Chapter Twenty-Two:
Joker wrapped his arm around Barbara's shoulders, pulling her into the cabin's living room. Chauncey gave his boss a questioning glance, but the Joker only jerked his chin in the direction of the cellar. With a single nod, Chauncey went back downstairs. Barbara jumped as the front door shut, the lock clicking loudly into place. She turned to see Harley—whoever the hell that was—leaning against the door with a bright smile on her lips.
"Harley, give me and Babs some alone time, 'kay?"
The woman's face twitched, a shadow dancing over her features for just a split second. Then, with a bright bubbly voice, she said, "Sure."
"Go help poor Chauncey," Joker ordered.
She nodded, moving quickly to disappear down the stairs. Now, alone with the Joker, Barbara realized she was trembling.
"Oh, Babsy… you aren't afraid of me, are you?" he asked, his permanent grin flipped upside-down.
"I-I d-didn't…" she began, but a slight snarl formed on his face.
"Don't play stupid. You aren't, and we both know that. You saw everything. Didn't you?"
Barbara, still trembling, mentally weighed her options. She could attempt to lie further, and maybe—maybe—she could make it the rest of the week without any more incidents. Or she could tell the truth and see where that got her. A very large part of herself screamed to lie, to try and fool the Joker into believing that she had… she didn't know… maybe she had had a nightmare and went to call her father? That sounded weak, even to her. In the end, she nodded. After all, there was more to witnessing that murder than just seeing it.
"You got Falcone to send his thugs after Sarah… to hurt her. To make her miscarry. Didn't you?" she whispered.
"For you!" he shouted.
It was her worst fear confirmed. Her throat tightened as she fought tears. Her lips trembled, and she shook her head.
"How could you?"
She sniffled, and the look of sympathy on his face made her sick. She wanted to scream at him, to claw at his face, to make him feel the pain that she was feeling. As it was, he still had her locked into his side via the arm around his shoulders. Her face hardened, glaring at the clown.
"For me? You did it for me? How could you ever think that hurting Sarah, causing her to lose the baby, would be something that I wanted?"
He shook his head, sighing, as if she had misunderstood something so fundamentally simple. "Oh, Babs… It is what you wanted, you just… You've just been so… tamed."
"What are you talking about?" she growled.
Joker tsked at her. "You know how all dogs are descended from wolves? Well, dear, you are… like a wolf, only you've been raised like you were a just a little… Pomeranian or something! My point, dearest, is that you were meant to run free, wild and untamed—like moi—but you've lived in captivity for so long that you've forgotten how."
Barbara was shaking, and she wasn't sure if it was the chill of the cabin or because of how close she was to him. She was still wearing a nightgown that wasn't too thick and a thin robe over it, and she dearly wished she was in almost anything but. Joker shook his head, staring down at her.
"I saw it all in your little closing statement speech. You got it, dear, but it was so… prettied up. The way you explained it all, about the supposed whys of my crimes based on my own testimony. You know, in your most primal self, that all it took was a little push to get going on what Gotham considers to be the most appalling crimes ever committed."
Chauncey emerged from the cellar, heading toward the backside of the cabin. She dared a glance in his direction, seeing him with several heavy and full garbage bags. She felt like she might vomit, and she gagged a little as Joker gently turned her chin back in his direction.
"Poor girl. So unused to the gritty ways of the world. I'm going to show it to you, dearest. I'm going to show you how ugly this world can get… and then I'm going to teach you how to overcome."
Barbara swallowed hard. "What does that mean?"
His permanent grin widened. "Oh, well… you really didn't think you were going home after this—to your cop father?"
Her eyes widened. Yes, in her most logical brain, she knew that Joker would never let her leave. But it was a completely new and terrifying experience to hear it said so blatantly. She shook her head, choking back a sob.
"Please," she whispered. "Please, I won't… I won't tell. I swear."
He arched a brow at her. "And who was it, exactly, you were calling when Harley stopped you?"
She shook. He didn't know, did he? About her involvement with the Bat? She allowed herself a little chin wobble, hoping that maybe it hadn't all been an act—his feelings for her.
"I… I panicked. I swear. I've never… I just didn't know what to do. And I was mad and sad… and I'm sorry. I won't, I swear!"
Harley—as Joker had called her—now came up the stairs with more garbage bags. The woman glanced over at them, and Barbara saw something flicker in her eyes, making them go cold. But she still turned and marched off in the same direction Chauncey had gone.
