Disclaimer: I do not own Batman, The Joker, or any of it's affiliations.
Previously: Unbeknownst to the man, Gracie was awake. She had been the moment he came walking down the hallway, and would have shot up to a sitting position immediately, but she knew the intruder wasn't the Joker. If it was, he would have burst through the door shouting something. Brandon bent down, gently brushing a strand of Gracie's hair with his finger tips.
It took all of her willpower not to shoot a fist up and punch him. What if he had a gun, or a knife? Grace kept her eyes closed and hoped against all hope that whoever it was at her bed would walk away soon. "So beautiful..." Brandon wheezed, stroking the side of Grace's face. She squirmed, rolling onto her stomach, in hopes of scaring him away.
But as Grace's luck would have it, she did the oposit. A sharp intake of breath could be heard from the man next to Grace's bed. She heard him step closer, and then, the most horrific sound graced her ears.
A zipper being pulled down.
The moment that sound hit her ears, Grace lept to life, springing back into the corner of her bed, a loud scream echoing from her lungs. She wasn't sure what she was screaming for. It's not like anyone could save her, or would for that matter.
Brandon lept towards Grace, covering her mouth with his large rough hand. "Shaddup!" He whispered fiercely. "The boss might hear you!" He said, stupidly removing his hand from Grace's mouth. She blinked at him. Now, as much as she didn't want to see the Joker, she'd rather that, than be raped.
The very thought made her skin crawl, and panic shoot up her spine. She realized at that moment she'd rather be killed by the Joker than have such a horror done to her.
Again, the man moved forward. Grace immediately screamed again. "Stop it!" Brandon's fist came into contact with Grace's cheek. She hissed, falling onto the side. Hands with no regard for what they were doing, roughly enclosed around Grace's ankles, pulling her to the edge of the bed.
Black clouded the edges of Gracie's vision. A wave of nausea washed over her. She opened her mouth to scream, but another sensation cut her cry off, never to be heard. It wasn't a blow to the face, as she had expected. It was the beautiful feeling of a breeze rushing over her right side. Gracie's head had just turned in that direction when a loud cracking sound struck the air like lightning.
At first Gracie didn't know what had happened, or what caused the noise. But then Brandon fell back into a heap onto the floor, and the whole scenario became clear.
The Joker stood in the door way, a large sleek metal handgun in hand. He was laughing a wicked laugh. Gracie was more terrified than she had been a moment before. She backed herself against the wall, blankets balled up in her tight fists.
"Good evening." The Joker said, almost mockingly, smiling to Gracie. She squealed, pressing herself farther against the wall.
"Oh what a shame, looks like we're going to have to move you now." The Joker said, nudging the dead man on the floor with his boot.
Gracie had just managed to gather her thoughts when two strong arms were pulling her from the bed. She fought very little, too numb with what had just happened to think properly.
She was shoved into a bathroom. It was dirty, but function able. "Knock on the door when yer done." Mike said gruffly before shutting the door behind him, leaving Gracie alone in the bathroom.
She relieved her full bladder, washed her face and scrubbed at her teeth with a finger, as she had no tooth brush. Her hair had been kept in a high pony tail, to keep it from tangling as little as possible.
Reluctantly Gracie undressed, shedding her clothing in a pile on the floor. She pulled the curtain back and stepped inside the shower. Letting the water run at a decently warm temperature, she turned her back to the facet and let the shower head rain on her.
She felt the water pour down her back, warm and soothing. It soaked her hair, running like a river down the curve of her breasts. Grace exhaled deeply, careening her head back to let the water run down her face and neck. It had been so long since she was able to take her time in the shower. The ones in Juvi could be no longer than five minutes. This was the first time in a very long time Grace was able to indulge herself. And of all places, she thought. Held captive in the Joker's clutches.
Her closed eyelids trembled, brow furrowing as a scene from a memory flashed before her.
It wasn't as if I was used to being handled delicately. Hell, for the most part I was a whore, and whores are never treated with much respect.
But for some reason, when I was grabbed by my upper arm and yanked from my cell; I wanted nothing more than to reel back and land a punch across the woman guard's pinched face.
The first night there offered me no sleep. I lay awake on my cement bed, staring at the ceiling. The light that hung above flickered occasionally. My stomach groaned from hunger, but that was nothing new. I wasn't entirely mad. Mostly annoyed and offended. I tried to comfort myself with better thoughts, remember better times; but I had no such comforts to recall. So I was left with no comfort, just the steady flickering of the light above.
For breakfast we were given cereal in pre-sealed containers. I had about four of them. That was the only time I eat, as lunch and dinner seemed in-edible to say the least.
