Hey guys! I'm back with another chapter! I just can't figure out how to best finish all of the writing projects I've got going. I keep trying to just plow through one of them at a time, and yet I keep getting distracted with a different one before I'm done. Oh well. I know this one is one of my more popular stories, so I guess I don't mind taking a break from my other projects to update this one. I'm getting further and further away from my plans as the plot progresses, so the next few chapters may take a little while longer with how I need to think of things to happen next. Oh well. Come what may! :)

Thanks again! Please read and review! Reviews = love. :3

Disclaimer: I don't own the Joker. He belongs to DC comics and Christopher Nolan. My OC and my dwindling rabble of victims are mine to command.

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Tropical Torment Chapter 5

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Flight then Fight

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The leaves whipped against my face like emerald knives as I ran. I couldn't tell if I was actually getting cut and bleeding because of my contact with them, but they sliced across my overly-sensitive skin with enough poignancy to make it not matter to me either way. My feet pounded in an uneven, jerking rhythm across the sandy ground, the occasional fallen stick or sharp stone stabbing into my toes and doing nothing to slow me down. My breath seemed to rake my tongue as it scraped in and out of my mouth, my body so exhausted and yet so determined to keep going until I couldn't go anymore.

The forest stretched around me in all directions. I could've seen blips of sea and sky if I'd cared to look through the dense tree boughs and trunks. I could've recalled that there was so much more world out there than this little, unknown island. But nothing like that mattered right now. I didn't have a destination. I didn't have a goal. I was a shattered human being, and I was just trying to run away from myself even though I was nothing more than a pile of shattered morals and broken endeavors.

My face was hot with the liquid fire that was the burning trails of my tears. The air was cool but still suffocating as I ran, the breeze seeming to stick to my sweat-slick skin and slow me down, as if I were trying to barrel through a field of thick, sucking slime. I felt like I was choking, even though I knew I was breathing with a laborious but worthwhile effort. I shook my head to get my tangled, salty hair out of my eyes, finding the visual impairment no longer tolerable. The movement was more disorientating than I'd planned with my speed and lack of stability, and I was forced to finally slow down and stumble to a stop against a rough, crooked palm tree so that I didn't topple messily to the ground. My hands stung against the jagged bark, revealing that I'd probably cut them or had at least irritated the cuts and bruises I'd already received when escaping the shipwreck itself.

I gasped heavily for air, still trying to control myself. I leaned against the tree and closed my eyes for an instant, immediately regretting that choice. The face of the man I'd killed flashed vividly in the darkness behind my eyelids, a shocking punch to my battered awareness and an agonizing reminder of why I was running in the first place. I'd killed a man. I'd killed him. And then I'd left all of the remaining passengers of the late Ocean Angel 5 at the mercy of the mass-murdering psychopath also known as the Joker. A sob ripped from my chest as it all buzzed in my mind and wrapped around my heart and settled in my limbs and dragged me down to the cool sand below.

I collapsed against the tree, feeling its dry bark scrape against my clammy flesh. I curled my legs up to my chest and wrapped my arms around myself, a pile of broken glass trying to piece itself back together. I ached and stung all over, as if my physical and mental injuries were seeing how much they could hurt me just for the hell of it. I could almost hear their heckling calls and riotous bets, almost hear their fateful dice rolling, almost see the flashing lights and the glittering coins from Hell's Casino… I brushed my long, tangled hair out of my face again as it was pasted to my sweltering, salt-crushed skin. I'd never felt so horrible in my life. Nothing I'd done, no sin I'd committed compared to the regret, remorse, and utter self-loathing that I felt at that moment.

That time I'd lost my parents' checkbook didn't seem so bad now. The instance where I'd left my dog outside on accident and he'd been hit by a car wasn't as unbearable as it had been before. The memory of when I'd made my baby cousin cry because he'd innocently pulled my hair too hard wasn't as heavy on my mind. The friends I'd stabbed in the back, the people I'd let get the door for themselves or carry their own shopping bags, the grandparents I hadn't visited enough, the classmates I'd made fun of, the messes I'd made and failed to clean up, and every other recollection of my letdowns and disappointments now seemed to pale in comparison to the obliterated state I found myself in now.