"I'm not stupid either, girl," he growled.
If Joker's arm hadn't had her so locked in, she was sure her trembling would have her vibrating right off of the couch. He moved his other hand under her chin, shaking his head.
"You'll learn, my love. I'll show you. Chauncey!"
The chauffeur/hired thug reentered the room. "Yeah, boss?"
He looked at Barbara as if he was legitimately concerned for her well-being. Joker tossed a chin toward the cellar.
"Get it clear. Then, make it so Babsy will be comfortable."
Chauncey glanced back at the open trapdoor. "Um… sure, b-boss."
"Aww," Joker cooed, pulling Barbara even closer. "I do think Chauncey is worried about you. If I promise not to hurt her, I won't have to kill you for trying to release her, will I, Chaunce?"
"I-I-I do whatcha tell me, Boss. Swear," he said, immediately turning without so much as another sideways glance at Barbara as he went back down into the cellar.
Joker stretched, still careful to keep a tight hold on her. "Until then, my dear, let's just enjoy a little romantic sit in front of this roaring fire, huh?"
She, obviously, didn't have much of a choice in that.
#
It was day two, or maybe three, of what was supposed to be a nice little getaway vacation—her first—with her boyfriend. Instead, she was laying on a lumpy mattress on a cheap, full-sized bed that had no bedclothes on it, her hands chained to the head, one leg chained to the foot—they, evidently, had run out of shackles. Joker visited her a few times, feeding her and washing her. He spoke softly to her, petted her head, and kept talking about how soon she would "understand." He tried to kiss her more than once, and she had screamed and fought until he stopped. Once, he had pulled his arm back, like he was going to slap her, and Barbara had surprised herself. She had expected fear to overwhelm her, to recoil. Instead, she had glared at him, as if daring him to do it. He had paused, his face softening just a touch, before he stood, grumbling. He yelled for Chauncey to lock her back into place as he exited the cellar.
Chauncey, for his part, spoke to her as if she were still on a date with his boss. The first night they had locked her to the bed, she had begged for him to free her. He had told her no. Now, whenever he tried to talk to her like she was his friend, she told him to fuck off. He seemed really saddened by that, but, frankly, she was quite literally not in a position to care.
By her estimation, she was in the cellar for about three days before she accepted the fact that her call—the one she had so desperately tried to send before the Harley woman had smashed her phone—had not gone through. The thought made her whole body stiffen with the effort of keeping herself from sobbing. She might die here, she knew. It was a sobering thought and one that was horrifying. But she was more afraid of what would remain for her family and friends—what would her father do, when she never came home?—than the act of actually being killed. But she would not give the Joker the satisfaction of tears, and she sure as hell wasn't going out without some kind of a fight. She may only be able to scream at him, but by God, she was going to give it all she had.
That evening—Barbara figured, by the tiny window that was near the ceiling of the cellar, at ground level—Joker descended into the cellar. He closed the trapdoor above him, and Barbara froze. He had never done that before. He carried an electric lantern in one hand, a bowl with some kind of utensil in it in the other. He sat the lantern down on a small, rickety table at the foot of the bed, along with the bowl. He undid her one chained leg and pulled her up until she was partially upright.
"Chauncey said you didn't eat much at lunch," he said, grabbing the bowl and sitting beside her.
He lifted the spoon, and Barbara could smell that it was some kind of soup—it looked like chicken noodle. Joker put the spoon to her lips. The metal was hot, but not scorching, and Barbara pursed her lips shut. Joker sighed, pulling the spoon away.
"I don't want to hurt you, dearest, but you do need to eat. Don't make me force you."
Her head still turned to the side—where she noticed, for the first time, some spots of blood that Chauncey must have missed from the earlier execution that made her feel sick—she said, "How do I know you haven't poisoned it?"
Joker rubbed the bridge of his nose. "My love—"
"Don't call me that," Barbara snapped, whipping her head around.
In that moment, Joker shoved a spoonful of the soup in her mouth. It burned on the way down her throat, choking her a bit, but the tiny bit of flavor reminded her of exactly how hungry she was. Her stomach rumbled, and Joker's grin was a touch triumphant.
"I don't want you dead, dearest," he said, holding out another full spoon.
Barbara stared at it, mulling over his words. Slowly, she parted her lips, and he fed her a bit more gently this time.
"Actually, this whole situation is silly, honestly," he said, feeding her yet more.
"I agree. Let me go," she said.
