AN: Thanks guys – glad you're still out there, in spite of my slow updating! I've never heard of Emilie Autumn, but I'll look her up now. So, this is the penultimate chapter: this is where the twist happens. I hope you all like it – enjoy!

12: Now.

I don't know exactly when it all started to go wrong. It was after I overheard Bruce and Lucius in the park, but before I made it to the riverbank that led to our underground hideaway. It was still dark. By this time, if The Joker's calculations were correct (and they nearly always were), The Bat would have surmised the location of the second subway stakeout whose existence they'd not known of before. Harvey and the Scarecrow would have been removed to Arkham again, along with roughly a half-dozen patients that The Joker had broken out along with me, but not the ones who had been set loose elsewhere in Gotham. The Joker's calculations were correct, but mine were not. I did not realize just how badly I'd been mistaken until it was too late.

Suddenly I heard a high-pitched, maniacal cackling – I sound I knew all too well – followed by a gunshot, and then silence. I held my breath and searched the rooftops, peering towards the sound of the gunshot. A slender silhouette, shrouded and indistinct in the darkness, bowed and crumpled against a slate roof four buildings away from where I stood. And at that moment, I realized what I'd just witnessed: the laughter, the gunshot, and then the silence. I could not hear him. "No," I said. I began to run.

Getting inside the building was easy. That struck me as odd, but I did not think of that. I didn't have time to. I tried the elevator, but it was jammed, so I ran up twenty-seven flights of stairs to the roof. There was nothing. I went back inside, searching, listening, worrying myself into a panic when I still could not hear the busy clockwork of his mind.

And then, I heard static. A small, bare room with a small black and white television. The door swung shut behind me and a heavy bolt clunked into place to lock it. A picture buzzed into focus on the screen. It was the subway, the one that Bruce and Lucius had found that very day. And in the very center of the camera, from an angled bird's eye view, were The Bat and The Joker. The battle was at an impasse; The Joker sprawled on the floor, grinning like Lear's Fool, an implacable, omniscient harlequin. The Bat stood over him, poised to strike another blow, but he hesitated, intent on hearing The Joker's next words.

"So you've met my little lady, have you?" The Joker asked, his voice rough and strained with pain.

"You had no right to involve her in this," said The Bat.

"I didn't," said The Joker. "She involved herself." He grunted and hoisted himself to a kneeling position. "She's a real beauty, isn't she? But she's not quite right in the head, y'know?" He spiraled a finger near his temple, to demonstrate. "She hears voices." Then he burst into laughter.

The Bat seized The Joker by the front of his vest and hauled him to his feet. "There's just one thing I want to know, honestly," said The Bat. "Do you love her?"

"Well that depends."

"On what?"

"Did you love Rachel?"

The Bat swung and hit The Joker squarely in the jaw, knocking him back to the ground and inducing a fresh stream of hideous giggles.

"I'm giving you the opportunity of a lifetime here!" said The Joker. "An eye for an eye. My sweetheart for yours. It was Harvey's idea. I stole it for the style points."

"Where is she?!"

"Oh, I can't tell you that – it'd spoil the surprise! I know Rachel's still a sore spot with you. Aren't you just a little tempted?"

"I don't believe you – you're not actually going to let her die so that you can—"

"That's up to you, old friend. You have twenty minutes."

That was when I noticed the clock duct-taped on top of the television. It read 19:59:37, counting steadily downward. The video feed was live. That was why I couldn't hear him. He was alive. He just wasn't here. Which also meant that I could not tell which of the words he spoke were lies. All my breath left me as the revelation struck home, and I fell to my knees. He hadn't forgotten that security camera. He'd left it there intentionally. For me.

The video cut away abruptly and a different picture appeared on the screen: The Joker, sitting calmly in front of the camera, at the hotel room we'd been sharing since my departure from Arkham. "Hello, little lady," he said. "If you're watching this, that means you heroically tried to come to my rescue. Hooray!" He clapped and hollered. "Thanks a million, sweetness, but I don't think it'll do you any good. See, here's the thing: I've been too dependent on you lately. Putting too much faith in one person is always a mistake, and I don't do that. You're great in a pinch, but that's just the problem. The Scarecrow was right. I have been letting you do all the work. It's not fair to the other cronies who want in on my little mind games. And mind games don't really work on you, do they?" He chuckled and folded his hands together. "Now, before you're blown into your next life, I want you to understand something: I meant every word. I'm a liar – I lie to everyone. But not to you. You know why? Because it's impossible for one thing, but mostly because you've never lied to me. Not once. I can tell the difference, too, sweetheart."

I glanced up at the clock: 16:28:42.

"If the Batman finds you before you blow up," he continued, "or if, by some miracle, you manage to escape on your own, don't come looking for me. I know this isn't exactly what you wanted when you told me you wanted my face to be the last thing you saw, but since you only told me half the truth about the Batman, I figured I could get away with only keeping half my promise. I'm sure you want to give me a piece of your mind right now, and I don't blame you, but that's not going to happen. I'm just going to sit tight and pretend that you don't exist. It'll be easy after a few weeks – maybe even days. And when I've forgotten all about you, maybe I'll start to feel like myself again. And I will forget about you, eventually. I'm good at lying to myself too."

Then his eyes went cold. "You may think you know the truth about my scars, but you don't. No one does, little lady, not even me. Sometimes I remember it one way, sometimes I remember something else, and sometimes I don't remember anything at all. So whatever you saw in my head has at least a ninety-eight percent chance of being wrong." He sighed dramatically. "Parting is such sweet sorrow that I should say goodnight until this tape runs out!" He giggled to himself. "I'm a little disappointed in you, to be honest. You of all people should have seen this coming." He blew the camera a kiss and wiggled his purple fingers in farewell. Then it was over.