DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own the Joker or any other DC characters, only Julie and other OC's I implement into this book.

Crime & Chaos

" LOVELY COMPANY "

by alwaysgeia

The sadist wants not only complete control and compliance; he wants his victim to feel fear. It is this fear that turns him on. Sexual sadists tend to relate to people in terms of power versus affection. In general, they commit more violent crimes than other offenders and are more aggressive.

It was 1 a.m. Clarice had been out cold for about 20 minutes and Maggie had finally returned from wherever she was, crying hysterically.

"He's terrifying in person," she stuttered, "fucking terrifying."

Julie looked at her, feeling resentful. "Where were you?"

"I... I was in the bathroom. I got scared." Her eyes filled with tears again. Julie sighed, chewing her cheek. She just nodded.

Once she got home, she threw her dress into the wardrobe and grabbed her laptop. Inspiration struck her in the strangest of situations and times. It was 2 am and her thoughts drifted to the Joker. If he hadn't been maimed, he'd be good-looking. Handsome, even. I am disgusting. He could've stuck a knife in my throat without blinking at the party. How did he end up that way? she wondered. And wonder she did. Biting her lip, she searched mouth scars. Only one or two images showed what she was looking for.

Clicking her tongue, she tapped the keyboard.

'Mouth to ear scars.'

"Here we go..." She read a definition from Wikipedia.

'A Glasgow smile, or a Cheshire grin, is a wound caused by cutting the corners of a victim's mouth up to the ears leaving a scar in the shape of a smile. This historically has been used as an extreme, illegal form of torture on prisoners of war. Special Forces operators behind enemy lines are exponentially more likely to be tortured or mistreated, as their intel comes from the top and could be vital for opposing forces.'

She muttered in disbelief. "What? A soldier?"

After an hour or so of researching the origins of a Glasgow smile, she concluded that he could've been a soldier. An ex-soldier that survived explosions or life-threatening situations on the battlefield.

"Bloody hell." Typing away on her keyboard, she subconsciously licked the corners of her mouth, imagining what it would feel like to have jagged scars lined up against each side of her mouth. This was all hypothetical. Nothing that pointed to the real origins of his scars. Maybe he did do it to himself. She got up and walked to the bathroom, the laptop still in hand. She had found an intriguing article and didn't want to put it down. What she had failed to notice was the window slowly opening.

She brushed her teeth, washed her face and looked at herself in the mirror. She reached her hand to her eyes and grazed her finger over her heavy blue eyebags. With a sigh, she propped her laptop on her arm and turned around.

A bang from the window, followed by a groan, made her freeze. She quietly walked over to her bedroom door and hid behind it. She peeked around it and saw nothing. Was there someone in her room or was she sleep-deprived? She didn't know and didn't want to.

Julie counted her breaths, trying to control her frantic breathing. Reaching out a shaking hand, she placed it upon the doorknob and twisted it, listening to the eerie creak of wood against wood. Nothing. Nothing and no one was in there. The bed covers were still creased and the carpet... Wait. The carpet had a shoe print. She was barefoot.

She turned to get out of the bedroom but it was slammed in her face.

Leaning on the door's frame was a man with a bloodied head, a face of streaked greasepaint and the unforgettable stench of sweat and gasoline.

"Why are you here? You can't-" She wanted to be confident, but her question came out as wavering and wobbly as a blob of jelly.

"I can do anything I want, silly." He reached to pinch her cheek, but she slapped his hand away. His eyebrows raised and a smirk etched on to his face. "Aren't you going to, uh, stab me with your keys? Kick me in the nuts?"

"It didn't work last time I tried. You still terrorise me."

"Do you remember what I said, hm?" He jerked his head to her door, followed by a smack of his lips. She knew exactly what he meant. She nodded and glanced at her door. Her mum was in the room across from hers. "Good. Whatcha got there?" He took the laptop from her trembling hands, she didn't even attempt to pull it away. The darkness of the room and the feeble artificial light from the laptop's screen created an eerie glow upon his face. His eyes looked hollow and empty. "Mm. Aren't you the little in-vesti-gator?"

