(Author's Note: Hi all! It's been a while. This chapter is much longer than usual. I hope you like it. As always, thank you so so much to those of you who favourite, follow and review the story. Shout out to inlovewiththeeternalstuddamon, Kittycat885, tinker, and Anna10473 for your very kind reviews. It means a lot to me.)
You've got nothing to lose but your soul, girl
And you've only the devil to pay.
Hands clamped down on my sore shoulders and roughly shook me awake. Confused, I blinked the sleep from my eyes and tried to see through the haze that enveloped everything around me.
"Time to wake up."
A blurry vision of the Joker, still in his nurse's uniform, leered down at me from the bus' aisle way. I groggily sat up.
So that wasn't a dream.
Feeling self-conscious under his intense gaze, I averted my eyes and instead scanned the expanse of the bus, empty with the exception of us. I wondered absently what had become of everyone else.
"What do I gotta do, carry you outta here? Hm?" He asked, continuing to stare down at me through darkened eyes, a smirk pulling at his scars.
"No." I whispered hoarsely, my throat dry and sore. The bizarre image of the Joker carrying me off of the bus princess-style flashed in my mind and lingered there.
As I moved to stand, the lightness of my feet and the unsteadiness of my legs told me the effects of the drugs had not quite waned. He stepped backward when I moved toward him, motioning for me to walk ahead of him.
"A gentleman," I murmured under my breath. He snorted in response.
I once again felt like a newborn faun as I moved down the aisle, using the seats to brace each step. I bent over slightly to look out the bus windows as I ambled toward the exit, but all I could see was the stale grey of cement walls and columns. The Joker silently followed behind, but I could feel his gaze on my back, burning holes through me.
As we approached the front, I could see out the windshield to the vast emptiness of an underground parking garage.
"Where are we?" I croaked.
"You'll see."
I began my descent down the steps of the bus, my legs shaking as I went. Only a few steps from the bottom, I was jolted forward by a sharp nudge in the middle of my back. I yelped and tumbled headlong, thudding harshly against the smooth, solid ground, my palms slapping painfully against the cold pavement. At least it wasn't my head, for once. The Joker crowed with delight from somewhere above me.
"C'mon Bambi, get up."
I glared at him through a curtain of my crusty hair and pushed myself onto my stinging knees.
"Asshole." I spat, regretting it almost instantly.
He moved toward me, his skirt waving around him with each step.
"Oh, aren't we feisty? Are the, uh, pills wearing off?" He bent down and took my chin in his bare hand. Squeezing it uncomfortably, he tilted my head up, forcing me to look directly into his glower. "I seem to remember you liking me a lot on the ride here." He teased, cocking an eyebrow. I scoffed to hide my embarrassment, but it didn't stop the heat from rising to my cheeks as I remembered the way I had shamefully pressed myself against him; how he had felt so warm. I had to look away.
He snorted and dropped his hand from my face and, wasting no time, gripped me by the upper arm instead, hoisting me easily to my feet. I was repeatedly surprised by his subtle strength. I was not a small girl, but the way he seemed to fling me around may have suggested otherwise.
He guided me around the front of the school bus, his stronghold still on my arm. As we rounded the front, I saw for the first time that we were not alone. Sitting on the curb just ahead of the bus, his hands, feet, and mouth bound with duct tape, was Mr. GCN himself: Mike Engel. I let out a gasp and he looked up at me with bloodshot eyes. He looked terrified, a jarring sight to his usual serious and stoic façade.
"Looks like we've got ourselves a little reunion." The Joker said as he dragged me closer to Mike.
Mike's eyebrows screwed up in confusion as we came to a stop just in front of him. He looked from me to the Joker and back again, confounded.
"What? You don't recognize her?" The Joker questioned, a knowing lilt to his voice. I silently begged him to stop. I knew what he was trying to do.
Mike's gaze fell again on me. His eyes scanned my face for some semblance of recognition, but his expression suggested only unfamiliarity, as if he was seeing me for the first time. A familiar feeling flooded my insides as embarrassment and resentment bubbled in me just below the surface. The number of times I had taken Mr. Engel his coffee order and supplied him with his research materials and transcripts was innumerable. What's worse, I had even acted as his personal assistant on the occasions when his usual PA was off of work. In the back of my mind I knew it was irrational to expect the lead anchor to remember every GCN intern, but I wasn't feeling particularly rational. The Joker watched on, bemused, and I wanted nothing more than to curl into myself. I felt so small.
"That's too bad," the Joker continued, pulling my attention back to him. He was too close. "She's one hard working intern." He lowered his head and kept direct eye contact with me before winking darkly. Goosebumps erupted over my skin, but I held his gaze.
Keeping his eyes steadied on mine, the Joker reached somewhere into his uniform, revealing a modest blade. I felt my throat tighten and I tried to swallow the lump that seemed to be lodged there. I automatically began backing away but his hand bit onto my wrist like a striking snake, holding me in place.
"Stay," he ordered, like I was his dog.