I couldn't seem to square my shoulders and lift my head. It was as if the palm tree was curling down over me, pressing me into the sand, into the crumpled position that I deserved to be in for my transgressions. I didn't fight the weight, but instead let it crush me. And I cried. My tears wetted my arms and stung in my cuts.

Though I hadn't been a killer for more than twenty-four hours, it felt as if my family and friends and home had been gone for years. Everything that I'd known seemed so very far away. I tried to return to it in my mind, tried to pull my life of normalcy and pleasant ambition back into any sort of remote reality…

I missed my mom and my dad. They might've been worried by now – might've received the news that the boat had gone off track and communications had been lost. We'd traveled far after the Joker had taken control – or who knows how long he'd had the radio disabled as he steered us off course? There was a chance that someone knew where we'd been roughly before the boat sank, but it was a slim chance. For all I knew, perhaps no one even knew we'd been ship-wrecked. Perhaps no one even knew where we were, or where to find us. I could never get home again.

The thought only made my tears flow with renewed sorrow and agony at the thought of what I'd lost being even closer to unobtainable. Perhaps my parents had no idea I, a lost and crying murderer, was here on a deserted island, slumped in the sand and longing for home. I guessed that mom would be arriving back from work soon. She was employed at various schools as a special-education teacher, and she got out around when the kids did. I sometimes got to see her in the halls, though I hadn't always waved. I now wished that I had more than ever. Granted, I hadn't left her on terrible terms, like right after a big fight that I'd never apologized for, but still… I wished I'd hugged her longer at the airport. I wished I'd never left her at all.

Dad wouldn't be home for quite a few hours, if I was remembering correctly. He worked at a power plant, supplying the city with energy by working hard with machinery and electricity. I'd always been proud to have a dad that put so much effort into his career to provide for Gotham as well as for his family. I sniffed, remembering his worm but welcoming face and wishing that I could reach out and hug him now, feel safe in his arms like I did when I caught him late at night just before I went to sleep, after a short talk about our days and murmured I love you's.

My vision blurred with fresh new tears, my horrible reality becoming more and more unbearable as my thoughts continued. What had I done to deserve this? Did God just decide to screw up my entire freaking life today? I was a good person! Sure, I had my faults and my failures, but who didn't? I was only human, and now I couldn't even be sure of that.

I'd never felt so weak and helpless. I'd never felt so much like a scared, dumb animal, just waiting for my pursuer to track me down and finish its hungry work. I hated it. I hated the feelings inside of me and I hated the situations that had caused them to emerge into repulsive being. I hated all of it, and felt doing something hateful... No, that wasn't true. Not entirely… More pain and suffering wouldn't improve the situation. I hadn't even known my senseless bursts against the Joker had even been possible, but it seemed they'd deserted me now. I tried to be angry and vengeful, tried to motivate myself to move with new, furious strength once again, but it wasn't working. There wasn't much strength left within me.

I was so sorry. I was so regretful and remorseful for all that I'd done. I saw the blood on the beach, heard the cries of the crowd as the Joker searched for his next victim, watched myself allow people to die before growing a spine only to have it be smashed a few minutes later as I pulled the trigger. Oh God, I'm so sorry… I'm sorry for everything… I drew further into myself and made a list in my frazzled mind of everything I'd done wrong that I could remember – the small and the large, the miniscule and the dire, matters of slightly inconveniencing life and of causing absolute death… I wanted to remind myself, to compare it all, and just have it all in my head in case I died here…or something…

My mind was switching topics and perceptions with every tear that slipped from my eyes. My emotions were in turmoil. The fringes of my broken pieces were glimmering as they reflected all different colors of light, creating rainbow displays beneath the swaying tree branches, chaotic and random as I ran around inside myself, stumbling blindly, reaching desperately, screaming with all I had left… I squeezed my eyes shut, trying so hard to just focus on the black – the darkness inside of me – and not think of the man I'd killed or the creature that had made me kill him…

I failed. I saw him, lying silent and still with the woman he loved. I saw the Joker. I saw his smile, the malicious grin of utmost, demonic approval that had been the final blow. It made me slam my fists into the sand with desperation, anger, pain, and sorrow. A drowning sob pulled free from my constricted chest, an air of hysteria bubbling out of me and making my foot twitch.

