Update (2013): As mentioned in my previous chapters, I have edited this story for the benefit of future chapters I produce. Enjoy!
The following day, I had every intention of presenting my future plans for the Joker's case file, which included holding a conference with Commissioner Gordon and my temporary boss, Scott Genton (not quite DA material, but authoritative enough to give orders). The resentment I'd been harboring over Genton throwing the case file at me in the first place had eased considerably, now that my mind was focused on a goal and the objectives applicable to capturing this mass murderer. Jared insisted on being present alongside four distinguished investigators, as well as some of Gordon's most trusted men and women on his force. After the tragedies of Rachel Dawes and Harvey Dent being caused partially by corrupted members of the police force, Gordon had taken serious action in whom he hires. The amount of time and care was costly for the new Commissioner, but it was well worth the effort when the rate of crime decreased in the half year he sorted out GCPD priorities. Before I arrived at the station, everyone was informed of my possession of his file and the general key points I planned to address.
I dressed more formal today than usual to reflect my professionalism and seriousness on the matter at hand, and in a lingering sense of hope that I would be able to persuade them I knew exactly what I was doing. Throughout my years of college and during my experience in this profession, I had become an expert on the criminal psyche. Psychology could have easily been another job option, if my interest in criminal justice hadn't taken root at such an early stage of my life. If they trusted me enough to hand over the Joker's files, then they should believe my plan has the potential for success.
When I walked into the room, the sound of my heels clicking in the hallway signaling my approach, any trace of heated discussion or chatter fell into silence. I clutched the Joker's burdening files at my side, surveying each person in the room with my eyes. Gordon and Genton rose to shake my hand, though everyone else remained rooted in their seats, patiently waiting for me to settle papers and documents on the table.
This should work, I assured myself. Be as persuasive as possible.
"Good afternoon." I glanced at everyone present for the meeting and released the best smile I could muster on the day I would announce my plans to catch the Joker—one of the most dangerous arrangements I've concocted to date. "You're all wondering why you're here today, and I'm sure the Commissioner has briefed you on a summary of my intentions regarding a recent case brought to me. I was handed the files of the Joker early this morning, as I'm positive each and every one of you know." They mumbled in agreement. I placed his folder on the table, turning to the spacious yellow and blue markings on the pages. "All of you are here, most importantly, because I trust you. Secondly," I glanced down at the side-notes scribbled into the manila, "I have a plan."
A knowing smile pulled at the corners of my lips. Devious, but subtle enough to gain the attention I required.
"You say the Joker can't be caught. Not by us. That he's hard to find until he makes his appearance for the disturbing shows he puts on to get our attention. In this case, searching for him with our officer and investigator identities will prove to be unproductive and pointless."
Jared stood from his seat, as if suddenly stung by a bee or on cue at my statement. "You can't be serious, Violet!" As one of my closest coworkers and a dear friend, he would know out of anyone in this room what anticipated doing.
I shot him a look that made him fall into silence and shuffled through my papers some more to gather the remainder of my thoughts.
"Oh, I am serious." Anyone in the room could see my sincerity, the way I imagined my eyes sparkling when I thought about the case even more. "This is why I broke down the details. We are Gotham's protectors. Our faces can usually be seen on the eight o'clock news each night. We'll be recognized before we had the chance to attack." Jared's expression crossed between shock and horror, his hands clenching the ends of his pen to keep himself from speaking out of turn a second time. I drew in a deep breath and stared at the tips of my pointed heels, bracing myself for the reactions I would get with my following proposition. "I've decided to step ahead and attack full front, in a way. You are my backup in case I fail. If I heavily disguise myself, I won't be seen. I'd like to conclude with a basic question. What better way to capture the Joker than by joining his ranks? Double-agent work. Something we haven't done in a long time."
"Miss Whitman." Ariel Baelon, one of my colleagues, rose from her seat. The redhead looked snide in the way she held herself in front of me, nude lips twisting into a triumphant smirk when she watched me raise my brows. "Wouldn't this be breaking the oath we took when we accepted these jobs? Our morals?"
I withdrew a paper from the pile I had organized during her brief speech, eyes raking over the marginal notes concerning morality at the bottom of the page.
"Allow me to finish, Detective Baelon. I will complement every way I look right now. Black will go blonde, blue will go brown. It's amazing the way a face can change when we make alterations to the hair and eyes. We can put me in the system and generate a new identity, name and everything." My hands folded behind my back, confident, poised. "Finding him can be simple when the law isn't at your back. I will visit one of the clown's workers we locked up. When I question him, I will adopt the persona of the criminal identity I create. I'll be on my guard, asking for a few of the buildings he last made deals with his boss in. His mind will grow suspicious, paranoid." I paused and looked around, careful to not get too eager about the idea of it. Not one word was spoken by anyone. They were listening, not disagreeing. I was satisfied.
"Some convincing on my behalf will turn him around. I'll write the addresses down. When I find him," the smug expression returned, "there may be some form of an initiation. My training will take root here. I'll join his crew and spend most of my time finding ways to be alone with him. And then we've got him." A few police officers nodded encouragingly in my direction and turned to talk among themselves. Gordon observed my enthusiastic expression, the lines around his mouth sloping down when my smile grew wider. I felt accomplished after all those hours poring over files.
"You understand this is easier said than done, Violet?" Gordon murmured when he was in the vicinity of no one nearby hearing our conversation.