I said nothing as he moved ahead of me and advanced instead on the news anchor. Mike's face paled and he yanked violently on his binds, thrashing about frantically and screaming into the tape over his mouth.
"Oh, Shhh, Shhh," the Joker hushed him, tapping a paint-stained finger over his scarlet lips as if he were quieting a fussy baby. "You don't hear her squawking." Mike glanced at me helplessly. I couldn't find any words. I could only look on, despondent.
Mike whimpered softly into the tape. I was sick to my stomach, unsure of what I was about to witness, and felt so helpless just standing there, a hand over my mouth. The Joker hovered over Mike for a moment more before, in one quick motion, slicing through the tape binding his feet together. Mike's shoulders slumped in relief and I let out a shuddered breath. I could see his hands shaking. Mine were too.
"What?" The Joker asked, jeeringly. "You didn't think I was gonna kill 'em, did you?"
I looked at Mike from the corner of my eye, and he at me.
"No, no, no. I need him." The Joker proclaimed, hoisting a traumatized Mike to his feet and tucking the knife away with the other hand.
"For what?" I finally asked, concern softening my voice. I was terrified at the idea of what he had planned for us. I wanted to know what I was getting into, ahead of time for once.
He didn't dignify me with a response, instead grabbing hold of my arm and dragging me forward with he and Mike. The three of us arm in arm marched in a cruel display of comedy toward a service elevator, already propped open and waiting.
As the thick metal door of the elevator slid shut, I glanced down at myself. The mint-coloured scrubs were ripped and stained a deep reddish brown at the knees. I turned my hands over and cringed at the sight of my palms, bloody and raw. I didn't even want to know what the rest of me looked like.
Despite my ragged appearance, I noted only a dull pain in my head and I knew the pills were still working their way through my system. For that I truly was grateful.
It was a short, muted ride up, and when the doors slid open, the Joker shoved both Mike and I unceremoniously through the opening. I stumbled forward but held my balance, my equilibrium restoring itself, I hoped.
I quickly surveyed our surroundings. We appeared to be in a high-rise building, still under construction. Cement pillars marked the boundaries of walls, while tools, debris, and equipment were scattered everywhere around us. Tall glass panels encased the perimeter and I could see beyond the window to my right that we were near the waterfront. It would've been a scenic view of Gotham, had it been any other situation.
The Joker brushed against my shoulder as he swaggered between Mike and I and toward the east side of the building. As he moved forward, two men clad in clown masks stepped out from behind cement pillars, assault rifles strapped to their bodies. I felt my pulse quicken.
The goons from the van? I couldn't tell from this distance.
As the Joker approached, the man on the right tossed him a large black duffel bag.
"Ah, time for a costume change." He dropped the bag on the floor and began rifling through it, pulling out his suit, in pieces.
Mike and I looked at each other, bewildered. He wasn't going to strip down right in front of us, was he?
We turned back toward him in sync as he dropped the white stretchy waist belt to the floor. He seemed completely unfazed by his spectators as he continued unzipping the front of the uniform. My mouth hung open in disbelief and I glanced toward the henchmen, who seemed to look beyond the Joker, almost through him. He was pulling the uniform over his shoulders when I eyed him again and I noticed Mike in my periphery turn away. I supposed a man to wear a nurse's dress wouldn't be too concerned with undressing in front of us, and really, he'd already done it in front of me once; I just hadn't been brave enough to look. This time, however, I couldn't look away. I know there's that saying about a car crash, but it's true, I really could not drag my eyes away, even if I'd wanted to.
He stood, unabashed, a few feet in front of me as my eyes raked over him, trying to absorb what I was seeing. He seemed surprisingly warm in complexion, the colour of his unpainted skin on his torso less ghostlike than I imagined. He was also incredibly lean, much more so than he appeared to be under his bulky purple overcoat. I felt my skin flushing with heat as I ogled him in his humbler form. But, he wasted no time, and before I knew it, he was buttoning the green vest and pulling on his purple gloves.
"That's more like it." He said, fiddling with his tie and turning to meet my gaze.
"Did ya like the show?"
I held in the laugh that tickled my throat.
Smirking to himself, he reached back into the duffel and pulled out a bundle of black clothes, tossing them at me. They fell in a crumpled pile at my feet.
"Your turn."
I plucked them off the ground and held them out in front of me; a pair of simple non-descript black utility-type pants and long sleeved shirt, at least one size too big in each.
I glanced over at Mike, who eyed me anxiously, before turning back to the clown.
"Why?" I asked, rather bluntly, dangling them in front of me.
"Do I have to explain everything, dollface?" He teased.
I inwardly groaned at the condescension. He eyed me, waiting.
"Put em on."
Unlike him, I wasn't as willing to strip down into nothing in front of everyone, so I opted to pull the black pants on over my scrubs. I was relieved when there were no objections.
As I yanked the pullover over my head I was overwhelmed by a familiar smell. His smell. I put the arm of the shirt up to my nose inconspicuously and breathed in deeply. There it was, like gasoline and smoke, and something else I couldn't name. These were undeniably his own pre-worn clothes. Maybe even the exact garb he'd been wearing during that first meeting of ours. I shook my head slightly, trying to erase the thought.
