Chapter Ten

A ray of sun drifted between the holes in the thick wooden boards covering the window and assaulted Skyler's eyelids, causing them to wince open. Sun. She ran her thumb over her tattoo on her wrist and rubbed her eyes.

The spot next to her on the bed was empty, but as her hand trailed over the wrinkled mass of sheets they felt warm. Her stomach dropped at the thought of what that meant.

Fear ripped through her as the events from the night before replayed in her pounding, aching head. There was a big patch of dried blood on the pillowcase and her hand tenderly went to the cut on her mouth. Her face was swollen and puffy and her tongue accidentally hit the cut from the inside. The pain almost doubled her over.

This was going to get infected if she didn't clean it up.

She looked around the room and could see an open door across from the bed she was on. Her hands shook as she slowly limped her way over. It was a bathroom, she noticed that the room had a nearly identical layout to the one she had been in when she was tied to the chair.

When she looked into the mirror that was hung above the sink she almost vomited. She couldn't recognize the pale, bloodied, bruised, mess that looked back at her. Dried blood lined the entire side of her face where she had slept. There was also blood caked in her hair. She was surprised by the fact that the incision he had made was less than a centimeter, he had really only pressed his knife against the corner of her mouth, and yet she had bled so much. It hurt so much. She didn't know how he was still alive. How much blood had he shed from getting the entirety of his cheeks sliced open? Her stomach rolled with another wave of nausea so she turned on the sink faucet to rinse the blood out of her mouth, she gulped up as much water as she could to try and offset the blood she had ingested and hopefully settle her stomach.

The world around her swayed at the pain that came from the water assaulting her too-tender cut and for a moment she thought she might black out again from the pain. The only things on the counter were tins with greasepaint: white, red, black, two greasepaint, oil-covered washcloths and a grime-covered soap bar. She took the soap, hoping it wouldn't worsen the chance of infection and slopped off as much of the top layer as she could before lathering her hands in it and working it through the blood on her face and her hair. By the time she had finished a very mediocre cleanup, her hands were white-knuckled and clasping on to the edge of the sink. She barely made it back to the bed in time before the pain sent her into darkness once again.

Ha ha HA ha HA ha HA HA!

Endless hazel eyes. She was back at the Cracked Egg. In a time that now felt like a different life. She was scrubbing up the water off his pants and he was laughing at her. The world around her distorted and she was falling down and down and down into an endless black and white vortex. Then, she was tied to the chair, in front of the camera. "What you offer me is worth so much more." The same hazel eyes. The same laugh.

Ha ha HA ha HA ha HA HA!

She jolted awake. Her eyes frantically searching and her breath only calming as she realized she was still alone. His laughter had just been in her head.

She pushed herself up against the wall and the movement sent a sharp pain through her body. She took in pieces of the room that she hadn't been able to grasp the first time, a folding card table that had been pushed into a corner and a folding chair, with various items of clothing strewn on it. The table was full of bits of papers and a small bin on the floor beside it was overflowing with take-out cartons and trash.

Her head was pounding. She had no idea how much time had passed. Three days. He had said the Batman had three days to find her. She wondered the significance of the number. Three. Her dream played over and over in her head. The Joker and the Glasgow man from the Cracked Egg were the same person. She felt stupid for taking so long to figure it out. He had been there since the beginning. Since before her near-death at the bar with Dorian Gray.

The door flew open and her heart nearly exploded with fear as he entered. She scooted into the very corner of the bed, her legs folding in towards her. He was carrying a pizza box and had half a slice hanging out of his mouth. The smell was orgasmic but the thought of putting anything in her mouth made her stomach lurch yet again.

Patches of his greasepaint were smudged off of his face, revealing small areas of pale skin. She wondered briefly if he slept with the stuff on. She was pretty sure that he did.

He devoured two slices in half a minute, eating like a rabid and starving wolf.

She stayed curled up in the corner hoping he would forget about her existence. He didn't. His gaze shot over to her.

"Are you hungry?"

The question threw her off guard. She looked at him skeptically.

"No." she lied, her voice sounding hollow.

He looked at her, his eyes a now familiar hazel brown… Why her? It was a question she would never be able to shake.

"You sure ya don't want a slice?"

He asked like he wanted to know if she would like him to slice her open again with one of his knives. She shook her head. He smiled.

"Suit yourself."

He shoved another slice into his mouth before abruptly shoving himself off the bed. He flung the plate onto the overflowing trash can beside his makeshift desk and went into the bathroom. Closing the door behind him.

When he came back out his greasepaint was freshly applied.

"It was you. Wasn't it?"

The question made him freeze.

"You'll have to be a little more specific than that sweetheart. What was me?"

"The bar. The photo. All of this." Her hand referenced the room around them. "It was you."

"I think you already know the answer to that."

His voice had none of the fake falsetto of the Joker. This was the man before he had immersed himself in the character. This was the backstage version of him. His voice was low and warm, and oddly Skyler felt she was in more danger with this man than she was with the Joker.

"Why me?"

She finally voiced the question that had been haunting her. She didn't expect an answer from him, but he moved to the desk and pushed papers to the side. He fished through a stack and pulled out two small papers. He laid them face down on the bed and then threw his coat over his suit and walked out the door.

Once the door was shut she scooted her way over to the papers and took a breath, knowing that this could be yet another trick in his bag of games. She flipped over the first paper and staring up at her was a photo of herself. Her senior year photo from Red Lake High.

She hesitated and then flipped over the second sheet of paper to reveal a woman who could have been her twin. There were differences between them, sure. For starters, Skyler's features were lighter. Her hair was blonde while the other woman's hair was dark and her skin a bit paler and yet… there was no denying the striking resemblance. Their high cheekbones and full lips, the shape of their eyes, the shape of their faces. She knew without needing anyone to tell her that the other woman staring back at her was Rachel.