had to be something. Something amongst all the bullshit that could prove Arthur was still…Arthur Fleck. Penny's boy. Precisely who he always thought he was. Maybe more.
Something that could pull him back from the precipice that he not only seemed to be leaning toward, but smiling into.
She went back to the newspaper clippings. They did name the boyfriend; she wrote down his name with disgust, but doubted it would lead to anything. Supposedly he was already 20 years Penny's senior at the time. Fucker had probably already drunk himself into his grave.
Something else about the articles caught her attention.
…..
During her first break the next day at work, Jennifer used all the databases and other directories at her fingertips to look up the boyfriend. As she suspected—dead as a door nail. Good, she thought. Though it didn't exactly help her cause.
Taking a later lunch, she sat at her desk and dialed the Gotham Gazette. "Hello there," she greeted, falling into her old accent. "I was just wonderin' if certain reporters still worked there?"
"Uh, sure…. What're their names?" a younger male voice asked.
She looked down at her notes. "Sal Rosenbluth?"
A laugh sounded through the phone. "Gee, lady, 20 years too late. He retired ages ago."
Her heart sunk a little. "Well, hope he's enjoyin' his retirement…." she fished.
"He died 10 years ago. Who are the others?"
Just one other name was penciled into her notebook: "B. R. Smith?"
Another groan. "Oh yeah, he's definitely still here. Will probably drop dead at his desk someday."
"If he is there now can ya be so kind as to transfer me to him?"
"Wha—who should I say is calling for him?"
"Uh, Louise Stewart. I work for…" she looked down at the early Christmas card from her company's competitor, "Gotham Mutual. I'm tryin' to do some research related to a policy."
"Uh, alright. One moment."
Jennifer waited. She listened impatiently to some generic piano music while on hold. She breathed a strain breath.
"Smith here," an older voice spoke into the phone.
"Hello Mr. Smith. My name is Louise Stewart. I'm callin' from an insurance company here in Gotham, 'bout a life insurance policy we're decidin' whether to pay out? We suspect the beneficiary might not actually be related to the recently deceased. Doin' some digging, it appears you wrote some articles about some unfortunate events in their past. I haven't been able to find much else, so I was wonderin' if you could help me?" She had to pat herself on the back; she was thinking of a lot of this off the fly.
"Well, I can certainly try. Who are the people involved?"
"The deceased is Penny Fleck. Arthur Fleck is–was her son."
"Oh?" Smith asked quietly. Didn't say anything else.
"Uh…yes. You wrote about his being abuse at the hands of her boyfriend in the past. You described him as being adopted. What…source informed you he was adopted and not her natural child?"
"Adopted children can't be beneficiaries of a life insurance policy?"
"No, of course they can," she acknowledged, drawing out her o's like she used to, but also trying not to sound like a caricature of herself. "I've just seen some conflicting information about his relationship to her, and we just wanted to make sure we covered all the bases." Her accent slipped a little at the end; she hoped he hadn't noticed.
"Honestly it was so long ago I'm not sure I can remember. But I know for sure the boy was adopted."
Jennifer did a double take. "But…."
"And Miss? If I were you, I wouldn't dig too deep on this one."
Smith hung up. Jennifer sat at her desk, listening to the blaring sound of the disconnected tone for several seconds, before replacing the handset to its cradle.
Well, that wasn't at all unnerving or suspicious.
….
Tuesday was too hectic to tend to much of anything outside of work. Once home, Jennifer by-passed even trying to see if he was home. She was avoiding him, avoiding potential confrontation, avoiding…. She knew it, but she wanted desperately to have something in hand first before coming back to him.
She was given another Wednesday off.
Jennifer thought of one last thing. One big old shot in the dark. She had a friend at the city clerk's office. Whenever she needed to get a marriage or death certificate in relation to a claim, Harold was her go-to man. Birth certificates were a much more rare occurrence. She wanted to not involve her job in any way this time. She had an idea.
"Jennifer! How's my favorite insurance adjuster?"
"Uh, I'm still just a secretary, but thanks for thinking positively. How are you, Harold?"
The older, bigger man rubbed his hands up and down the front of his sweater. "The ol' ticker isn't what she used to be, but…that's life, I suppose."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Um…." Jennifer shifted on her feet. "I was wondering if I could get a favor?"
"Well, sure, of course. What do you need?"
She leaned forward on the counter, looked down, then up as she gave her best sweet-demure look to Harold. "Well, see, I'm actually…getting married. Eloping. With the sweetest guy I've ever met…." She paused; looked away for a moment.
"Well, congratulations!"
She laughed cheerily. "Yeah. But ya know, we need to get all our stuff in order–all the blood tests and paperwork and such. We wanted to be sure we entered his parents' info correctly, but…he doesn't have his birth certificate. He's…working right now, but if I could get it for him–" Jennifer pushed some mail forward. She'd earlier swiped a piece from his apartment that didn't have his apartment number on it, but which had still managed to find its way to Arthur at some point. Together with one of her bills, she hoped that was enough "proof" that she lived together with this man and wasn't just asking for some random person's birth certificate.