"Andy, c'mere." He beckoned me, uttering my nickname for the first time in a while. I slowly advanced toward he and the two masked men. I'd forgotten how strange my name sounded coming off of his tongue.
"You too." He pointed behind me and I turned around to glance back at Mike, his eyes wide and fearful as he stalked closely behind.
Mike and I watched as the Joker pulled a camcorder out of what seemed like nowhere. He held it out in front of him.
"We're gonna make ourselves a little breaking news. I know you two are familiar."
I didn't look at Mike, but I felt his eyes on me.
"String him up." The Joker suddenly commanded to the masked henchmen and they moved toward Mike without hesitation. I stepped to the side, watching in dismay as Mike protested against his assailants. When he wouldn't cooperate, one of the goons knocked the butt of his rifle sharply against the side of his head. A harsh crack echoed through the empty space and Mike wilted like a cut flower. I felt my legs go weak and I brought my hands to my mouth, whimpered softly against my fingers.
I felt frozen as I watched the goons drag Mike by the armpits toward a collection of rope gathered on the ground.
The Joker slunk beside me, observing the goings on from my point of view. Heavy silence filled the air between us.
"How did you know Coleman Reese was still alive?" I blurted, unexpectedly. The thought had come to me suddenly. After everything, the call to the station, the hospital, how did he know if Mr. Reese was alive or dead? I certainly had no way of knowing, especially not before the explosion.
The Joker gave pause and turned, flashing me a closed-mouth smile.
"I didn't," he admitted, fiendishly.
His blunt confession hit me like a blow to the chest. Even after everything, he was destroying the hospital either way.
"Right." I finally said, and sat with the weight of that thought.
Without another word, he sauntered back toward Mike and flicked open the viewfinder to the camcorder.
The goons began hoisting a now fully conscious Mike into the air and I watched with my mouth agape.
"Ah, girly, do me a favor and grab the script." The Joker called over his shoulder to me. I looked around in confusion.
"In the bag."
I glanced down to the black duffle at my feet and knelt, pushing aside the nurse's uniform and various other unidentifiable wads of fabric before eventually revealing a bundle of folded papers. I pulled them out and unfolded the stack.
Messy scrawl filled the unlined pages and my eyes frantically traced over the words, reading it as fast as possible. The words seemed to dance along the page and I wondered if it was just his writing, or if I actually had brain damage.
Come nightfall, this city is mine, and anyone left here plays by my rules. If you don't want to be in the game, get out now. But the bridge-and-tunnel crowd are in for a surprise.
My throat tightened. But the bridge-and-tunnel crowd are in for a surprise. I read it over again.
The Joker cleared his throat, shaking me from my trance. I looked toward him and met his pointed stare. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I lifted my heavy legs and rushed toward Mike still swinging upside down, his face reddened by the rush of blood.
I'm sorry, I mouthed to him. My hands shook violently as I handed him the script. When he reached out an equally unsteady arm to receive them, I was just a PA again, handing Mike Engel a script for tonight's newscast.
Will you remember me now, Mike?
"De-muzzle the dog." The Joker ordered from somewhere close behind, his voice low.
I hesitantly stared at the silvery gag slapped over Mike's mouth before reaching down and pulling at a corner. He winced slightly, his eyes on me the entire time. Not wanting to waste more time, and saving Mike a drawn out process, I ripped the tape off in a single tug. He shouted in surprise, or pain, or both. The wetness of his sweat soaked skin lingered on my fingers.
Without another order holding me there, I stepped backward until I was out of frame, and out of reach. The Joker looked back at me over his shoulder and grinned devilishly.
"Show time."
Mike, ever the professional, only needed a single take, but that didn't stop his words from playing over and over in my mind.
This city is mine, and anyone left here plays by my rules.
The bridge-and-tunnel crowd are in for a surprise.
Although I'd felt a drug-induced catharsis over the destruction of Gotham General, I feared still for my fellow Gothamites. I never wanted any innocent people to die, and I didn't know if I could ever live with myself having been a part of it. My post-high clarity seemed overwhelming.
My eyes remained fixated on Mike, watching him still dangle vulnerably. I pleased silently to whoever was listening that this ordeal would end here for him, that the Joker would release him, let him go back to his previous existence. I doubted if that was even possible at all, and not just for Mike.
The Joker strolled over to Mike's side and bent to eye level. He reached a hand forward and patted his cheek facetiously.
"That'll do, pig."
Leaving no room for response, The Joker outstretched his arm and yanked on the open end of the thick knot to the homemade pulley-system. The rope slid fluidly from his grasp and around the thickness of the metal post that held it in place, sending Mike crashing to the floor headfirst. I gasped and covered my mouth, trying not to scream. Rushing forward, I leaned over of the goons, crouched over Mike's motionless body. Startlingly bright specks of blood polluted the fresh off-white concrete beneath his head. I felt my legs shaking uncontrollably. The goons felt for his pulse.
