Chapter Ten: Not a Request

Maureen's attention shifted back to her desk when her phone rang. As she turned towards her desk, the movement brought her closer to Bane than she realized before he flicked his fingers out to dance against the center of her palm.

Maureen pulled her hand back with a startled gasp, "don't do that," she managed, forcing herself to not rub her hands together, her skin scorched like she'd just touched liquid fire.

"Two days," Bane parroted as he allowed Boris to lead him back to his temporary room.

In the two days before Bane and Maureen's next session, everyone stayed occupied in their own way.

The Joker and Bane each met again with Isaak and continued hatching and nurturing a plan, Isaak was the Ferry Man who communicated with every party camping alongside the River Styx.

After their last session, Bane couldn't shake the growing jealousy he had over Maureen's husband, he gritted his teeth just thinking about the ring around her finger, that her heart belonged to another man.

Bane quickly recognized the insecurity in one of the regular guards that worked the night shift, how he was picked on by peers and inmates alike.

Bane lured the guard to his side by killing an inmate that taunted him mercilessly. The night shift guard was scared behind his tin badge, but his daddy and granddaddy had worked there before him, and the expectation was great. The simple breaking of the bullying inmate's neck instantly gained the guard's adoration and obedience. The guard was more than eager to deliver a message from Bane to the diminutive Tommy McShane, dormant murderer, and Maureen's part-time office assistant.

The pale, whip-thin guard was grateful to the heavily muscled, scarred, and fearsome man, forever in the debt of an apex predator.

The guard delivered a message to Tommy's long-term cell and strongly advised Tommy to perform whatever action was being requested of him.

Tommy swallowed hard as he read the message from Bane, his guts twisting into a wet bow as he remembered standing in front of the towering man.

Later that day, Tommy sorted through Maureen's trash, in search of something personal to retrieve for Bane.

Later in the day, an obedient, penitent guard would bring Bane the tissue that Maureen had used to blot her excess port wine shade of lip stain. Tommy had snagged the tissue from her wire trash basket when she was occupied fussing over her just sprouting Dutch irises.

Bane glanced over at the small glass window that looked into his cell. He took the perceived moment of privacy to inhale deeply against the tissue, trying in vain to capture any of Maureen's residual breath and intoxicating warmth of her skin. Bane turned the tissue over and over in his large hands, the delicate fibers caught and snagged themselves on his ragged cuticles as he pressed the imprint of her lips against his. He closed his eyes and felt an electrical trill of anticipation from the base of his skull to the tip of his tailbone.

Bane occupied the rest of the time until the lunch trays were delivered, touching, smelling, and fondling the used tissue fresh from Maureen's trash can. By the time the unappetizing lunch appeared of cold meat and almost cheese-like sandwiches along with a bruised green apple and over sweetened fruit punch, Bane was already composing his next message and request to Tommy.

Bane wanted more from Maureen's office, he wanted something that was closer to her, something she regularly touched, held, and paid attention to.

Hours later, Tommy McShane would receive Bane's note. He stifled a groan, knowing he couldn't refuse but also afraid Maureen would catch him when he went after what Bane wanted next. Tommy wouldn't get to sleep that night as he tossed and turned, thinking of how he would steal Maureen's notebook with the marbled navy blue and white cover.

As the two days passed in between Bane's next visit with Maureen, on the outside of Arkham Asylum's maximumly secured walls, Isaak Cain was busy, foregoing sleep in order to fetch brothers and sisters from the dark. Isaak found men and women that would stand with Bane, soldiers that lived off the grid and under no one's laws.

Isaak moved through the vast network of dangerous men and women that had a price for any act of depravity that the human mind was capable of conjuring. Isaak found the key foundation of men that would spring Bane free of the oppressive walls of the Asylum, they wouldn't allow Bane to be judged, damned, and murdered buy a heretical city that believed in flying rodents.

Isaak knew some of the men from fighting in other people's wars and had no trouble locating Jericho, Angel and JP. The dangerous men that Isaak hadn't seen in a few years had made their own friends and reached out to bring aboard a psychologically broken man named Hawke.

He had an obsession with fire and blowing things up, as well as a Purple Heart wearing, honorably discharged soldier Bobby Bones, who'd developed a taste for human flesh after biting through an insurgent's throat when he was left sans automatic weapon.

Bobby Bones was friends with a pair of fraternal twin brothers Novak and Paul. Not much was known about the two Eastern European brothers, except that they followed orders without question.

Isaak secured a safe house for himself and growing family of criminals as he mapped out the details of liberating Bane. There were multiple moving parts to the plan that needed to seamlessly transpire, or they'd be at the risk of discovery and the possibility of greater and larger loss of lives.

Isaak was the point person for all things related to the operations and at the very center of the architecture but did delegate some of the tasks to the more trusted of the men. Isaak was a patient man and took no risk in any aspect of constructing Bane's armed escort back to the land where free men walked.

