A/N: Hallow's Eve...
P.S. I suggest you read the notice before reading this - but if you didn't, just a quick followup on what's changed:
1. Robbie (the kid Heath was showing magic tricks to at the end of part 2) was kidnapped and now one knows where he is (except Heath apparently...;)))
2. Johnathan goes to Arkham
Enjoy!
It was the end of October, Hallow's Eve. The houses, spooky by themselves, proudly displayed the poorly cut pumpkins, candles glimmering inside. The sky was rolling down between the branches. Johnathan walked down the street. He had a night shift surgery today, so he was in a slight hurry to get to the hospital. He sighed and took out a cigarette to calm down his nerves.
Hallow's Eve was always fun for the college students. Celebrations always started at least three days before the actual holiday in Gotham Outskirts. A sign of their obvious progress in comparison to other celebrations in the world.
Billy absently hummed, holding the cigarette with his teeth, as he nimbly tied the laces in Charlotte's back. His small apartment was always the center of the hubbub on Hallow's Eve, turned into a costume factory. Sammy was somewhere in the kitchen, puffing the white powder onto his face. Jennifer and her friends were trying on wired, holed hats, apparently witches. Billy, accidentally pulled the strings too hard.
"Ow, Billy!"
"Sorry, Lottie," Billy obediently loosened the strings and made a final knot. Charlotte turned around, a white nightgown streaming down. Her dirty blonde hair was clipped in curls, like that of the doll of Billy's tiny sister.
"Thanks, Billy." Charlotte picked up her white mask. It had long, black eyelashes which covered her eyes completely and needle-like eyebrows. She put it on. Billy whistled.
"Damn it, Lottie. You're scary."
Charlotte didn't answer anything and simply began to arrange the pieces of cloth utilized for the costumes scattered around the room. Billy, in his simple vintage coat, cap, and breeches, smirked and put on his mask; a faceless cover of a little boy.
"Too bad Heath's missing," Sammy sighed behind them. Billy turned around and saw a skeleton in disorganized white linens patched all over the place like a messy quilt stare at him.
"He had the most creativity out of us all."
"Well, Heath certainly paid for that creativity when he improvised on that Browning mess," Mark harshly hobbled into the room, now an old hag with a screeching face. Billy grimaced, not wanting that uncomfortable feeling which has been following him the entire day to take over.
"I'm going to check on Freddie," Charlotte quietly stepped in.
"I don't think she's going to come," A little girl with a scarf around her head and a grimacing mask stepped in.
"She didn't come here."
Charlotte shrugged and made it towards the door. The October air rubbed against her palms, not able to freeze her cheeks covered by the mask. The evening has already crashed down on the town, the pumpkin candles creepily wavering in the darkness. Little trick-o-treaters shuffled from candle to candle, the shivering light illuminating their eery, distorted masks. Charlotte walked down the dusty road, the mask's edges uncomfortably digging into her skin. Every year, since middle school, they would gather round and do something stupid. It was fun, but stupid. Thank god everyone got used to their amusements.
Winnifred's house also had a small little pumpkin grinning at the road. Charlotte walked over to the porch and knocked. The door opened in two minutes.
"Hey there," Winnifred smiled in her regular clothes. "Isn't that the costume from eleventh grade?"
"I thought no one would notice," Charlotte sighed, eyes twinkling. "Listen, are you coming down? Everyone's ready."
"I'm not coming," Winnifred shook her head. "Sorry, not this year."
"But you're the heart of the company!"
Winnifred shook her head again. "No, Lottie. I don't even have a costume. And no, the costume of a pedestrian doesn't count."
Charlotte understood that there's nothing she could do.
"Alright. Tell us if we get too loud."
"Of course," Winnifred smiled. For a moment, she watched the doll disappear into the darkness. Then, she quietly closed the door.
Johnathan tiredly wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his gloved hand and sighed. Dr. Collins looked just as tired.
"Well," he said, then abruptly tugged off his gloves and tossed them into the trash.
"That's that. Tell Evangeline to tell the Cartwrights that he didn't make it." Johnathan wordlessly covered the old man with a white blanket, before taking the phone on the wall. There was a large boom outside the window and loud laughter. Collins shook his head.
"Those students. Mark my words, Crane, we will have some more work this night if they keep on drinking like that."
Johnathan smirked into the phone.
The forest was booming with loud music. Flickering light of the torches swiveled back and forth between the trees. Dark figures appeared back and forth among the bonfire, wildly dancing to the rugged melody. Charlotte stumbled over an empty bottle of vodka on the grass and fell on her knees. Her head was light, the metal pounding in her brain. Flickering, unstable images flashed in front of her eyes. Charlotte stood up, swinging from side to side. Damn it, where's the bloody center of mass? Painfully trying to remember, Charlotte staggered out of the crowd surrounding the blazing bonfire. The trees rocked from one side to the other, and it took Charlotte awhile to notice Jack, absently walking in the woods. A sudden idea hit Charlotte's head so hard that she had to keep herself from falling. Shit, she has to look sober...