Harold didn't even glance at the mail. "Of course Jennifer. Just tell me his name and date of birth and I'll go back and see if I can find it."
"Uhh…. I don't actually know his date of birth."
"Hmm…. Don't know the year, at least?"
She did some mental math. "1949, I think."
"Well, it might take a while," Harold warned. "Is that okay?"
She shook her head. "Perfectly fine."
Harold turned to go, but then turned back. "Oh, uh, what is your betrothed's name?"
Jennifer smiled, maybe a bit sadly. "Arthur Fleck."
….
Harold wasn't kidding; it was going on two and a half hours and she still hadn't seen him. She was starting to fear this was just another dead end–after all, if there was some covert, sinister element to all this as all signs pointed to at that moment, why on earth would anything significant just be left sitting in the city clerk's office?–but her breath about stopped when she finally saw Harold, smiling, waving a piece of paper around in his hand.
Jennifer rushed up to the counter. "Did you find it?"
"Here you are, my dear…." He placed the faded document in front of her. "Certificate of Live Birth," for one Arthur Fleck–no middle name–born November 21, 1949. She glanced at the bottom; it was certified, and it was dated shortly after his birth. It had to be the original one.
She looked for his parents. Mother: Penelope Fleck, age 22, of New Jersey. Father: Unknown.
Harold noticed her frown. "Don't worry Jennifer, just enter 'Unknown' for his father when you put all that info down. It is technically correct."
"Um, yeah, no…."
"Is something wrong?"
"No! No, not at all." Jennifer hugged the document to her chest. "Can I have a copy of it?"
"That is your copy. Certified and all. Just in case he needs it."
She nodded. "Thank you so much Harold."
….
Jennifer rapped loudly on Arthur's door. "Arthur! Open up!"
She was so excited. She felt she finally had something to disprove all the bullshit that had been thrown at him lately about who he was, or wasn't. Something she hoped would work as an amulet that could transform him back into her Arthur.
She wasn't sure what reception she would get, though. She had her .22 tucked into the back pocket of her jeans, hidden beneath her leather moto jacket. She had on her sturdiest shoes in her army boots, if she needed to…kick anything.
Jennifer knocked again, but no response.
Her anxiety was starting to perk up. She hadn't seen Arthur since Penny's graveside on Sunday.
She tried the door handle, and, to her surprise, this time the door opened.
She stepped inside. It was quiet. Too quiet.
"Arthur?" she called out, but no answer.
The smell of cigarette smoke was so faint, compared to when she was last inside his apartment. She went over to the TV and placed a hand to it. It was cold. There were multiple VHS tapes lying around, all marked "Murray Franklin" and numbered.
She rushed into Penny's room, then the bathroom. Even looked in the closet again. Nothing.
Where the hell could he be?
Glancing over at their table, she noticed the gun was gone.
Jennifer's tired brain raced. She left the apartment behind as she rushed out, panic surging through her.
….
She just wanted to find him. She looked everywhere. All the restaurants they had been, including the donut shop, stepping inside of which made her a bit sad. Pogo's, but no one had seen him since the open mic night. All the more mundane places–like the bodega down the street and the laundromat and the post office. She even went to the record store she took him to once, and the bowling alley at Amusement Mile where they went to twice. Nothing.
Jennifer exhaled audibly, as she stared at the door in front of her.
Ha Ha's
Talent Booking
He had been fired weeks ago, but maybe one of his co-workers had seen him? As far as Jennifer knew, Arthur didn't really have any friends. At least none she knew of, really. But maybe one of his former co-workers had seen him?
A taped-up, handmade paper sign on the door told her to ring a bell, but she ignored it as she swung the door open.
She drudged up some stairs, then found herself traveling down some colorful hallways. She followed some laughter into a break room with lockers lined up on one side.
It was a room full of men, most of them dressed as clowns or in some state of clowning or declowning. One man was dressed in a full tuxedo and top hat, while another looked like a Chip 'n' Dale dancer.
Gradually, they all stopped what they were doing and looked up at Jennifer.
"Who the hell are you?"
She looked around. "Anyone here seen Arthur Fleck?"
There was some grumbling, annoyed moans. A portly clown in suspenders stepped forward. "Who's askin'?"
She stared this man in the eye. "Just a friend. I…haven't seen him in several days and I'm worried."
"If you haven't seen Arthur in a while count your lucky stars. Weird freak," another clown commented. A few of the others laughed.
Her eyebrows shot up briefly. "Boy I can see why he loved this place…." She looked away.
That earned some grunts, but the man in the tuxedo stepped forward. "Do you think something happened to Arthur?"
Jennifer shrugged, sighed. "I don't know. His mom died several days ago and he hasn't been in a good place."
That gave most of the men pause. "Arthur's momma died?"
"Yeah…."
That same clown in the suspenders stepped up closer to her. "Arthur hasn't been here in weeks and we haven't seen him in that long. So skedaddle…" he looked her up and down, "freak."
Jennifer smirked, motioned to the man. "Sure you don't have a hot dog eating contest down at the pier you have to be at or something?"
"You bitch—" Suspenders moved toward her, but stopped when a voice called out from behind her: "Randall, that's enough."