"He's out cold."
Not dead, was what I heard, trying desperately to find a brighter side.
"Hmm…Too bad." The Joker teased, looking back at me, "Looks like he won't remember you after this, either." I frowned deeply.
The goons moved to gather Mike's limp form and I stood back. The way his head lolled backward and his limbs flopped lifelessly made my stomach turn.
"What are you going to do with him?" I asked, concern straining my voice.
"May-be," The Joker purred and stepped toward me "you should worry a little more," he crept even closer, our chests nearly touching, "about yourself."
My stomach dropped and my breath caught in my throat. He had a point. With Mike as the focus, maybe I'd become too comfortable with my own position. That feeling now seemed to fade quickly.
"Yeah, maybe I should." I replied, a little waspish.
The corner of his scarlet mouth twitched at my retort.
"I've got another job for you."
I was startled by the sudden change in topic, and my stomach dropped when what he had said began to sink in. All I wanted was to go home, curl up in my bed and pretend like none of this had ever happened. I knew that couldn't happen, but it didn't stop me from wanting it.
"What is it?" I asked, my voice merely a whisper.
He grabbed onto my wrist and pulled it up between us. The coolness of his leather glove felt good on my skin and I shivered involuntarily. His eyes flickered toward me, noticing. Slowly, he turned my hand around and unfurled my fingers, opening up my sweaty palm to him. I felt something twinge in the depths of my stomach and swallowed hard. His hand hovered over mine for a moment before he dropped a small dark memory card onto the ruddy skin of my palm.
"You might wanna give this to your boss, Andy." He repeated those familiar words with a grin. In an instant I was suddenly transported back to the editing room, sitting in my rolling office chair, looking up at him like a wounded animal. I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me.
Abruptly, he took a step backward and the illusion seemed to dwindle away like a fading smoke. He adjusted his suit jacket. I curled my hand around the card, holding it tight.
"Pogo here's gonna escort you. Make sure you make it there…safely." He nodded to someone behind me.
Safely. I scoffed quietly and turned around to examine my chaperon. A clown I didn't recognize stood a few feet away; his masked eyes, shaded in baby blue triangles, stared back at me. Unsettled, I glanced around the room, only now noticing Mike and the other two were nowhere in sight. I furrowed my brow, astounded that I'd missed their exist. I supposed I had been a little distracted.
I turned back to the Joker who seemed to be waiting for me to say something.
"And then what?" I finally asked.
He stared back at me intently.
"I haven't thought that far." He put on a guise of ambiguity as easily as the paint on his face, but I could see past it now. A man like him had always thought that far, even if he didn't want to admit it.
He motioned to Pogo over my shoulder and I could feel the newfangled goon approach from behind. He wrapped his hand around my upper arm, urging me along with a touch.
Unexpectedly to him, I jerked from his hold and lurched away, slithering out of his grasp. I wasn't going to be lead away to the slaughter so easily.
"What are you going to do?" I demanded sharply as I pushed my way into the Joker's personal space. His smile grew as the distance between us shortened. I held the card up between us emphatically and felt my face burn and my eyes instinctively well with tears. I hated the way I cried at confrontation; involuntary self-sabotage.
I felt Pogo rushing up behind me, collecting the escapee. But the Joker, without looking, held up his hand, cutting him off and waving him away.
The Joker's dark eyes surveyed my face and inspected my quivering features like a search light, illuminating every detail. I stared back at him, my body shaking violently.
"It's not what I'm going to do. It's what we're going to do." He curled my trembling fingers back around the memory card and held them there, tightly.
The familiar jolt shot through me.
We're.
"I'm not like you." I told him, and maybe myself. "I'm not helping you hurt innocent people."
Again. I thought, regretfully.
"Who said they were innocent?" He didn't skip a beat.
I stopped for a second, puzzled.
What? Did he mean that literally? Philosophically? Morally?
"Tell me, Andy," He paused as he moved even closer, lifting his gloved hand to slowly brush the dirty hair away from my neck and rest it ominously on my shoulder. "When I blew up the hospital, how did you feel?
He gazed at me, all-knowing. I was frozen, caught off guard, and too afraid to tell him the truth.
"Did you feel good?" His gloved hand snaked up my shoulder and over my neck, his thumb rubbing softly against my jaw. To my dismay, I softened in his hand.
"Did it make you feel seen?"
The buzzing feeling in my stomach grew and I wondered if he could feel me vibrating against him. I shifted uncomfortably, uneasy with his touch and the abrupt inquisition.
Admittedly, it had made me feel seen. In fact, it had felt cleansing, practically therapeutic. But I wasn't going to admit to any of that. Not to him.
He stared at me curiously when I refused to speak. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, but I was sure he already knew my answer.
"Well, listen…" He patted my cheek before pushing me away, making space between us. "I'd love to stay and chat, but you've got places to go and I have people to see."