Oh, damn him! I shoved myself straight back against the tree, arching my body and making my head hurt as I jarred it against the rough bark. I winced, mentally scolding myself for my stupidity and recklessness. I remained upright, leaning back against the curling example of tropical fauna behind me, my face still tilted back, my body slackening slightly as I recovered from my moment of rigid rage… I felt the sunlight on my face, felt the small pools of golden light stream through the thick canopies above and dapple the cool ground all around me. It was almost…nice.

How could there be such peace in the world in the middle of all of this hell? How could the sun shine on me now, so softly, after it had almost made me burst into flames earlier? I squinted up at the sky, practically pissed that the air of the entire island seemed to have changed after it had destroyed me. What, was it happy now? Had it gotten what it had wanted? How could the trees shade me so kindly, the sand cool and almost comfortable beneath my aching form? How could all of this…compassion be here now? Where had it been when I'd needed it before?

I angrily blinked a couple of grains of salt out of my eyelashes. The skin of my face and neck kept burning subtly as the trails of my tears dried in the tropical breeze. Yes, they'd fallen, but they were drying now… The thought had strange worth to me, as if my frazzled consciousness were attempting to turn it into superglue for the specific purpose of collecting my scattered shards and sticking them back together.

What, was there something I could only do now that I was broken? Was there a point to all of this? Was this God's way of saying I know it hurts, but I'm still here. Get up. Keep going..? Was there something that I had to kill someone to see? I frowned. The back of my head began to sting, escalating with sickeningly-steady speed, and I realized that I'd cut my scalp against the rough tree bark when I'd slammed my head backward earlier. I winced and leaned forward, feeling blood begin to wet my hair. That movement also resulted in the many other slices and bruises all over my body screaming in agonizing protest. Tears welled from my eyes, the pain making my breath hitch in my raw, salty throat.

No, that was ridiculous. How the hell could killing someone at the prodding of a mass murderer be beneficial for anyone? There was no way that this was fated or whatever. There was no way that all of this torture could be better for me or for any of the people I'd left behind, in Gotham or on the beach or anywhere… I waited for my injuries to cease to flare like hell's fires, and then I slowly, cautiously leaned partially back against the tree, careful not to nudge my sliced head.

What would my parents say if they could see me now? …The thought seemed to sneak into my head without my permission, as if a part of me thought itself beyond repair and didn't even want to consider any motivation to attempt reconstruction. They hadn't raised me this way. Granted, they hadn't raised me to be a killer, but… did the fact that I was torn to shreds over this matter at all? I was their daughter. I'd been through things…nothing of this magnitude, but still… I was totally struck down – no sense in denying that at all – but was I really as destroyed as I'd thought previously? I'd fallen over an edge that I'd never expected myself to plummet over, and yet, was I utterly incapable of climbing back up, even a little bit? There were pieces of me left – a little bit of me still remained…right?

I wiped my eyes on the back of my bloody sleeve, feeling the grains of sun-dried salt scrape against my receptive skin.

For a moment, I thought of nothing.

And then I thought of everything.

I wouldn't make it home by crawling away and crying.

Whether my parents were waiting for me or not, I wanted to do all in my power to get back to them.

I had no idea how to survive on a deserted island, but I wouldn't learn if I gave up now.

I didn't want to be a pathetic pawn in a sick and twisted game.

The game wasn't over yet. The Joker had seemed to know that I would fire that gun. I was still his pawn. He didn't seem surprised when I ran away. He probably expected that as well. But would he be expecting to see me again after that?

I had left all of those people alone. Maybe some had been inspired to stand up for themselves a little bit…although that might've crumbled when I'd killed someone…Even so, there was a chance that some of them were still alive and that, maybe, I could save them or die trying.

Yeah, I hadn't exactly proven my worth as a role-model, hero, or savior today, especially since I'd done the whole "I can do this – I can't do this – I can do this – I can't do this" thing way too many times already, but… I was at "I can't do this" right now. I supposed that it was worth trying to get to another "I can do this" before breaking again.