The following day, Maureen was reviewing a grainy fax she'd received from a nearby clinic and didn't see Tommy capitalize on her few minutes of distraction as she squinted down at the page to pluck her blue and white journal from her oversized bag. Tommy became Hercules in search of Persephone's pomegranates.

Maureen and Tommy fell into casual chit-chat about the upcoming play-off games before Arnold arrived early as ever with the Joker.

Tommy's escorting guard was late, and Arnold offered to take Tommy back to his room.

As Maureen started a fresh page and dated the top corner of a sheet of lined paper, Arnold secured Tommy back in his room. A guard that now pledged allegiance to Bane watch Tommy be dropped off before he casually approached the locked door.

The converted guard spoke lowly to Tommy through the metal slot in the door and Tommy couldn't keep his hands from shaking as he passed through Maureen's journal and backed away slowly from the door as though the guard's hands would turn into talons and tear open his soft belly.

Upstairs in the fifth-floor corner office as Maureen began speaking to the Joker, down in his temporary room, Bane sipped at his tepid chicken and a scattering of noodle soup as he stared down at the blue and white journal that had been delivered to him. He wiped his fingers clean on the scratchy paper napkin as he picked up the book which looked small in his large hands and slowly opened the sturdy cover, lifting the page to his face and smelling the book's open spine.

He paused to eat some of the mostly broth soup from the cornstarch fork.

Bane set the spoon down and traced the tip of his fingertip over her messily written words.

As Bane tucked the journal in his waistband when the med tech approached with her squeaky, rolling cart, up in the sunny, corner office, the Joker yawned deeply.

"Am I keeping you awake?" Maureen teased.

The Joker shook his head, "I'm just not sleeping very well."

"Oh, when did the quality of your sleep begin to change?"

The Joker shrugged as much as the restraints would allow, keeping a smile suppressed at keeping the truth to himself. The fact that he wasn't sleeping was because he was growing excited with the plan to leave the toxic cesspool within Arkham's walls.

"The dreams have been bad," the Joker said in an affected tone.

"Tell me about them," Maureen pressed as she rooted around her candy dish for the green candy-coated chocolates.

"Ever since I told you about daddy, he won't leave me alone. He's mad that I told you about him," he added in a furtive whisper.

"Does he make you hurt yourself?" Maureen asked and let her eyes briefly drop to the red, oozing lines on his forearms from where he'd clawed himself raw.

The Joker followed her gaze and stared down at his angry arms. "I didn't do that, daddy did," he said earnestly as he looked up and met Maureen's eyes.

"How did he do it?"

The Joker looked down and sniffled as a fat tear formed and rolled down his pale cheek.

"Arthur?" Maureen murmured softly.

The Joker looked up. "Only my mother calls me that."

Maureen held the Joker's gaze until he blinked first and looked away, whispering in a barely perceptible tone. "But you can too."

As the Joker continued to spill his guts, Maureen didn't realize his benevolence was also a smokescreen. As Maureen continued to ask the Joker about his childhood, across the city, Isaak, Hawke, and Bobby Bones casually broke into the poorly secured facility that housed the ambulances for Gotham City's Rapid-Response Paramedic Services.

After the Joker was escorted back to his room by the premature arrival of Arnold, Maureen grew anxious fast when she couldn't find her blue and white journal. She went as far as dumping out the contents of her oversized bag onto the hardwood floor, pawing through the pile before checking every desk drawer and bookshelf.

After more than two hours of tearing her office apart, Maureen finally threw in the towel and went home, stopping briefly at the supermarket for a pint of pistachio ice cream.

She took sporadic bites of the sweet treat as she searched the nooks and crannies of her spacious condo, hoping she'd left her journal there.

Maureen eventually gave up the hunt and settled on the sofa, she flicked through the channels as she finished the ice cream, dragging herself to bed when it got late.

She struggled to find sleep that night while back in his room at Arkham, after lights out, Bane huddled next to the shaft of light from the high, overhead full moon as he read what Maureen had written about him.

He narrowed his eyes at the notes she'd made before a blood clot was forced into his lungs.

"He's in pain, sweating, perfusing, call Sara, order EKG, blood gases." Bane drew the tip of his index finger along the line she'd been writing the moment he began to lose consciousness.

Bane squinted down at some cramped percentages she'd noted, unsure of what the values correlated to, especially the ones she'd underlined.

If Bane could've asked Maureen at that moment, she would've explained they were his blood's oxygen saturation at the time of admission in the Asylum's hospital wing as well as his pulse and respiration rate. He folded the corners of each page he planned to return to later when he had the luxury of time and her undivided attention.

Night passed and turned into dawn for all of Gotham City.

Maureen woke up sad, sniffing back tears as she rolled over and looked at Josef's empty side of the bed. "Happy anniversary my love," she whispered to the emptiness.

She moved slowly through her morning routine, imagining how much different the day of their ninth anniversary would be if Josef hadn't put the titanium barrel of the .357 to his temple.

Maureen kissed Josef's urn goodbye, leaving behind a mocha-colored lip print.