Julie stayed silent and stared at the corner of the room. How did this man belittle her without breaking a sweat? Joker hummed nonchalantly as he clicked through the tabs she had left open on the laptop. He said nothing else about it and threw the device onto the bed. The bedroom was small, so it wasn't that far of a throw.

"Should, uh, mommy wake up anytime soon?" He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

She didn't reply.

"Simple question, simple answer."

"No."

"No?"

"She takes pills for it." There was no point in lying.

He hummed in response and kicked his boots off, bits of mud flicked off them and onto the carpet. She cringed and watched him make himself at home as he lay in her bed. "Ah, ah, ah!" He scolded. Her hand was on the doorknob, ready to run out of there. "Lock it. Don't, uh, want my pet getting loose."

"I'm not your pet."

He shrugged, licking his scars. Why was he so casual? The last time he broke into her house, he had sliced her tongue open, and now he was doing nothing but trying to initiate a relaxed, laid-back chat. He was so... sure of himself. Sure of her. Sure that she wouldn't just open the door and escape him just like a bird let out of its cage.

"There's no need to be shy," he said sweetly, "I won't bite." He tried again, patting the side of her bed. As if coaxing a skittish kitten out of hiding, he said: "Come here. Sit."

She sat at the end of the bed cautiously, never taking her eyes from him. It was a simple action, but it was exactly what he wanted; for her to do whatever he commanded. A simple action of sitting gave him all he needed to know. He leaned back against the headboard, watching like he was thoroughly enjoying her discomfort. He looked tired and his eyelids drooped sleepily as he relaxed into the grey pillow, smothering it with white and black greasepaint, but Julie knew better. She could see right through his mask. His eyes were bright and alert, following her every movement with a disturbing quickness.

"Good girl." She cringed and looked at his feet. A purple and green sock on each foot. Odd socks, how odd. "How was your night?"

"You're not supposed to be here." She bit her lip, tears threatening to spill. He just wouldn't leave her alone and she was already breaking. Her undoing was because of him, and he relished in every second of it. His doll was cracking, and it has only been a few weeks.

"You, uh, never said I couldn't be here." The tears began to fall and her nose tingled uncomfortably.

"Hey, hey, hey," he shuffled towards her, "it's okay, you're safe." He feigned concern and pouted his bottom lip. Mocking her.

"No, I'm not. Stop patronising me," she turned away, her hair blocking her peripheral vision, uselessly trying to plan out an escape. Or find a weapon, but that was futile; her bedroom was spotless and the only injury-inflicting object she could see was the lamp on the right side of her bed. She wouldn't be able to reach it anyway, it was closer to him than to her, "you're a monster."

"Am I, now?"

"Yes." Her voiced wavered. "I don't know what kind of monster you are, yet."

"Don't try and understand my mind, Jules. You'll, ah," he paused to tongue the inside of his scars, "go insane." She scoffed at what he said. Who was he to talk about insanity?

"You'd know all about insanity." She wanted to regret it, but she hated him. She hated him with every fibre of her being. He was messing up her life; her mind; her sanity. She turned to him and gasped. He was close to her, almost nose to nose. Her face went red, flustered. Not from embarrassment, but from fear with the Joker being in such proximity. He could snap her neck with the flick of his wrist. He had no emotion on his ghastly face, not even a reflection of light in those cold, dark, malicious eyes.

"My mask of sanity slipped a long time ago, Julie. A long time ago." He slapped her cheek a few times and pulled away. She stared at him for a long 30 seconds, trying to understand him. I'll go insane. Are you really that complex? That complicated? Or are you just a guy with a stutter, makeup and a mental illness?

"What happened to you?" She said in a hushed tone.

"Don't worry your, uh, pretty little head, Jules." He didn't smile at first, but, then started laughing hysterically. He doubled over and clutched his stomach, hearty cackles vibrating around the room. "Hee-hee! HA!"

She squinted, confused. "What's so funny?"