Would a shattered pile of glass think that way…? I wanted to say no immediately, pick myself right back up all of a sudden and save the day, but I couldn't help it. I couldn't convince myself that I was still whole, strong enough to deal with any of this. Obviously, I wasn't dead yet, but part of me thought I might as well have been for how much of a difference I'd made today in the lives of the innocent…

I hadn't gotten up this morning and thought, Hey, I'll get on the same boat as the Joker. I'll stand up to him and then be turned into his horrific example. I'll kill someone and run away like a totally pathetic coward. Yeah, that's what I'll do…

I couldn't help it. My faith in myself was shaken. I'd never swayed so far back and forth between what I believed to be right and wrong. I'd never made so many unconscious and poorly-thought-out choices in one day before. I'd never killed a man.

But there is a first for everything, right? I thought bitterly, sniffing the briny mucus further back into my nose so it didn't dribble onto my already-tainted clothing. Like it mattered…

No matter how the hell I looked at it, I had a choice to make right at this moment:

Stay here and rot, or go back and go out with a bang in some way, shape, or form.

I swallowed, weighing my options as I sat upon the sand, but then a sound reached me that was just the sudden catalyst I'd needed to drown all doubts (and rational thinking) out. It slapped me upside the head, in a manner of speaking, and also slapped me to my feet. I lurched forward, the loud crack of a gunshot echoing with rather painful familiarity within the pounding confines of my head. I pushed up off of the sand, staggering to my feet, and looking in the general direction that the sound had come from – to my right, and a ways away.

That proved I could hear it, which meant that it hadn't been fired until just now since I'd left unless I'd really been unresponsive in the sensory department a few minutes ago. So that meant that there'd been a reason to fire the gun. I'd left more than one person behind, so, unless they'd all strangled each other or something much quieter, that meant that there was a possibility that there was still someone left on the beach for me to save. I estimated around five victims left, if gunshot had been the only recent cause of death. I wasn't certain, but I was sure that I didn't want to sit here and cry any longer. I had a life to get back to, or at least a life to live for as long as I had left. And I possibly had a life to save.

That was enough motivation for me. I wouldn't let the Joker win this fight… at least, not willingly. I'd gotten back up after he'd turned me into a killer like himself. My life had been changed. Surely that counted for something in the cluster of my experiences to aid my survival and help me stand up to him? I knew killing was wrong, and I still believed it was even after I'd done it. My red flags of morality were a driving weapon that he would never have.

I had people to save, or I would die trying. A second gun-shot set me in motion. I launched myself into the forest, trying to see the roughly weaving path back to the beach that I'd created while traveling to the clearing I was now leaving behind. My feet pounded against the sandy earth, kicking up pale plumes of dirt behind me with each elongated step. My lungs burned, but I kept on running. My tear trails dried even further, fading into the background of my mind. All I cared about was reaching the beach in time.

My breath raked in and out of my weary lungs, but still I pushed myself. I owed the people on the beach that much – the best I had. I wasn't sure where such reasoning had come from. I didn't know any of them, and I hadn't made them any promises. I just felt like I'd been something to them, and then I'd failed them, and now was my chance to redeem myself, if only an infinitesimal amount. I knew that one life wasn't equal to another. I knew that, if I even managed to save anyone upon getting back to the beach and standing up to the Joker or something of the sort once again, that wouldn't change what I did… but… I had to try. I just had to try.

A third gun-shot cracked a ways to my left. I rerouted my path toward it, wincing and trying to run even faster. Unless I was totally misjudging the meaning of the gunshots, I was swiftly running out of victims to potentially save. I'd left five…no, seven…a dozen…whatever, a few people there when I'd ran. There should've still been some left, unless they'd used many instances of quieter killing methods… Oh, I wasn't sure, and it was so frustrating. Less thinking, more running. I was afraid I would over-analyze everything and waste focus on arriving to my previously-chosen destination… But what was I going to do, really? I didn't have a plan. I didn't have any special martial-arts training or superb fighting skills. I didn't even have the gun anymore.

