Chapter 5: The Aftermath

A/N: Sorry for the wait. The chapter isn't a long one but I can always make up for it. Also, the subject matter for this chapter might be triggering for victims of sexual assault. Please consider this a trigger warning.


In the immediate aftermath, you're left sprawled on the floor in shock, barely able to process everything that had just taken place. Some time had elapsed since him and his men had left but you weren't able to discern it in your frame of mind. The water filtration system from Sammy's fish tank is the only sound you can comprehend. Your emotions were everywhere and nowhere.

Your lips are swollen and numb, throat considerably sore on account of him shoving his disgusting erection down your throat. Your lips have been stretched and are tender to the touch because a certain clown-faced asshole forced the barrel of his gun into your mouth for no other reason but to amuse himself. It's left you feeling absolutely violated. The pain in your mouth was nothing compared to the humiliation and ire coursing dangerously through your veins.

The apartment complex where you lived had little to no security, so it was probably very easy for them to get in. Though you probably think security wouldn't have made much of a difference.

He'd already picked up a picture of your family, possibly memorizing their faces. It's very likely that he intended to use them to further terrorize you. Threatening their existence is going to damn far. Luckily, any fear you feel is trampled by anger and determination.

You never wished death on anyone but you wanted him to die. Drop dead on the spot - in that hideous purple bedazzled jacket he wore.

While it's obvious that he's mentally deranged, that doesn't give him clearance to do the depraved things he's done to you. He was only capable of committing acts of cruelty and that makes twice he's assaulted you without consequence. Frankly, you can't let a mentally-disturbed, clown-faced freak degrade you like that. Something had to be done.

With a newfound resolve, you pulled yourself up from the floor, nearly wobbling with the effort. Though you can admit that it took you entirely too long to do so. You hurriedly ran to your bedroom, snatched up your phone with the intent to unblock the only number on the block list and dial. Honestly, you don't know what you would gain from doing so, so it can be considered a spur of the moment type of thing.

"Helloooo." His annoying voice comes through the phone. "Miss me so soon? I've barely gotten into the car."

"You son of a bitch…" You growled, ignoring how it hurts to move your jaw in certain ways. The pain is made worse by you unintentionally grinding your teeth.

Oh such vulgar language coming from such a filthy mouth."

"You had no right to do what you did!"

He clicked his teeth. "You sound upset kitten, do you want daddy to come back and make you feel better?"

"Fuck you."

He broke into a random bout of maniacal laughter on the other end of the phone. An act that had your blood boiling six degrees hotter. It enrages you that he's undoubtedly over the moon about what he's done. You can practically see the smile full of metal teeth in your mind's eye.

"We already played that game, remember? I won."

Those words only remind you that he's a depraved monster in human skin. You can't even conceptualize what goes on in his warped mind.

"You won't get away with this."

Your subtle threat seemed to only fuel his dark amusement. The man's taunting words unsurprisingly don't indicate any kind of remorse. "Oh contraire my little kitten…I think I just might."

At that sweetly spoken declaration, you promptly hung the phone up and threw it to the floor. Not caring if it broke. It's made clear that this has become a situation out of your control. Even minutes after the ordeal has happened you're still in a state of disbelief and shock. The nerve of him to do what he did and discard you like a piece of trash.

Both hands clenched into fists. He would not get away with this - you would make sure of it.


It took little to no prompting at all for you to rush down to the police precinct. This counts as your first time actually going to a police station. The idea of doing so beforehand for any other reason seemed so foreign before. Seeking out law enforcement is typically the most logical course of action after an event like this.

In accordance with his normal functioning, the employees within the station are up and on the move. You walked by the small kiosks near the front entrance, straight towards the front desk where a woman sat, her hair pulled into a neat bun.

The woman's eyes widened slightly when she saw you coming. It also didn't escape your notice that she'd scrunched up her face but quickly tried to conceal it behind a smile. Obviously, she had some preconceived notion about you that you weren't privy too.

"What can I help you with?" She asks in a professional tone of voice. You weren't able to make out her name on the tag pinned to her uniform.

"I'd like to report a serious crime."

"May I know what this serious crime is regarding?"

"Honestly, I'd feel more comfortable speaking with a higher up, like an officer or a detective, it doesn't matter." You stated matter of factly.

The woman's lips stretched into a thin line. Obviously that wasn't what she wanted to hear. She merely blinked in response before flashing that same smile once again. The smile was being forced at most.

"Sorry. I'm afraid that all of our personnel are preoccupied at the moment. Perhaps you can come back tomorrow."

Your brows knitted together. "I'm not on that type of time."

"If the matter is that urgent, you can leave a message if you'd like."

The woman was being needlessly condescending towards you. She was probably used to using the very same smile to disguise her nastiness - the smile that effectively hid the maliciousness of her character. A hint of haughtiness could also be detected. You don't have time for it.

Without waiting, you walked past the desk in search of adequate assistance, seeing as you wouldn't be getting any in your current position.

"Miss! Miss...excuse me! You can't do that!" The woman called out to you.

You didn't even turn to look back at her, your eyes were too busy scanning for someone - anyone who would listen.