"Hey Jack!" Jack glanced over his shoulder. Charlotte didn't bother taking off her mask.
"Are you looking for Freddie? It's that way!"
She jerked her trembling hand in the direction of the bonfire. Jack hesitated. So Charlotte took action.
"C'mon Jack, don't make me give you a whack!" Charlotte giggled at her originality and tugged Jack by the sleeve with her.
"C'mon, brownie, c'mon!" Her vision was blurred, but she didn't care. Dragging Jack right into the center of the crowd, she noticed Billy, hugging a horrifying witch in one hand and clenching a bottle of beer with the other.
"Billy!" Charlotte shouted, not letting go of Jack. "Look whom I got!"
Billy glanced her way and slid his hand off the witch. He walked over to them, blazing eyes burning with drunken hellfire.
"Well, well, well," Billy was unnoticeably swaying. "Good to see you, Jack. Whatcha doing here."
"I was just walking by when your girl rudely grabbed me," Jack coldly answered, eyes cautiously scanning the dubious group he was in.
"Oh, don't hurt my poor girl," Billy chuckled and shoved a bottle in to Jack.
"Drink."
"What?" Jack startled. Billy took out a little pocket knife.
"I said drink before I chop you up into little pieces." Jack's eyes were wide open in amusement, but he obediently drank a sip.
"Drink it all." Billy was merciless. Jack glanced over his shoulder, but the wild dancers already blocked his way out. Billy widely grinned. Jack's eyes transferred on the little silver metal shimmering in Billy's hand. Sighing, he brought the bottle neck to his lips. Billy's grin widened.
The fire crackled in fury. The roaring music boomed with the accompany of hand claps of the jeering vintage monsters.
"Third bottle!" Billy proclaimed, ripping his mask off of his face, beaded in sweat. The tiny droplets glimmered in the blazing illumination.
"C'mon, Browning, do it, you fucking whim!"
Jack's eyes ignited with drunk fury as he snatched the third bottle from Billy's hand. The crowd supportively screeched. Charlotte happily clapped her hands and started to make her way out of the crowd. This was such a great idea, she should find someone else to participate! The forest seemed alive from the students' burning life, the trees dancing next to the swaying doll, the branches making disco moves. Charlotte staggered, eyes desperately trying to find someone who would participate in her idea. Suddenly, she noticed a hunched figure back her lonely standing next to the tree. Charlotte happily leaped and ran over, tapping him on the shoulder.
"Hey, mister, mister..." she fearfully hiccuped when the man turned around. The white paint, streaming down from sweat, cracked around the skin, black circles highlighting the flaming eyes. The man's costume was consisting of a torn, brown trench coat over a sleeveless, white shirt, stained in a reddish color and pants. Two long scars stretched from the man's red lips into a mocking grin.
"Yes?" The man quietly asked, stretching the word. Trembling, Charlotte took the man by his arm.
"C'mon, mister, c'mon, it's going to be fun..." She had no idea where she was going, but she didn't want to turn her back towards the man. A branch snapped under her shoe.
"Really?" The man's soft voice was barely audible in the booming music resonating across the entire forest.
"Yes, sir, come this way sir..." Charlotte quickly glanced behind her shoulder and instantly snapped back.
"We're almost there, sir, this way, sir..."
A fancy witch turned around, dancing to the music, and shrieked at the sight of the man and the doll leading him out of the forest. The people behind the witch turned around to see what was going on and quickly moved out of their way. Charlotte continued leading the smiling man, people parting behind her back, until she reached the center. Jack was almost done with the third bottle. Finishing, he thrust it on the ground, smashing it to pieces. The crowd giddily laughed. The laughter instantly died off when the doll stepped out.
"Billy!" Charlotte shouted in a thin voice. "I brought another player to our game."
Billy, watching staggering Jack in amusement, turned around to couple. He slightly shuddered. Someone turned off the music.
For a moment, Billy simply observed the man in front of him.
"Do I know you?" He finally asked. "You look familiar as fuck."
"No," the man kneeled down and picked up an empty bottle lying on the ground. He glanced at it and let it fall out of his hands in disappointment.
"I uh...just wanted to take part in this...competition."
Billy narrowed his eyes, searching the man's face. He crossed the arms on his chest.
"Which drink do you want?"
"Rum."
Billy nodded over to Jack. "Hey there, beanstalk, go fetch some rum." Jack obediently swayed over to the crates. Billy turned back to the man, suspicion never leaving his place.
"So what's your name?"
The flames played on the man's grin, but he didn't answer.