That last thought was accented as yet another gunshot rang out. It was accompanied by a brief, gasping cry of agony, and the thick sound of a body hitting the sand. It was happening right in front of me. I could see the beach and the ocean through the sand. Almost there! I tried to settle it all in my head with thoughts like, if I'm going to die here, then so be it, I guess. If I was dead, then I couldn't take anyone else with me, especially if there was no one left to save due to my messing up my victim count when I'd fled earlier. Damn it, I didn't know and I didn't care. Perhaps it was wrong of me.

It wasn't that my life didn't matter to me anymore, or that I didn't care to return to the life I'd once had back with my family and friends in Gotham, but now, things were just so different and confusing… I didn't know what would happen to me or the Joker or anything. Perhaps it was stupid or selfish or vain or all three and a million more negative words, to just run blindly forward like this. I didn't know if I was trying to gain anything or just trying not to lose anything else. My mind was just drag-racing and making my feet obey its movement requirements. Every gunshot sound I heard was a kick in my rear, and I just felt like I had to go with it, no matter where it took me. I had to try…

The edge of the foliage was rapidly running forward to meet me. Another gunshot cracked, painfully loud with its proximity and bringing back hideous memories of when the one firing the gun had been me. I sucked in a breath, extended my arms, and then burst out into the open at the edge of the forest. The tree branches and leaves all whipped back into place upon my reckless exit of their cover, seeming to leave me with a final, scraping touch of farewell, as if they knew I'd never reenter their depths again. I stopped, lurching unsteadily on the sand, and stared with wide, terror-glazed eyes.

I processed what I could see in mere seconds, having had some practice with horrifying sights throughout the day. I immediately picked out the slouched, eccentrically-clothed form of the Joker, standing about five yards away from me. He was staring intently at a girl that was spattered with blood and breathing heavily. Two people were dead at her feet. She didn't have the gun clenched in her crimson-drenched fists, which made me guess that the Joker had it. The sand was littered and tainted with fallen bodies. The little boy, his mother, so many others… The girl was the only one left, from what I could see.

She had whipped her head up to look at me as soon as I'd emerged, her eyes a piercing, pale blue and burning with wild, animalistic energy. She stared at me as if I were something to eat, and it made my blood run cold. Her pale lips parted, her teeth gleaming in the sun. I froze, holding her gaze, trying not to make any sudden movements for fear of spurring her on and snapping her already-frazzled nerves. I knew upon looking at her that she'd killed the man and woman at her feet. She'd probably killed even more than that. And now here I was, alive and well and a few yards away, just for her…

"…Niiccee of you to join us ah-gain, beautiful…You're just in time for the finale…"

My eyes slowly panned to the left and settled upon the Joker, the sick, sadistic monster who had just spoken to me and who had also just recently led to the deaths of over twenty-people. A fearful feeling like ice water flowed down my back as I felt his black-hearted gaze draw me in to his manic, chaotic mind. His scars stretched into a hideous, blood-red smile at the sight of me, various emotions all mashed together into a twisted expression on his disfigured face. Approval. Amusement. Pleasure. My knees threatened to buckle. The sun was a spotlight again, the trees whispering goodbyes as I started to sweat and bleed and sting all over.

All of my resolves weakened. All of my reassurances fled. All of my willpower crumbled. In that running race against the gunshots, I'd been free to reject the thought of anything other than reaching the beach. Now, I was forced to think of how I had no idea what to do next, with two killers remaining far too close to me. I realized how I was pretty much powerless to save that girl, especially now, after she'd caved to the Joker's dark wishes. Did that mean I was beyond recovery and salvation as well? Perhaps it did. The Joker had the gun. The Joker had the blood-drunk pawn at his command. I was unarmed, not all that dangerous, and suddenly terrified to die all over again.

My mind was screaming at me to run. My brain tried to tell me to survive at all costs, to just get the hell out of there. My heart wouldn't listen – I couldn't find the will to flee anymore, to go against what I'd deemed to be the right thing to do only a few seconds ago now, after I'd just made my stand. My legs wouldn't listen, frozen stiff as if the sand were an ice-rink that had grown up to my thighs and solidified icily, holding me in place. I couldn't look away from the Joker. My mouth wouldn't form words. I had nothing to say. I just waited, for some miracle to allow me to make some amazingly decisive and helpful action or for the inevitable assault of the murderers before me (and within me) to finally take me down…where part of me thought I deserved to be.