As the space between us grew, I let out a shuttering breath that felt as if it had been locked in my chest for hours. I took a step further back and turned to look at Pogo, but something held me back. The Joker's hand wrapped around my wrist and yanked me backwards. Like a boomerang, I was ricocheted into him, my hands pressing against his chest to halt my momentum. A tidal wave of pain sloshed against my skull at the sudden movement and I looked up at him, confusion plastered on my face. He looked down at me, sinisterly.
"How about one for the road?" He asked, impishly; and before I knew what he was even lobbying, the minor gap was yet again vanishing between us. My thoughts were only a blur and my mind slow as his hand crawled up into the mess that was my hair and pulled my head forcibly toward his. The wound on my head stung as our lips met chaotically, his pressing crudely against mine. I could feel the rippling texture of his scars and the warm, oily paint smearing against my cheeks and chin and was absorbed in the sensations. His free hand slithered over my hip and wrapped around my waist, but not tenderly in a way one may expect. Instead, he nearly crushed me against him, trapping me there. I felt like he was devouring me. Like he was absorbing me into his every pore.
I could barely remember the last time someone had touched me in this way, and I felt my body answer as warmth pooled just below my stomach and I eagerly pressed into him, parting my lips slightly; inviting him in. His hot tongue slid along my bottom lip before slipping the rest of the way into my mouth. He purred into me as he did, and a deep vibration tickled the cavern of my mouth. I paused, the sound and sensation jolting me out of my stupor. This was no ordinary man with his tongue half-way down my throat. No. It was the Joker that I pathetically clung to…that I opened myself to. That came crawling in.
I tried to backtrack as I came to my senses, but my weak protestations were smothered against our lips, and when I vainly pushed against his chest, he held me in place. His hot tongue continued to slither around inside my mouth, exploring every inch like he was mapping me from the inside. Panicked, and growing increasingly desperate, I tightened my jaw and suddenly bit down-hard enough that I could instantly taste metal. His grip around my waist and scull loosened and we detached from one another. He cackled wildly as he stepped back, the haunting laughter echoing through the unfinished hollowness of the room. Goosebumps erupted over my skin at the otherworldly sound, but my eyes stayed fixed on the concrete beneath me as I heaved for breath, the sour taste of his blood lingering on my tongue.
As the echoes faded and an unnerving silence filled the heavy air, I lifted my gaze to meet his. He stood back a few feet, a wide grin stretched across his face, teeth tinted red from the damage I caused. The sight made me ill.
Why did you do that? I wanted to scream into his face, but I already knew why. He'd already admitted it to me, his modus operandi.
I saw a sweet innocent girl and I wondered what she would do if I applied a little …pressure.
This wasn't romantic to him. He didn't have romantic feelings. I wasn't sure he was even capable of that. He was only playing with me, seeing what I would do. As I stared at him, blood staining his yellow-y grin, I wondered bitterly what he thought of his experiment.
I noticed his eyes finally flicker away from mine and over my shoulder. He tilted his head up and gave a small nod. I moved to look behind me as two large calloused hands draped over my shoulders, gripping onto me and forcefully guiding me backwards. I yelped in surprise and looked up at the clown over my shoulder. Soulless black eyes stared down at me through the holes in the silicone disguise.
Feeling defeated and emotionally drained, I let Pogo guide me with relative ease in the direction of the elevator doors. With my back now to him, I still felt the heat of the Joker's stare, and, unable to resist temptation, glanced back one final time. The Joker still stood in the same spot, watching. As I gawked back at him, he shrewdly ran his tongue along his bloodied smile and lifted his gloved hand, waving it slowly. Pogo jerked me forward and I was forced to look away.
"Oh, parting is such sweet sorrow." He called to my back.
I felt like screaming.
Pogo pushed me through the bottom floor of the empty parking garage toward an old silvery sedan, rust forming above the wheel wells. I shuffled forward and pulled on the passenger's door handle. He stood back and watched as I yanked the door open and slid inside, making sure I shut the door completely before rounding the opposite side and sliding himself into the drivers seat. His door creaked shut and he started the car, the engine sputtering slightly. He turned to me in his mask.
"Do you have what he gave you?"
I was startled by his voice, smooth and youthful.
I held out my hand in response, unfolding my tight fist to reveal the memory card, a little damp with sweat.
He nodded in response before reaching up and swiftly pulling off the mask and tossing it into the back. I gawked at him from my seat, his dark hair falling over his naked face. He was young. In his 20s, I guessed.
How did you end up here? I wondered. Maybe he thought the same about me.
"No mask?" I finally spoke, my mouth feeling particularly dry.
"Not very inconspicuous." He said, his eyes on his mirrors as he backed out of the parking spot.
I nodded in response. I supposed he was right. The entire city was on the lookout for anyone in clown regalia. It made sense.
The car pulled out onto the street, relatively deserted for the time of day. Gothamites were likely staying off the streets, attempting to avoid the ongoing terrorism. I glanced down at the memory card in my hand and my stomach turned, fully knowing it was about to be even worse.
I stared out the front window, my mind buzzing. I knew where we were. I could see the CGN building towering through the Gotham cityscape, only a few blocks away.