She turned and looked down to see a smaller man with a beard and receding hair line. "Never mind him, Ma'am. If you're looking for Arthur, I'm afraid none of us have seen him since he took his things after he was fired."
Jennifer regarded the man carefully. "Gary?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
She nodded. "He talks of you fondly."
Gary just shrugged.
She sighed again. "Thanks Gary."
"When you find him, let him know w—I'm thinking of him."
"I will," she nodded.
Jennifer turned to go, but one of the men had to throw out one last jab:
"Sure you're just friends? With a figure like that, I woulda thought Arthur would have something like you locked up in some basement."
She stopped, smiled, but didn't turn around. Instead, she reached out and punched a bulky time clock hanging precariously on the end of a wall. It fell crashing to the floor, but she didn't pay it any mind as she went on.
One man yelped. Most of them grumbled again.
"Freaks of a feather," she could hear someone mutter.
Jennifer left Ha Ha's behind, shoving her hands into her leather jacket to fend off the cold as she stepped outside. Apparently she wasn't watching where she was going, because she bumped right into someone who was headed inside.
"Hey, watch where you're fucking going," the man spat. He was wearing somewhat dated clothing—pointed collar, leisure suit. Gold chain over graying, exposed chest hair. Classy.
"Sorry," she mumbled.
"Hey, did you just come out of there?" He asked in a nasally, strained voice, motioning to the door. "Looking to hire some…talent?"
She studied the man for a moment. "Is your name Hoyt?" She smiled.
He stepped up to Jennifer, grinning. "At your service."
She stepped up closer, still smiling herself. As hard as possible, Jennifer kneed him in the groin.
Hoyt immediately doubled over and groaned in pain. "What the fuck!? You cunt! Get back here!"
But she was already halfway down the down street.
…..
Arthur came out for the fortieth time. Waving, smiling. Trying to appear natural, normal.
"Hmmm…needs a bit more spark. Energy. You look as stiff as a board," "Jennifer" commented from where "she" sat in the corner. Took a drag from a cigarette that never burned down.
Arthur sighed. "I'm never gonna get this right."
"You will." Another drag. "Eventually."
He had been practicing for days in front of "her." He had come a long way, but didn't totally feel ready for his Murray Franklin appearance. Like he wasn't quite there yet.
"Don't worry," "Jennifer" soothed. "You'll knock 'em dead."
..…
Jennifer returned home exhausted, defeated. Sort of fed up of the whole situation. But once she reached their floor, and looked down the hall, something nagged at her. She started in the opposite direction, toward her own door, but she stopped. She closed her eyes.
She walked to his door. She didn't even bother knocking this time. She tried the door handle; it was locked this time.
"Huh."
Luckily she had a stray bobby pin stuck in the bottom of one of her jeans pockets. She fished it out and it applied it to the lock. With some manipulation, she got the thing to unlock.
She took a steadying breath before opening the door and stepping inside.
No signs of life. In fact, nothing really looked changed from earlier. She would have wondered if Arthur hadn't left town, if it weren't for the door being locked when it wasn't before.
She looked around. Questioned whether it was possible that anyone else could have been in this apartment.
She wandered into Penny's old room. Nothing had been changed in there, seemingly.
Jennifer stepped up to his mother's dresser. Opened the drawers to find his mother's clothing still there, as well as Arthur's.
She wandered back out into the living room. Her eyes fell on Arthur's journal and few other belongings on the small table in the corner. Even the crumpled lunch bag and the .38 were there. Seemingly things he'd want to take with him if we just going to up and leave. Maybe. There were still so much she didn't truly know about him, seemingly. So much that seemed like a question mark, hanging in the air, just out of her reach.
Her hand hovered over the worn journal with his name written on the front. They had promised each other to respect each other's boundaries, but it felt like the time for that had passed.
She flipped the journal open.
Jennifer flipped through multiple pages. She wasn't quite sure what to think of what she saw. A lot of it was the expected scribblings about his days, his thoughts, his plans, but they were interspersed with more disturbing passages and drawings and cut outs.
She quickly shut the journal. She looked up through the half-arch into his kitchen.
Walking around, she stepped up to the folding screen still in front of the archway entrance. She reached up and grabbed it, letting it fold on itself before she tossed it aside.
It looked like a tornado had struck, as rotten food and containers and shelving and broken dishes were lying scattered across the floor. She tread carefully, trying not to slip on or further break anything.
The papers from the funeral home that handled Penny's arrangements were sitting on the counter.
She glanced up. The cupboards and walls were wallpapered with newspaper clippings. Faces of snarling clowns and words speaking of murder and uprising and the names of three dead men.
Jennifer stared at this horrific collage for some time.
Her mind went to that night, after Pogo's when they were walking home, and Arthur stopped at the newsstand. Smiled at many of these same headlines. To other moments that didn't entirely make sense or seemed right at the time, but which were brushed off, quickly forgotten, for the sake of a false peace, for an unsteady happiness. To the timing of the Wall Street Three murders and what happened later that night.
"This was you, wasn't it?" she whispered, as her body shook.
"This is you."