That someone came in the form of a uniformed officer who just so happened to be walking past. "Can I help you?"

Sighing in relief that he hadn't turned you away, you were all too happy to acknowledge him. "Yes please. I want to report a crime but the woman at the front desk won't let me."

The unnamed man nodded in response before turning his attention to the blond woman who'd gotten up to follow you. "I can take it from here."

The woman's nose wrinkled. But she offered no response, instead simply regarding you for another moment before returning to her post.

You shot her a look as you moved to follow the officer.

Bitch.

The man started to lead you down a long hall with various rooms. "You'll have to forgive Martha. She can be a bit...much at times." He spoke offhandedly.

The officer leads you to a secure interview room that looks like it was used for interrogations. "Wait here. A detective will be in to see you shortly."

The lightning within the room was dim, almost to the point of it becoming a vision issue. Not only that but it was cold and empty besides a wide table and two chairs on either end. The chill had you rubbing your palms together anxiously. As time dwindled by, you'd taken to fiddling with a small string attached to the end of the sweater. After you grew bored of that, you started to inspect a scratch on the edge of the table.

Already, it was a very arduous process. The clock on the wall ticked by loudly and it seemed like you were waiting for hours for someone to arrive.

You were considering taking a nap before the door finally opened to admit two men. One looks like a lead detective while the other is a plain clothes officer. The detective was an older man, possibly in his mid to late forties with what you call a stereotypical mustache for a cop. While the officer accompanying him looked much younger. He couldn't have been on the force for no more than five years. The officer doesn't have an established look about him yet.

"I'm Detective Walker." He sits a bottle of water down on the table in front of you. "And this is Officer Miller. I was told you wanted to report a crime."

"Yes."

He clasped his hands together on the table surface. "Alright. A crime against who?"

"Myself."

The detective's brows lifted a fraction before lowering back in place. As if he was surprised that you showed little to no hesitation or anxiety after the ordeal. Frankly, you're not as stressed as you suppose you should be given the circumstances.

You waited patiently as the man seated himself comfortably in the chair across from you, rolling his shoulders back. "First, can you explain what happened?"

A tenseness made itself known in your shoulders and you hugged your arms tighter around yourself. You made a note to explain everything in great detail without leaving a single part out. Even the most humiliating parts.

"Do you know the name of the man who perpetrated the attack on you?"

You took in a deep breath. "They call him Mister. J or "The Joker."

The man's eyes snapped to yours in a heartbeat, serious blue eyes studying you. The immediate reaction struck a cord with you.

The detective straightened in his chair. "Are you certain?"

You didn't hesitate to answer, "Absolutely."

The detective looked highly skeptical but said nothing. Out of the blue, you get the sense that something's wrong, that he knows something he's not telling you. He was acting as if he didn't quite believe you. Loud intrusive thoughts are bombarding your mind at an alarming frequency. You're growing incredibly frustrated.

"Okay. Since you've provided us with a suspect, we can start to look into it."

He motioned to the officer standing behind him near the back wall, to which the latter leaned down. The one had a quiet exchange of words that didn't reach your hearing. After about ten seconds, the officer nods and moves to leave the room altogether, shutting the door behind him quietly.

You're entirely too curious as to what they're going to do and how they're going to go about handling your case.

"Let me make sure I understand you. You're saying he was here? In New York?" He continued.

"That's exactly what I'm saying!"

"Why are you acting like you don't believe me? I'm telling you that he's directly responsible."

He frowned, staring at you with the utmost solemnity. "I'm just being thorough. You're making a serious allegation against-" He explained, cocking his head forward.

"I'm accusing anyone! I'm flat out telling you it was him. He and his gang broke into my apartment and assaulted me." You stated resolutely before he could finish the sentence.

You don't like this, his entire disposition seemed to have shifted.

"Shouldn't you be taking a swab of my mouth or something? You're wasting time. He's gonna get away!"

As you're pleading your case, the younger officer returns with an open laptop.

"Sir, we were able to obtain a copy of the security tapes from the apartment building."

"And?"

The officer swallowed. "You might want to take a look at this."

Detective Walker and his fellow officer looked as though they'd seen a ghost, their faces gone pale.

The detective didn't say another word, only nodding with a degree of finality. "We've been able to obtain video evidence of the attacker at the scene."

"See I told you!" You confidently assured.

"But…"

The excitement you felt started to dwindle. "But what?" You whispered.

"Given the circumstances, we won't be able to take action."

You can't explain what you felt in the moment, only it was something akin to being pushed off a cliff. They'd managed to place him at the acne with video evidence, what other proof did they need?

They just didn't want to get involved.

You're able to recognize it right away - the look of pure dread written on their faces. Suddenly, they don't seem as eager to help. At first, you thought you might be over exaggerating but the feeling is dismissed when Detective Walker anxiously pinched the skin between his nose and shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

Raising your head a fraction, you let the question slip from your mouth before you actually gave it any thought. "You know who he is don't you?"

"Who doesn't know who he is?"

Their reaction basically lets you know that they're absolutely fucking terrified of The Joker. Clearly, they know full well who the man is. They're aware that he's a violent psychopath known to bring destruction and carnage wherever he goes. Has humanity lost its fucking mind?