"You could just take me home." I spat suddenly. Pogo was silent for a moment, staring straight ahead.
"W-we can figure out a way out of this. You and I, we can—"
"You should probably just stop talking." He said, deadpan.
I slumped into my seat. This was it, then. I tried to accept my fate and come to terms with my role in everything. But even then, as we pulled into a small lot less than a block from the GCN building, my legs shook violently.
"You're gonna have to calm down." He warned. I nodded, taking deep breaths, in through my nose and out through my mouth. It didn't help much.
"And here," He reached over my lap and popped open the glove box, pulling out a water bottle and some napkins, clearly left over from someone's takeout. He tossed them into my lap. "Clean yourself up a little."
I raised my eyebrows as I grabbed the napkins. In all my panic and worry, I hadn't even thought about what I had looked like. Glancing up, I grabbed onto the visor above my head and flipped it down, nearly gasping when I was met with my own reflection. Pogo watched me from his peripherals as I gaped at the state of my face. My nose, cheeks and chin were coated in a muddled layer of white face paint, while my lips and the surrounding area were bright scarlet red, like smeared lipstick. My face burned under the white paint, evidence of a shameful act.
Manically, I poured water onto the napkin and scrubbed at my face. The paint was oil based and the water did close to nothing. All I could do was rub at my skin until nearly raw, and all that was left of the paint was the ruby stained ring around my mouth.
"Here, put this on too." Pogo handed me a beanie. I glanced in the mirror again as I pulled it on over my blood encrusted, matted hair. I winced at its snugness. With the hat on, I was passable. Not good, by any means, but it was better than nothing.
"Go in, deliver the package, and come back. I'll be waiting here."
"And what am I supposed to tell them, exactly?" I snarled.
He smirked at me shrewdly. "You're smart. You'll figure it out." I scoffed and looked out the passenger window toward the ominous building. "If you weren't, the boss wouldn't bother keeping you around."
Ah, well at least I'm smart. I thought, sarcastically.
Pogo suddenly reached across my lap and pulled on the door handle, motioning for me to get out. I hesitantly complied, stepping onto the pavement of the small lot and looking around nervously.
"If you're not back in 10 minutes, I'm coming in."
10 minutes? Jesus Christ.
I said nothing and motioned to shut the car door when he reached a hand out and gripped onto my wrist, pulling me backwards, closer to the car. The familiar movement made my stomach drop.
"Don't forget, we know where you live." He squeezed onto my arm tightly, threateningly. I felt the blood in my veins turn to ice and violently ripped my arm out of his grasp. He leaned back into his seat and I turned away, slamming the car door behind me.
Taking another deep breath, I made my way toward the building and tried my best to steady my shaking legs. My heart thrashed wildly in the cage of my chest as I pushed open the heavy glass doors. Through the panes, I could see the building was still buzzing with people, despite it being late into the afternoon by now. Had everyone just come crawling back to work after what had happened? I wondered if I was expected back, or if anyone had even noticed that I was gone.
Through clenched teeth, I moved into the open lobby. People stirred around me like it was any normal day, like a threat from the Joker hadn't been made, like the lead anchor hadn't been kidnapped and bound. I froze in my spot and glanced around frantically. Mike. I breathed heavily. I had nearly forgotten about him. I squeezed the memory card in my palm and felt its corners bite into the skin of my hand.
In glanced to my right and noticed a security guard eyeing me from his spot at the front desk. I swallowed hard and quickly turned away, walking in the direction of the hallway to Kathy's office. This was the last thing I needed.
I could see him in my periphery, marching toward me from the front desk. I tried to pretend that I didn't see him as I hurried along.
"Hello, Miss."
I pressed forward, pretending I couldn't hear him through the hustle and bustle.
"Excuse me, Miss. You need to stop."
I groaned and came to a halt, turning on my heels and plastering on a customer service smile.
"Yes?" I asked as innocently as I could manage.
"Miss, do you have authorization to go beyond this point?"
I felt the blood drain from my face. I didn't have my keycard, no ID, absolutely nothing on me, not even a cell phone.
"Well, I'm actually an intern here, I just don't have my keycard I've just been-"
"Andrea?"
A familiar voice calling through the lobby cut me off.
"Andrea is that you?"
I knew Kathy's voice right away, high pitched and irritating; something like a high school secretary.
I turned slowly on my heels as Kathy hurried over and, to my relief, waved away the security guard. She nearly stopped in her tracks when she saw me at close range.
"Jesus, Andrea, you look-"
"I know. I'm sick." For once in the history of employment, that lie was convincing. I knew the pallor of my skin, slick with sweat, was enough to pull it off.
"I left some stuff behind when—" I paused, trying to find the words. "When all of that happened."
"Ok." Kathy said softly, nodding her head. "But hey, listen," She placed a hand on my arm, I stared down at it, resisting the urge to jerk away. "I tried to call you earlier. Gotham U has rescinded the internship requirements. You don't have to come in, at least for the time being. You won't be penalized. Our first priority is your safety."