"Y-you have 'jew' in your name-" he continued to chuckle, pretending to wipe tears from his eyes. She pursed her lips into a straight line, trying to hide her amused smile. For a moment, she had forgotten this man was the Joker.

He had been in her house for hours. It was almost 6 am and he was sound asleep in her bed. This wasn't how she wanted to spend her Sunday; sleep-deprived with a homicidal psychopath in her bed. She watched him from her desk, hardly blinking. If she blinked too long, he could jump up and carve her face. His eyelids twitched from time-to-time like he was dreaming, or he was half-asleep, ready for any attack that came his way.

She glanced at the door. Her mum would be up soon and Julie feared she'd have to explain why there was a clown in her bed. It was almost laughable to even think about. 'Hey mum, the Joker's having a nap in my bed. Y'know - the guy who stuck a pencil through someone's skull?'

Did she dare wake him up?

"Wake up," she whispered. He didn't budge. She grabbed an eraser from her desk and threw it at his head. "Wake up!" Nothing. Sighing, she walked over and shook his shoulder lightly. Then a bit harder. As she prepared to walk away, defeated, a hand shot up and wrapped itself around her wrist.

"You... are a very, very stupid girl." He twisted her wrist and used his other hand to press it against her mouth. She made a quiet wail of pain against his rough, callous hand. Looking down at his hands, she noticed he wasn't wearing his usual leather gloves. They were naked for everyone to see. Dried white paint covered most of his fingers and half of his hand. She wasn't even surprised that he didn't use a paintbrush, but, instead, he used his hands. Did he ever wash them? Well, if not, it's a mercy that he chose to wear gloves when going about his business, who knows where those hands have been?

He removed his hands and she pulled her wrist away, massaging it from his bruising grip. "She gets up at six twenty."

Joker swung his legs over the bed and arched his back to stretch. He groaned as his shoulders popped. "Your bed is comfy. I might come by more often, toots."

"Don't! Please, don't."

"Why? You scared?" He got up and walked closer.

She nodded, her heart-rate accelerating.

"Why's that?"

"Because you scare me."

"I do?"

"Stop it. What else do you want me to say? Admit that I'm scared? I'm fucking terrified."

He stopped, a smile itching onto his pale face. Anyone would be able to see the deviousness on his face, the lies that he could easily spew out to toy with a broken little thing like Julie. "Tell me why and I'll leave you alone."

"I'm scared... because you could kill me right now. I'm scared of the fact that you can end someone's life without a second's hesitation if it damn well pleases you." She sucked in a shaky breath. "If it fits your plan - your message." With a worried glance at him, she saw him leaning on the door with a sly grin on his face, his arms crossed. He didn't move. "You said you'll leave me alone."

"Trust sure is a dangerous game." A high-pitched, comical giggle let itself loose from the madman's maimed mouth. If the situation was different, she'd be laughing along.

A door swung open down the hall and nobody spoke. Or even breathed. He put a finger to his lips.

"Julie, your cat's crying for food! Get down here!" Well, good morning to you, too.

The two of them stared at each other.

"Be a doll, Jules. Throw me those boots over there."

"Can't you get them yourself?" She glared.

"Be a doll," he repeated, dangerously, "and pass me those boots." Even if it was just him telling her to give him a pair of boots, it was still threateningly daunting whenever he commanded anything of her. She slowly picked up his boots that were previously flung across the room and threw them at his feet. "Tie 'em for me."

"Are you kidding? I'm not your slave."

"Jeez, lighten up." He grabbed a shoe and shoved it onto his foot, then grabbed the other, "Smile once in a while. No one cares how you feel."

"What do you want from me?" She asked, exasperated. This man, clown, monster - whatever he was - tested her nerves. He shook her epitome to its core. He didn't look up as he tied his boots sloppily. She suddenly had a vision of him tripping over his shoelaces as he tried to torture another Brian Douglas. She felt a wave of sympathy rush through her. Poor guy. He let out an impatient sigh and smiled.

"Your lovely company."