Billy raised his eyebrows. "Interesting. I assume that you want us to name you? How about joker? You awfully look like a clown, but honestly clown is a horrible name. So can you tell us a joke, joker-poker?" The man smirked.
"Sure."
Jack staggered over to the man and handed him the bottle with a trembling hand. The man suddenly grabbed him firmly by the arm, bringing him close to his face. The crowd flinched, but the knife next to Jack's face in the man's hand stopped them.
"Joke Number One," the man quietly said. Jack's drunken eyes widened as he recognized the swollen scars and the knife.
"Why didn't Jack Browning make it home?"
"Oh my God!" Charlotte suddenly screamed. "Oh my god, I remember now! I remember! It's Heath!"
The man suddenly snatched the bottle out of Jack's hands and, ripping off the top, threw it into the bonfire. The fire hissed and blazed up into the sky with a deafening crack. The faceless guests, not daring to move before, instantly lurched, knocking into each other and trying to find a way out. Jack toppled on the ground, frantic feet hitting him his body, some other unfortunates falling on top as they were pushed out of the way. Damp, alcohol-stenched soil got into Jack's mouth, the reddish night sky rolling back and forth, the small grass brushing his cheeks. The scent of cinder hit Jack's nose as the ambers rolled out of the bonfire. Suddenly, someone heaved over him, knocking out the breath. Two dark brown eyes, drowning in the black rims drilled into Jack's sweaty face.
"Good evening, Mister Browning."
Fury and hatred tore through the intoxicated veil of alcohol. Jack angrily lunged, getting out of Heath's grasp, yet before he could make a move, the man pinned him down again. The cold metal touched Jack's cheek.
"I won't maim you that much. Just enough to get my point across."
Jack's screams were lost in the overall commotion of people running to get away from the starting fire. Heath silently worked, throwing all of his long lasting disgust and loath into his creation. For a moment, he glanced up, noticing the drunk doll frantically run beside him. She didn't notice them. All what Charlotte saw what flaming trees, dark figures flashing back and forth, and the scars. Her feet automatically ran to the first thing she thought of. The hospital lights glumly shone in between the trees. Charlotte lunged forward and finally those lights became actual lights that shone off the windows.
"Help," she breathed out, swinging forth the doors. The illuminated room hit her in the face, making her stagger back. When she recovered, she saw the entire personnel and patients gawking at her. Johnathan was standing slightly farther, alone in the hallway. Charlotte immediately started towards him, a feeling of nausea threatening to sweep her off her feet. Johnathan quickly ran up to her, guessing her intentions, and soon Charlotte felt strong hands grab her by the shoulders. Thank god, she thought, and tears of relief rolled down her cheeks.
"Charlotte, right?" Johnathan harshly turned her face towards his, forcing her to look into his blue eyes.
"What happened, Charlotte?"
"I-It's...it's...H-Heath...the joker...he started a fire...it was a game," Charlotte stuttered, frantically grabbing him by the sleeves.
"His face, Johnathan, it's cut, he's smiling..." The doors flung open again. A rugged student, clothes torn, dragged an unconscious woman onto the ground. Johnathan's blood froze. Not unconscious. Dead.
"They trampled over her in the commotion," the student rasped in grief. A nurse wordlessly helped him stand up.
"Clarke," Collins flatly said. "Get the ambulance division ready. And call the firefighters."
"I already did so, sir," Evangeline quietly responded, quietly lowering down the receiver.
"Good. Everyone else, get the rooms ready. We're going to have a lot of patients tonight."
Johnathan nodded, lifting the dead woman unto the stretcher trolley with Richard. It was Eva, Winnifred's classmate in tenth grade. Johnathan grasped the cold trolley rails with his sweaty hands and began rolling it down the hallway. He felt his throats painfully pulse against the tight, damp collar. Johnathan felt as if all of his organs were sucked inside an anvil, leaving a dreadful void inside. He should have found Heath two months ago. The comparison of the skyscrapers appeared in front of Johnathan's eyes. Heath blew them up.
The paper hanging on the walls was the same like before, light purple with a faint design. Heath quietly walked down the hallway, glancing to his side. Margaret was sitting in the living room, reading a book on the couch. Heath looked back around and quietly passed the entrance. The sound of the running faucet water made Heath's heart quicken its pace. He leaned on the doorway leading to the kitchen. Winnifred was standing back to him, washing dishes and singing something to herself. Heath sadly smiled, the red paint cracking at the corner of his lips. He haven't seen her since the trial. There was a sound of wailing sirens. Winnifred looked up and walked over to the window that was across the doorway. Heath watched her watch the firefighter truck and several ambulances race towards the forest. He felt a twinge of distorted irritation on her concern. It wasn't that bad, honestly. Suddenly, he saw her shoulders stiffen. For a moment, he didn't understand. Then, he noticed her looking intently in the window, eyes tracing the faint outline of the face, shining in the white paint, complete with a familiar, bloody smile...Winnifred glanced behind her shoulder. The hallway was empty.