I held back a laugh.
Never been safer.
"Oh, well, my phone was smashed earlier when everyone was running." The memory of the last time I had my phone flickered through my mind: glancing at Gordon's number before my head met the brick wall and everything went black.
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." Kathy said sympathetically. I shrugged, trying to seem as casual as I could. She looked at me cautiously, like she knew something was very wrong.
"Alright, I'm going to just grab my stuff and go then. You'll let me know when I'm expected back?"
Kathy's eyes stayed on mine. "Yes, I'll be in touch."
I nodded hurriedly and pulled nervously on my beanie as I walked away and down the darkened hall, not looking back.
What am I gonna do? I agonized, gnawing at my lower lip as I wound through the twisting hallways, keeping my head down as people passed. How was I going to give this to her? I couldn't just hand it to her back there. I also couldn't just tell her about the video. There wasn't enough time, and it wasn't that simple.
The staff room quickly came up on my right and I dipped in. The room was empty and I paced anxiously, wracking my brain for ideas. How much time had passed? I expected Pogo to burst in any second, put a gun to my head and blow my brains out. I could feel my lip growing raw.
Growing desperate, I clamored over to the small mail area and shuffled through the drawers, ripping out a blank envelope from a stack. Slowly, I unfurled my fist to reveal the tiny card and marveled at the chaos such a small and delicate article was about to unleash. Pushing forward, I tilted my hand and slid the card inside the envelope and shakily sealed it shut. Grabbing a red pen from the counter, I scrawled along the front "A MESSAGE FROM THE JOKER" and gaped at it, draped over my sweat soaked palm. Was I really going to do this? I glanced back at the door, ready for Pogo to barge in any second. I'm just the delivery person, right? I tried desperately to rationalize what I was doing and the harm that could come.
Don't shoot the messenger, after all.
Wary of the security cameras I knew were outside of the offices, I grabbed onto a large puffy jacket hung behind the door, leftover from winters past. Draping it over myself and pulling up the hood, I slipped out into the hall, the package tucked tightly under my arm, and rushed in the direction of Kathy's office.
Holding my breath, I gripped onto the brassy doorknob with my sleeve and turned. With a soft pop, the door pushed open and my lips stretched instinctively into a satisfied smirk. Silently, I turned on my heel and peered behind me, searching for witnesses. Seeing no one, I slid into the room and softly closed the door behind me.
The room was dim with the exception of a desk lamp that illuminated papers strewn over Kathy's workspace. Delicately, I moved behind her desk and pushed the papers aside, laying the envelope in plain sight before reaching for the office phone. Putting the receiver to my ear, I dialed the extension of the front desk and swallowed the lump in my throat as I tried to gather my thoughts. This was it, all I could think to do. No clever ruse. No intricate scheme. I didn't have time or energy to make anything more elaborate. The phone rang out once, twice, before Lisa, the receptionist, answered. "Hi Kathy, what can I help you with?" She asked, a little too cheery. I cleared my throat.
"There is an extremely urgent message for Kathy in her office." Not waiting for a response, I slammed the phone into the receiver and rounded the desk, peering over my shoulder one last time at the envelope, glowing in the light of her desk lamp. Turning on my heels, I pulled open the door and slid once again into the empty hallway.
Kathy's office was situated at the crook of the hall and I pressed myself against the wall perpendicular. My chest heaved with my shaky breaths. I did it, I thought, the corners of my mouth once again twisting up. I peered around the corner, anticipating Kathy's prompt arrival, but the hallway still stood bare. Sighing heavily, I pushed my head against the wall behind me and felt its coolness against the back of my skull. I closed my eyes, only now feeling their soreness. Quickly and all at once I felt myself drifting, dreaming of my bed, longing for escape.
I had no idea how much time had passed before I was alerted by the sound of heels clacking against the tiled floor. Blinking the fog from my eyes, I once again peered gingerly around the corner to see a familiar figure stomping in my direction.
Kathy made her way, hurriedly, down the narrow corridor. I jerked myself back and out of her line of sight and silently slouched my way down the hall and away from the scene. As I rounded another corner, I heard the distant click of her office door.
Looking only forward now, I knew of a few emergency exits in the building and pushed my way into the nearby stairwell and down the short steps to the one of them. As I stood at the threshold, I hesitated and pressed my burning forehead against its cool exterior. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest so hard it shook my whole body. I couldn't go back. Back to him. My stomach lurched.
What choice do I have?
Sluggishly, using my body weight, I pushed against the door handle and stepped down into the shadowy alleyway, situated along the east side of the building. A cool breeze tunneled past me and flapped open the sides of my jacket as I stared distantly in the direction I knew Pogo to be. I wondered if he had gone in yet-if that was ever actually part of the plan, or just a hollow threat.
A chill reverberated through me as I continued gazing toward my doom down the alley, which darkened by the second in the fading light of the afternoon. I watched with weariness as the sharp shadow slowly crawled toward me over the crumbling brick and the torn asphalt, and as the sun hit the top of the building and I stood on the precipice of darkness, I knew I wasn't going back. Not willingly.