He chuckled. "Oh, my funny girl. No. I mean, if you would just agree to leave Gotham with me, I could unchain you. We could leave tonight."
Her eyes widened. "What? You want… you want us to leave?"
"You're not ready, Babs. You still need time to see it, to get the punchline to the grandest cosmic joke there is. And you'll just start all kinds of trouble if I let you go home. It would complicate things if I had to, you know, remove a few things from the equation myself."
The glint in his eyes was unmistakable. He was threatening her. Or, more likely, her family. The look vanished as soon as it appeared, and he graced her with a soft look of concern.
"I don't like keeping you like this. I'm trying to free you, and this? This is the opposite. But, for now, it's for your own good."
He finished feeding her the soup. She licked her lips, savoring the salty broth as he pulled her back into a reclining position. She shook her head.
"I told you, I won't say anything. I swear. J-just let me go."
"I told you, Babsy, I can't do that. But… if you want to leave with me…"
He locked her ankle into its cuff and turned, running thin, gloved fingers up her leg. She shivered, still dressed in a small nightdress, and he chuckled.
"I miss having you in my bed, dearest," he said, stopping his finger at just above her knee.
Her whole body quaked. She swallowed, hard, and hoped it wasn't noticeable. Her lips parted, wanting to speak, wanting to tell him that she couldn't leave with him. Her brain was working through all sorts of logical arguments against leaving the city with him, but his hand was trailing higher and all logic stopped. Fear took its place.
"Please don't," she whispered.
He paused just at the hem of her nightgown; his eyes narrowed. "One little guy gets his brains blown out, and suddenly you don't want me anymore? Is that it?"
He ground out the words, and Barbara spotted her mistake immediately. She shook her head.
"No. No, that's not it," she protested.
Joker grabbed her leg, his fingers digging into her flesh. "So you do want me?"
He let go of her, his hands going to the zipper in his pants—which were tented against an ominous bulge that she more than recognized. She shook her head again.
"Not like this," she whispered. "Please."
She pulled her knees together, her whole body still shaking as Joker undid his fly and removed his hardened cock. Slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, he stroked it over her.
"Stop," she breathed.
"Oh, Babs… I miss you so much… I know you miss me…" he moaned, speeding up his hands.
He reached down with his free hand, shoving her nightgown up around her neck, exposing her lavender cotton panties and unclothed breasts to the chilly air around them. Her nipples instantly stiffened into peaks, and he moaned, jerking himself faster.
She shook her head. "Joker, please… stop. Don't do this," she begged.
"Oh, m'dear, you know how I love it when you beg," he groaned.
He lifted his right knee, resting it on the mattress beside her and putting most of his weight on it. As a result, his hardened dick was now hovering right over her center, just above her sex but below her navel. His free hand grasped her breast, kneading it roughly. The blue veins in his cock stood out against his pale white flesh, giving his member an angry look to it. Barbara felt tears forming in her eyes, and she screamed internally at herself to look away. But she couldn't, and it felt like she was staring down the barrel of a gun as he pumped himself more and more over her mostly naked form. Her body—not yet caught up with the reality of the situation—still remembered how good it had felt to be touched by him, to feel that cock inside of her. She felt her panties growing a little damp, and she berated herself for it.
"Oh, dearest… I miss the way you feel, the way you taste," he moaned.
Suddenly, his movements increased almost to the point of violence, and his hot seed exploded from him, spilling all across her belly and chest. He jerked himself until his cock began to soften in his hold. With a breathy sigh, he tucked his member back into his pants, zipping them back up. He stared down at her, smiling. "I'll send Chauncey down in a bit. Think about my offer, Babsy. And… about other things."
He turned and made his way back up the stairs, her nightgown still pulled up to her neck, his seed quickly cooling on her flesh. She wanted to beg him not to send Chauncey, not to let anyone else see her like this. But she knew that that would do her no good. This was a punishment, of sorts, for even thinking of leaving him. She closed her eyes when she heard the henchman on the stairs, holding them tightly closed as she heard him approach.
"I-I'm gonna clean you up, okay, Miss?" Chauncey asked quietly.
She nodded, feeling a single fat tear roll down her face. She flinched when she felt a cloth touch her chest, and another tear rolled free when she heard Chauncey apologize. Somewhere, deep inside, there was an ember of rage at this situation, at everything, even herself. But, for the moment, she just lay there, letting Chauncey clean her, and cried.