I swallowed, blinked, and dropped my arms to my sides, letting my fists uncurl and hang flaccid. I tried to brace myself for any pain I could imagine, but I have a feeling it didn't really work. I probably looked pathetic and small and insignificant. I couldn't really force myself to care. No one else would ever see me so low again, especially since it would all probably be over soon, for me, at least… The Joker's black eyes rolled over to the girl beside him once again.

"…Well..?" he prodded her subtly, as if half-chastising a dog who hadn't immediately lurched to go retrieve a tossed stick. His unspoken command wasn't lost on her, or on me. His words were like a poison-coated dagger, letting him smoothly stab his evil directly into her unstable mind and light a mental fuse that burned up very quickly. Her eyes flashed, and she exploded into motion. She ran straight for me, her teeth bared, her bloody hands resembling claws as they reached with wild desperation for me.

Her footsteps sounded like thunder in my mind. Her eyes made me feel like a typhoon or a hurricane were snarling in my face, hurrying forth to devour me until there was nothing left, and I guessed that that simile wasn't too far off from her actual intentions. I felt tears well with heart-broken speed to my eyes, quickly spilling over and obscuring the sight of her, so close already, before me. I felt my whole body tense, but for some reason, I made myself hold firm and not run. Where the hell would I go, anyway..?

She hid the Joker behind her quickly advancing form, deprived me of the sight of the washing waves and the blood-stained white sand. But I still felt the sun, smiling down at me as if nothing was wrong…I held my breath, closed my eyes, and turned my head away.

Goodbye mom and dad…Goodbye everyone…

A loud, echoing crack made me gasp with surprise, my body tightening further with shock and fear. Something warm spattered my front, and I heard the all-too-familiar sound of a hunk of once-sentient meat dropping onto the sand. …What..? My mind worked sluggishly, disorientated by the fact that I wasn't dead yet. There was no (new) pain and no light-headedness or anything… I hadn't been shot…

But someone had.

Oh, God, no… A small sob hiccupped in my throat as I tried so hard to deny the truth that my mind was putting together based on the details that it was receiving. My tears fell freely as I turned my head with terribly-reluctant slowness and, after a monumental effort, opened my eyes and saw what I thought I would see: the girl was lying, still and silent, at my feet, the sand already becoming wet and red around her. She was dead. And the only one that was left to kill her was…

I looked up at the Joker just as he casually lowered the gun, still smoking in his hand.

Why..?...WHY?

I wanted to scream. My hands twitched into fists of wild, desperate emotion and I had nothing to hit. Why the hell had he killed her? I was the one that would have and should have died! I didn't have her killer's instinct – there was no way I could've competed with her ferocity and fearlessness. According to his game, she was obviously more willing and fit to win than I was!

So why was I still alive?

WHY?

My legs swayed, threatening to give out beneath me once again. I was so far beyond doubting that this all was indeed happening to me… It was too horrible to be made-up.

My parted lips trembled mindlessly as I stared with red, tearful eyes at the Joker as he sauntered slowly, with a lop-sided gait, toward me. He walked right over the fallen girl's body without a second thought, his black eyes never leaving my face. My breath hitched in my lungs at how close he was. But I didn't let myself speak and I didn't let myself collapse. I just couldn't… Not now. I had wanted to try, to try to do something, and now look where trying had gotten me…

He didn't touch me, but leaned closer so that his ruined, paint-smeared face was close enough to mine to make my entire body shiver with repulsion. I was forced to take one step back, just so that I didn't pass out or something. It made his scarred smile widen, just before he said a sentence that would haunt my nightmares for years to come.

"…And now…the real fun begins…"

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Yaay!~

I know it wasn't the most eventful chapter, but I thought some character development was in order. I'm pretty sure things will get much more interesting from here on out. ;)

Thanks again! Read and review! And I'll be back with chapter 6 ASAP. :D

~SD