Violet eyes drank in the scenes before me. There were at least twelve other girls in the gigantic room with me. Some lounged on plastic couches, others sat reading a book. A few even dared to carry on a conversation. Most of them wore red jump suits, instead of the gray attire I, and just a few others wore. There was no laughter in this place. The air was tense, backs were either rigid with fear, or slumped with pain.
On Sundays we were allowed to do our nails and our hair, which, I thought was odd, sense we weren't even allowed to wear so much as a hair tie.
They prayed a lot there too. I occasionally participated. But the whole God thing wasn't my cup of tea. It would be funny, I thought, if the father I didn't remember was a priest. Were they even allowed to get married and have children?
There were some girls as young as fourteen there. There was no hope in their faces, in anyone's faces really. No spirit. That was until, on my third day in GCJDF, Red appeared.
She had short boyish blond hair, and fierce blue eyes. A little thing, but with tons of gusto. They hauled her into the common room, as they called it, one afternoon right after breakfast.
It took three female guards to take her in. Once inside the common room, they turned heel and left. She was someone else's problem now. The little blonde did a prompt about face, and yelled to the guard's backs "Fuck you too buddy!"
Everyone had stopped what they were doing to watch Red's entrance. I had seen one other girl be brought in the day before, and all she did was stumble to an empty couch and stare at a spot on the wall.
"Hey, Spitfire, get to your seat. Now." The Guard behind the 'desk' said to Red. "Huh?" She turned to the Guard, smiled, saluted and said "Aye aye captain!". I groaned inwardly as she found the breakfast table where I was sitting at, and took a seat right across from me.
"SO, whatcha' in for?" She said, grinning.
The water stopped, Grace stepped out. There was no towl, so she was forced to do her best with ringing her hair out, putting it up, and pulling on an outfit that had appeared on the sink.
At this point, this didn't scare nor worry her.
She had seen so much, all she wanted to do was sleep. And eat.
The Joker was leaning against the wall across from the bathroom door. He was the first thing she saw when she opened the door. "I thought you were toled to knock." The Joker said mockingly. Grace raised an upper lip in disgust.
"Not in the mood to talk? I see. Follow me then." He said, taking her to the right. Grace was confused. She was being taken back to her room. She was sure they had said something about 'moving her'.
They passed her room. Grace winced, releasing an involuntary groan as she saw the blood soaked carpet where Brandon had been shot.
The elegant clown laughed and chided, "Don't be frightened my dear. It's just blood." He said, promptly followed by a wicked laugh.
"Oh, and." He abruptly stopped, turning to Grace. "I apologize for this my dear." Gracie's eyes widened in confusion. But before she had the chance to say anything, a hand covered her mouth from behind, and in mere seconds, she fell forward onto the floor.
Grace awoke in a new room. A ringing sounded in her ears. She clutched at her aching head, groaning in pain. A wave of nausea washed over her, but she pushed it aside. She sat there a minute, on a bed, afraid to move incase the headache returned. Instead, she looked around.
She was in a small rectangle room, colored a faded beige. A ceiling fan whirled above her. There was no closet like the other room, instead there was a large wooden dresser, table, and two chairs. At the table was a bag. Grace had a feeling it was for her. She stood slowly, cautiously walking to the table.
In the bag was food. Grace gulped. Should she eat it? What if it was poisoned? She considered this. Well, she thought. If the Joker wanted to kill her, she was sure he'd find a more 'hands on' way to do it. So, taking a seat at a chair, she pulled the food from the bag and began to eat.
The man in the white mask sat before his dressing table. Smoke rose from the cigar wedged between his red lips. His mask of paint helped him forget the madness that was himself. Presently he needed more to calm his mind.
It was Monte Cristo, a heavy sort of cigar. Amateurs would quickly become giddy with it. But it barely buzzed the scarred clown. He narrowed his eyes as he took a drag, enjoying its cloying aroma.
He thought through the smell of it, why wouldn't the damn girl tell him where it was? Was this all some game to her? His upper lip curled at the thought. The Joker wasn't in the mood for games.
He liked how his name contradicted his nature with things. He was not a patient person at all. He wondered for a moment...
What IF she REALLY couldn't remember...? Maybe she needed a jolt to the memory? Something familiar to help her remember.
Perhaps his desert eagle (a gun) pointed to her head would help her remember..?
The Joker considered this as he stared off into space. He had to think of a way, and quickly, he didn't have much time.
His eyes strayed to his revolver lying on the table. Standing, the cigar fell to the floor. He picked up the revolver and headed out the front door.
Violet eyes took on a distant look as Gracie sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. She fell back, laying down with her eyes closed. She didn't know what to make of the Joker. Was he terrorizing her or helping her? Grace wasn't sure. But it was becoming increasingly harder to think, as the pull of sleep began dragging her under.