She found herself struggling to keep her tears from falling as she drove to the Asylum.

Maureen settled behind her desk with a fresh cup of heavily sweetened coffee and traced her finger around the date on the calendar, feeling hot tears threaten to spill and roll down her cheeks.

She was thankful that Boris was unusually late, having been delayed with a combative inmate in the medical holding bay.

When Maureen opened the door and laid eyes on Bane, she truly saw him for the first time. Something was different, she didn't realize she was watching a god rise like a phoenix.

Maureen didn't know she'd soon be too close to the sun.

Bane watched Maureen settle behind her desk after Boris secured him to the chair, his eyes zoomed in on her reddened eyes and light sniffing she tried to keep silent.

Maureen opened a new journal; this one had an ivory and grass green cover. She had a stack of journals at home not realizing the missing one was tucked in Bane's waistband. She dated the page before looking up and finding Bane's eyes boring into hers.

"How are you feeling?

Bane tossed out his first breadcrumb of deception when he spoke. "My shoulder has been aching and I've been ill the last couple mornings."

"Can you describe the shoulder pain for me? Rate it on a scale of one to ten?"

As all of Maureen's attention was laser-focused on Bane as he described his symptoms and discomfort, downstairs in his long-term room, in the space of time before Arnold arrived to take him to the physical therapy room for his chronic back pain, he tore up toilet paper and formed a few flowers with spit and dark-flecked phlegm. The Joker bit the tip of his finger, his sharp incisors pierced the thick skin, and he used the blood he called forth to paint the paper roses red.

Arnold unlocked the Joker's door after verbally directing him where to stand through the door's metal slot.

The Joker waited patiently for Arnold to enter his room before he began singing in broken Italian and dropped to his knees, holding out the body-fluid bouquet of paper flowers.

Arnold remained expressionless as he reached for an extra-long, slate grey zip-tie as the Joker began to sing louder, shaking the flowers at him.

"Please take them Aaarrrnnnoooooold," he howled and added in a shrill cackle. "Come on, you're breaking my heart."

Arnold began to follow the ABC's of Arkham's de-escalation protocols, but the Joker tore up the rule book as he threw a punch aimed directly at Arnold's balls, bringing the dough boy to the ground with a heavy thud.

The Joker moved with primitive ferocity and expertly man-handled the soft man until he could cuff Arnold's hands around the base of the shitter, the links of the cuffs dragged through the layers of old, corrosive urine.

"You're not fast enough piggie," the Joker purred as he shoved a dirty sock in Arnold's mouth, cutting off the chance for the man to scream for help.

Arnold uselessly tried to kick at the Joker before a well-placed series of punches in his soft belly made involuntary tears form and sting his eyes.

He shouted incoherently behind the filthy sock as the Joker began humming a cheering tone and pulled at his belt until he could began to roughly yank his white Arkham issued pants down his pale thighs.

"This little piggie went to market," the Joker drawled as he hooked his fingers in the waistband of Arnold's white briefs and ripped them free, exposing his flabby ass.

"This little piggie stayed home," the Joker shouted shrilly as he pushed Arnold's pale butt cheeks apart, snorting deeply and hacking a glob of phlegm to land on Arnold's tight rear opening.

"This little piggie had roast beef," the Joker screeched as he shoved his index finger in Arnold's tight opening, feeling the sphincter spasm and tighten around his invading finger.

"This little piggie had none," the Joker whispered as he began pumping his finger in and out of Arnold's rear entrance as he fumbled his cock free with his other hand.

Arnold breathed a sigh of relief when the Joker stopped finger fucking his tight asshole, prematurely relieved as he was unable to see the Joker spit on his palm and stroke his cock to hardness.

"And this little piggie got fucked," the Joker said with an empty tone as he shoved his cock deeply up Arnold's ass, sinking his full length into him, stretching, and tearing him as he was only stopped when their flesh kissed.

The Joker pumped his hips and hammered Arnold's tight opening until his balls slapped in time with each wet thrust.

Arnold was helpless to stop the intimate invasion as the Joker pulled up on Arnold's hips, changing the angle until he could sink himself deeper.

The Joker felt himself close to coming and fumbled for Arnold's belt, winding it around his fat neck. The Joker yanked back on the belt and began to choke the life from Arnold, groaning as Arnold's anal sphincter tightened chaotically against his thrusting cock as he actively died, spasming as his body struggled to stay alive.

The Joker controlled his orgasm and waited to empty his balls of their sticky, sweet come in time with Arnold's heart as it ceased to beat.

The Joker sagged over Arnold's warm body, feeling his asshole grow slack around his cock that was still shoved firmly inside of him.

After the Joker caught his breath, he stripped the uniform from Arnold's body and assessed his reflection.

"You look fine," the Joker purred as he pushed his greying hair back before retrieving Arnold's keys and making his way to the hospital wing to wait for Bane after he wrapped up his last court-ordered session with Maureen, whistling a cheery tune.