How can an entire police department be afraid of him? It's an insane concept.

It was at this point in time, you realized that you failed to take into account the extent of The Joker's influence.

Folding your arms, you poised the most important question. "Are you going to go get him?"

"We can't...right now." He sounded unsure. In fact, his whole demeanor seems to have flipped on a dime.

His choice of words had you jumping to your feet. "Why not?"

"It's out of our jurisdiction." He tried to rationalize, leaning far back into his chair as he did so.

"I want to speak with your superior. Whoever's in charge over you."

The anger in your chest threatened to burn you alive at that moment. It's the subtle gaslighting and manipulation that you can't take.

"Won't do any good. Can't offer you any assistance."

"Can't or won't?"

In the back of your mind, you knew that they were not incompetent, as a matter of fact, you though they were very competent...when they actually wanted to help.

He hesitates. "There are certain 'things' we have to take into account-"

"Like what?!" You didn't understand what he was getting at. What was he trying to imply? That excuse in itself was already sketchy from the jump. "Look at my lips! Look at my face! If you don't want to help me then just fucking say that!"

"Ma'am please calm down."

"No. It's obvious that you aren't taking me seriously.

"I need to ask you a few more questions."

You stared at him with narrowed eyes but deflated upon realizing that you'd have to try and retain some hope. Maybe he can rectify the damage already done at this juncture.

"Are you in any way affiliated with the local prostitution scene?" The man's tone is slightly accusatory.

There was a lengthy pause between him asking and you taking the time to process what he'd said.

The line of questioning is very telling. And a heavy pressure makes itself known in your chest. "Excuse me?"

He appeared somewhat embarrassed to even pose the query in the matter he did. Like he knew the truth well before he even asked you. "I just need to know."

He was out of line - way out of line. "That's irrelevant. And if I were...it doesn't make what happened okay."

"I wasn't implying-"

"Oh I bet you weren't." You interrupted again.

He held up his hands in a non-threatening manner. "I'm just trying to gain some clarity."

"I know what you're doing." You whispered.

The air surrounding the space is tense and charged with hostile energy. You're angry. Angry because there was no reason for you to be on the defensive from the police.

Suggesting you might be a prostitute is just another way of perpetuating rape culture and displaying sexism. Not that you're all that surprised, the New York Police Department's conduct over the years could be called into question regarding their handling of similar subject matter. Apparently, they've been known to show implicit bias.

Soon you're back clenching your teeth so hard you think they might break. "You swore an oath."

"Listen, we're doing our job as best we can."

It took everything in you not to snort at the words. "Are you?" You questioned. "Your job is to help me and so far you're not. All you've done is give me the run around and even I know that isn't proper police procedure."

Of course, he couldn't flat out say why the Police Department wasn't able to help. That would be too on the nose. You really don't appreciate them choosing to turn a blind eye to the torment you've just endured. It's almost as if he's trying to downplay your account of what happened. The video tape should've been all they needed to at least make a move.

Is the man just allowed to wreak havoc anywhere he wants because of the fear he inspires in people? It would appear so. Only it's not right. No one, not even him should be above the law.

"I would suggest getting you some protection. As a woman, you can never be too safe."

His words aggravate you even further and you almost couldn't believe what you were hearing. They weren't going to help you, you just know it. They wouldn't even try, that's the most devastating part of all. His words have practically confirmed that. Truthfully, you didn't have that much faith in the cops to begin with but it just hit a new all time low. A low they can't come back from.

Tragically, this is what happens. The police refuse to take cases like yours seriously, especially when there's a well-known, powerful figure involved. He's more willing to weave together a narrative rather than actually help you put the assailant behind bars. You don't much care what they say, there wasn't a valid reason for them not to help you.

Any effort that you might've summoned up to argue with him further was extinguished when you saw how the man's jaw was set , meaning he'd already made up his decision and he was going to stick to it. No amount of pleading would get through to him so there wasn't any reason to try.

Bowing your head, you covered your eyes with a hand. You could've laughed bitterly. Unfortunately, there wasn't anything you could do to quell the disappointment you felt.

So much for the justice system.

The uniforms, the badges, it's all about cultivating an image. That's all it's ever been. Nothing more, nothing less. It's starting to set in that you shouldn't have come in the first place. Having to begrudgingly accept that was the hardest pill to swallow. Probably worst of all, you don't have the time and resources to file a lawsuit.

Him telling you to seek out your own means of protection was him basically admitting that the police department couldn't offer you any assistance. The realization is shattering.

Their failure to help would be a systematic one. It's hard to believe that these are the individuals in the city that everyone is supposed to call on when they need help - the ones who are supposed to protect and serve. It's a shame that they're willing to let their fear keep them from doing what's right. How useless could they be at a time like this?

"I came here because I thought I would get help. But now I see that I won't be getting anything, so I'll take my leave." You specified as you stood up from the chair, having every intention to walk out of the room.

In all genuine honesty, as if it didn't seem all that clear before, you're grappling with the idea that you might have to take matters into your own hands.


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