Bruce could tell that the little blonde was definitely not happy that he had dropped her back off at her penthouse, alone, without so much as a kiss goodnight. He knew that in about fifteen minutes her entire circle of young bleach blonde nitwits would be gossiping about what a poor date he was. It unnerved him but he really could not bring himself to touch any part of her. He had always found the taste of self tanner repulsive.
He had always liked his women a bit paler; porcelain and pure with a soft honest glow. Just like Rachel's skin had been…
"Damn it Bruce, three fucking years." He sighed emptily as his car slowed. He no longer contained the spirit for a fast ride and merely coasted along stretch after stretch of road. The night hung thick and silent like a funeral shroud and Bruce felt numb in its company as he floated farther and farther away from the effervescent heart of the city on the inky night. There were no distractions in the darkness.
Commissioner Jim Gordon sat in the morgue looking at the corpse of Dr. Jonathan Crane. The man's once handsome face was frozen grey and obviously flabbergasted. They had reported that the Joker had yet again escaped Arkham. A warning had been issued on the evening news as well as all of the details.
Gordon's heart dropped into his stomach. This would be the maniac's first escape since the condemnation of batman. It seemed that he was the only one who could stop him and now it seemed he had disappeared. After all, why on earth would he protect a city which wanted him dead? Why would he risk his life for millions of people who despised him? For what did he really sacrifice?
Jim Gordon knew that he would come back. He knew with out a doubt that batman would return and see to it that the joker was returned to Arkham. It was beyond logic. It was truth. The same voice that vehemently insisted that batman would return barely whispered another, far more disturbing, truth. The masses and it seemed his entire office were content to believe that the Joker had escaped, just as he had done twice before. However Jim Gordon could see through his untouchable façade.
While he knew not to underestimate his enemies under any circumstances, he also knew not to overestimate them in the areas which were applicable. The man was nearly intuitive when it came to judging character, and he had worked hard to strengthen this uncanny ability since the betrayals from within his own office during the Joker's first escapades.
He knew that the joker was many things. He was fearless and bold, warped and twisted, naïve yet insightful, brilliant yet childishly insipid. He was a master of deception and detachment and machination. He was a perpetual peter pan with deep seated anguish and unflappable resourcefulness. He was a transparent and garish mask. And yet as deeply as he had pondered the Joker there was little he could definitively pinpoint about him aside from one central truth. The Joker, it seemed, could be anyone or anything at any given time. However the one thing he never had been was pragmatic.
The Joker did not deign to use common logic. He did not see things through the eyes of the unconscious similarly-minded majority. He did not do things because they made sense. He positively loathed any kind of sense.
And kidnapping a doctor in the dead of night, forcing him into setting you free, and then shooting him before he can call the authorities just made too much sense! It was the perfect plan. It would draw little attention and be quick and relatively painless. It was subtle.
"The Joker is not subtle." Gordon mumbled lamely to the corpse. Needless to say, it didn't have much to say on the matter.
"The Joker blows things up! Creates mass chaos! Massacres innocent bystanders in then ame of his own morality! He does not silently slip away into the night. He is a narcissist and an instigator who feeds off of anarchy and distress! He's a functional vampire!" Gordon cried as one of the forensic pathology interns walked into the morgue to find the famed police commissioner preaching vehemently to a corpse.
"Sir," The mousy young woman began only to nearly wet herself with fear as he turned toward her, eyes blazing.
"He didn't escape!" Gordon cried before stalking out of the morgue and back to his own domain, where much to everyone's annoyance he ordered a, what was in their opinion completely perfunctory, full scale investigation on the Joker's supposed escape.
--
Green Walls Green Walls Green Walls
Green Walls Green Walls Green Walls
"Hush Baby."
Green Walls Green Walls Green—The Joker tensed automatically as a soft hand came down on his forehead. It burned. It was touch he had not felt in years. It was a familiar caress he had forgotten. And there was so much he had—Green Walls—forgotten. He keened and a light chuckle sliced through his over-sensitized ears like the tiniest shards of glass.
The walls were breathing.
"We're together again, baby."
He couldn't feel his hands as the circulation had long since left them. They had been tied to the headboard for nearly four hours. He felt something soft and cool against his forehead and closed his eyes to shut out the—Green Walls—and the—silver eyes—and the… Just like before, just like the prison, just like the closet, just like his old room. She had put him there.
Color and sound swayed in a precarious chorus as her voice pierced his quazi-consciousness.
Shards of my heart,
You could pass 'em through a needle
For little old I
Buttercup can't seem to wheedle
The love out of you
Baby sweet, my golden beetle…
"Tweedle dee dee dada doo…" The Joker hummed unconsciously in his sleep as a beautiful woman bent down to press a savage kiss to his unresponsive lips. Her silver eyes closed and her golden hair draped over the pair as she tangled her fair hands in his freshly hand washed hair.
"Now, how has my Jamie been?" She said with a small pout and inflection identical to the ones of the young man before her. She cut apart his hospital garb with a knife she pulled from beneath his pillow and eyed his body suspiciously. Her eyes narrowed at the hickey-like bruise on his collar bone. She immediately took the knife to it and carved away the offending bruise as he howled in agony.
"Jamie, I can't have you going about with other women! Don't you understand, baby?" She said sadly as she peeled away the hickey, leaving only a laceration gushing deep red.
He nodded blankly as blood loss forced him into another deep sleep. The woman sighed happily and curled her body around him, some of her auric hair mingling with his while the rest became ensanguined and matted with his blood.
Bruce sighed as he entered his estate, ready to shrug off his jacket and disappear in his oversized bed. An obviously worried Alfred waited by the door, affronted when the young man ignored him entirely.
"Master Bruce," Alfred began and Bruce sighed before turning to face him. He raised a questioning eyebrow half-heartedly. "I believe that something terrible has happened to The Joker." The Pale man sighed and Bruce's face contorted angrily.
"Good!" He growled before stalking out of sight. Alfred sighed. Master Wayne was never in a good mood after any kind of social gathering. He resolved to speak to the man the following morning.
Author's note/ Review Replies
Pride1289: Sounds like fun. lol.
Caleigho: thank you very much. That is exactly what I am going for.
AN: oh snap. So, if you are reading this and you are into it and also into Harry Potter I'm about half-way through a novel-length Harry Potter fic. Its not as twisted or trippy as this will prove to be, but it has its moments. Check it out.