Turning in the opposite direction, I lifted my heavy feet and I ran with the dwindling sun.
My head thundered ferociously in rhythm with my pounding steps as I zigzagged my way down unfamiliar streets, attempting to stray from my usual path and any watchful eyes. I stopped often to catch my breath, sinking myself into a side alley or enclave, my eyes tracing the streets for any sign of a silvery sedan. When the coast was clear I would slither back out like a snake from its hole.
The streets were largely empty, making my panicked figure stand out against an otherwise still cityscape. But it wasn't much further now.
I came to a stop one street away, leaning myself against the brick façade of a neighboring building, my forehead slick with sweat, scrubs sticking to my back uncomfortably. With no sign of the car with the rusted wheel wells, I sprinted across the street and reefed open the apartment door, nearly tumbling into the lobby. As I scrambled to steady myself, I turned and backed toward the elevator, my eyes locked on the entrance's streaky glass doors.
I had only taken a few steps back when a pair of hands rested themselves on my sore shoulders. Instinctively, I spun on my heels in a fury, scratching at my assailant's arms, only to be met with the shocked expression of Mrs. Dundas, an elderly neighbor a few apartments down that I had only spoken to a handful of times. She stood in her housecoat, clearly on her way down to collect her mail.
"Are you okay, dear?" She questioned, her voice filled with unease, her hands shaking violently, maybe because of old age, maybe because I had nearly attacked her.
"I'm so sorry." I said, abruptly brushing past her into the elevator and slamming my hand against the close door button. Our eyes locked as the slivery doors slid shut. The look on her face haunted me the rest of the way up.
When the elevator came to a creaking halt, I had to stop myself from sprinting to my apartment, instead cautiously making my way down the hallway, listening for anything unusual.
My stomach flipped nervously as I came to a stop in front of my door.
Home.
I sighed and bent to search for the spare key from my hiding spot, hoping no one else had beaten me to it. Puling back the lose baseboard, I smiled as the key clattered to the floor softly.
Timidly, I stepped into my darkened apartment and closing the door behind me in finality.
Striding forward into the kitchen, I flicked on the overhead light, half expecting to see him there, waiting for me at my dining room table. But it was empty, and as I surveyed the rest of the open living space and cautiously meandered through the rest of the apartment, I found that I was seemingly alone.
Eventually I made my way to the living room and lowered myself onto the scratchy sofa, letting myself sink deeply into the worn cushions. My mind buzzed and I couldn't make myself do anything else but sit here and wait. Wait for him. Wait to die.
I sat until the sun had completely disappeared and the apartment was only lit by the warm orange glow of the streetlamps. The cacophony of police sirens blasting from speeding cruisers that filtered in through my single paned window finally drew me out of a fugue state.
How long has it been?
I lunged eagerly for the TV remote, the polyester of the jacket screeching in protest. The screen flickered to life, already set to GCN. The bright light of the screen hurt my eyes and I squinted to read the red banner that nearly filled the entire screen.
JOKER ARRESTED. FUGITIVE BATMAN ON THE RUN.
My eyes grew wide and my pulse quickened as I read the words and over again.
What. Happened.
I sat motionless in the blackness of the room, my eyes locked on the screen until the sun rose and greeted me with her warm glow.
EPILOGUE
No one ever came for me, not the Joker's henchmen, not the police, not even a call from Jim Gordon, although there were always bigger things going on. Harvey Dent was dead and the Batman was to blame, after all.
Still, there were days I held my phone in my hand for hours agonizing over reaching out to him-because I knew it was the right thing to do. But…I never did, and time seemed to pass slowly for me. Months came and went without much notice. I finally graduated and that walk across the stage hadn't felt as sweet as I'd imagined. GCN even eventually reached out to offer me a permanent position, I think out of guilt and a sense of duty rather than desire. Despite it being everything I'd worked for, I turned it down.
Instead, I took a job at the grocer below my apartment, a job I found familial comfort in where I had not found it elsewhere. He treated me like his own, had me over for dinner several nights a week, really whenever I wanted. It wasn't long before he told me he loved me like I was one of his daughters, and I was starting to feel whole.
And yet, each night when I lied awake in my bed, tossing and turning in a tangle of blankets, my thoughts turned to the chaos before. To Him. Often times, I found myself thinking back to the way his spindly fingers had dug into the tender flesh of my sides, how his tongue slid along the hollows and ridges of my mouth and I tried desperately to ignore the heat that grew in the space between my legs.
What's more, I hadn't even glanced at the classifieds to look for another apartment, instead choosing to live each day in the ghost of his presence, under a soft shade of fear that one day someone would come for me.
And then one late afternoon when I was nestled into that same worn couch, a sudden knock I knew not to be the grocer echoed through my hollow apartment. I knew then, when my stomach flipped nervously, not in fear, but excitement, that something in me was wrong—rotten, and I'd known it for a while.
I'd played with fire, and I'd liked the way it burned.