"Yes, sir, I understand." The tone in my voice rang out firm and true.
"Do you understand the danger you are placing yourself in? Going alone and working alone under the eyes of the Joker?" He stared at me hard. "This man is sick, Violet. He takes pride in getting under people's skin, no matter how much they guard themselves. I want you to be careful." His hand went to my shoulder and squeezed it, the worry in his eyes so evident now that I had to swallow down my nervousness.
"I understand, Jim. What's in my past will stay there, and I can handle myself." It took great restraint to force back what I remember of my childhood, and my hand went to my neck by instinct again. The hardships of life are what makes us stronger, a saying my mother used to tell me, flashed through my thoughts. My fingers ran the course of my scar again and dropped to my side. Gordon shook his head in recognition, attempting a smile.
"I trust you. Send the transcripts for your identification by four o'clock this afternoon. You start tomorrow." Gordon patted me on the back lightly and turned to address the witnesses of the room, notifying them of my consent to take on this responsibility. The conference room cleared. I politely thanked him a second time when I noted that my other clients needed me, and left.
"Violet!" Jared loudly called, running down the corridor leading to the court room to catch me before I entered my third court hearing this afternoon. My feet lurched to a halt the second I was about to walk in, waiting for him. I knew he worried that I might be spending a majority of my days working with the Joker, and I didn't blame him. Jared was aware of my flaws when it came to my interest in criminal psychology, my fascination with the minds of nationwide murderers. He knew I was cutting it close, but frankly his lack of faith in my ability was beyond frustrating.
"Yeah?" I put a hand on my hip and gestured with a set of files in my other hand to the court room. "Can't you see I'm a little busy?"
"Don't go through with this. You're going to get yourself killed," he whispered harshly.
I laughed quietly to myself and averted my eyes to the floor, bringing them back up to his ill-fated face. "You need to lighten up a little, Jared. I have scars of my own to bear if I need a rebuttal to convince this clown." I tilted my head up and pushed down the scarf wrapped around my neck. He gave me no more than a grimace when I brushed against the horrendously scarred tissue tracing down my neck and across my collarbone.
My hand went to his arm to comfort him. I gave him a tender smile. "I'm a little crazier than you think. I'll fit in perfectly, and he won't suspect a thing. Just relax. Call you later?"
Jared knew he wasn't winning this argument. He broke my gaze and sighed, shaking his head to at least let me know he's acknowledging my wishes. I patted his arm in the same self-assured way Gordon did with me and watched him walk away as I inched backwards into the courtroom.
Before he was far enough away to prevent me from hearing him slinging comments under his breath, I heard him faintly mutter, "That's what I'm worried about."
I pretended I didn't hear a word.
Later that evening after I had been dismissed early from work, I went out to run errands and bought the required necessities that would help put my plans into action. I'd be taking on a different persona tomorrow and with it a new appearance entirely. My ID form was filled out and resting on my bathroom counter for submission, which I'd have to fax to Gordon or Genton in the next hour or two. A disarray of products, clothing and accessories littered my bed, and for a while I simply stared at the mess, so overwrought with anticipation that I didn't know where to begin.
The double-agent name I took as my own would soon be Lacey Fowlson—a tough and shrewd criminal who was raised in the Narrows with an abusive upbringing. Lacey had escaped her violent household in her late teens to flee the horror of her father's cruelty and her mother's passivity. The maltreatment had become intolerable to the point where Lacey's resolve provoked an onset of retaliation, including the murdering of her father by her own hand. With enough funds to foster a living on her own, she turned to crime to sustain her place in society.
Lacey was meant to be a dark, disturbed and dangerously intelligent character. There was some semblance of me, a part of me I had shut away and forgotten a long time ago, that resembled this persona. I didn't remember the better part of my childhood, and by the time I had reached legal age, my parents were already a distance influence in my life. Forging a life out of the scraps I was left with had been done out of my own driving volition to succeed. Lacey, in due part, represented the path I could have selected if my post-secondary education hadn't steered me from Gotham's typical career of crime. Her anger would become my anger, her hate my hate.
I could only hope for the chance I would make it out of this death trap alive.
When I resigned to organizing my purchases in a neat line on my bed, I thought it would be nice to start with the hair. The salon would be weaving in blonde strands by tomorrow, because it was near impossible to bring my hair to a full blonde without enduring the damage bleaching would do. As for now, I would color my hair to a faint chestnut shade, as light as I could go, and insert the brown contact lenses designed to be fully functional for sleep and day wear. I was no colorist by trade, and it was easy to say I left my bathroom a mess when I managed to rinse my hair free of residue and blow dried it into its natural wave. The contacts were finally in after I mopped up the disaster on the counter, and I blinked a couple of times to let them adjust to the surface of my eyes.
Dark pools of brown stared back at me in the mirror.
I didn't look like myself at all. The transformation was remarkable, and the hair color and eyes did change my face. Though it would be blonder come tomorrow morning, my hair looked tousled, wild. The blue eyes I had become so accustomed to seeing were replaced by pits of darkness, feral and threatening in contrast to the pale shade of my hair.
This was the face of a criminal. This was Lacey. The face the Joker might be intrigued by and grow to appreciate as a welcome addition to his chaotic followers—the one that's going to betray him. This time, he will be the one that's fooled.
Lacey's eyes narrowed in the mirror, a tug at the corner of her mouth lifting into a shameless grin.
"It's show time."