The hospital was live hell. A few stretcher trolleys already knocked into Johnathan. Half of his bones were probably already broken. Johnathan quickly outran a nurse hurriedly driving a wheelchair and snatched the portfolio from one of the dividers on the wall. He glanced at the patient's name: Jack Browning. Johnathan gritted a curse through his teeth. He always gets the worst one. He turned the corner and entered the room. Dr. Collins was already there, frowning at the patient. A male nurse with a mask was standing next to the bed. When the intern came in, he glanced up, but didn't say anything. Collins jerked and walked over to Johnathan, lightly taking him by the elbow.
"He's just a pile of bloody mess. Do we have another free emergency room?"
Johnathan wordlessly lifted his eyebrows at the sight of the dry blood parchments, uneven, deep cuts, and the raw, disturbed flesh.
"No, but we can share room 6. The other ones already have three per room."
Dr. Collins quietly swore, then started out of the room.
"Prepare it then. We can still save him. You," he addressed the nurse on the way,"Drive him to room 6. Be quick." The nurse nodded and took the stretcher trolley's rails. Johnathan held the door for the nurse to pass, then quickly walked towards room six. He didn't notice the trolley carefully turning in the other direction.
The first feeling was nausea. The lights came as thin strips of vague, fuzzy circles through blood-clotted eye lids. Jack coarsely exhaled, pain tearing his lungs. It took him a few minutes to understand that he was being driven on a trolley. His eyes arched back. A male nurse silently drove the trolley. Catching Jack's gaze, he wordlessly nodded. Jack looked back down and closed his eyes, falling back down into an abyss.
He awoke a few minutes later. They were still driving. Agony tore Jack's muscles apart, blood trickling down his neck from the scars underneath his chin. Overcoming the pain, Jack coarsely whispered.
"Where are you taking me?"
"To the morgue."
Jack startled.
"What? But I'm not dead yet."
"And we're not there yet," The nurse's eyes shortly lowered down on
Jack's appealed face, before quickly placing a gag into his mouth and covering him with a blanket. Jack frantically breathed, the damp moisture from his breath residing into his mouth, causing the saliva to precipitate underneath his tongue, provoking dreadful thirst. He tried to move, but the exposed flesh instantly jerked at the accidental touch of the covering blanket. Sweat streamed down Jack's arms, suffocating him in the heat of his own fear. There was a hissing sound of opening doors. Jack felt the cold ooze through the open edges of the blanket, cooling the steaming droplets on the forehead. The trolley stopped. The blanket abruptly thrust open, revealing the merciless, silver walls and their inhabitants. Jack stared with wide eyes, gag moist between his teeth as the nurse calmly entered the numbers into the container.
"One, five, six, four, six, three, six..." the nurse softly mumbled to himself, too quiet for Jack to hear. The chamber swooshed open. The nurse pulled open a metal stretcher, letting out a quiet exclamation of amusement that it was empty. He took out a small slip of paper and a pen from his pocket and placed them on Jack's stomach, using it as a table. Jack watched in horror as the nurse neatly prints out his name. He suddenly lifted his head.
"What's your middle name?"
Jack's stomach fell somewhere very, very far away. He knew that voice. More saliva accumulated next to the gag as the thumping of the heart wildly rattling against the rib cage increased. The nurse thought for a second.
"We'll just assume you won't have one. No big deal, the dead do not care if their middle initial is included on the tombstone or not."
By now, Jack was frantically tossing across the gurney. The nurse, undisturbed, held down the patient's leg down and delicately placed the tag around his toe. Chuckling, he pulled down Jack's gag down at the same time as his mask.
"Lucky for you that the dieter's off duty, eh Jack?"
"Mother-fucking asshole, you son of a bitch," Jack coarsely breathed out, staring with hatred at Heath's grinning face. Heath leaned down, the smell of paint hitting Jack into the face. Jack's eyes unwilling averted to the side, not able to look at the terrifying mask.
"It was poor judgement to return from Maine, Jackie," Heath quietly noticed. The latter glanced at him in disgust.
"You're making a clown of yourself. A pathetic, desperate clown. You'll never get far, because everyone already knows that you're the joker and tell the Gotham police."
Heath shrugged.
"That won't stop me from killing you alive." Placing the gag back on its place, he indifferently heaved thrashing Jack onto the metal stretcher. Freezing air crashed onto Jack's cheeks, frost burning his bloodied flesh.
Heath smiled at him from the far.
"And you know what's the difference between a joker and a clown? Well, everyone laughs at the clown." The red scars burnt scarlet.
"The joker laughs at everyone."
The chamber door slammed shut.
A/N: No comments here...;)