While I was sleeping I was having strange dreams. A particular one kept occurring. I was on the edge of a building and the wind was blowing. I saw my mother walk up to me. She was wearing the long, white night gown she had been when she was murdered. Her neck was laying limp because it had broken when she had been strangled. Her eyes were looking at me; almost through me. Before I could touch her, I would fall off the building. The dream was always cut off before I hit the ground.
I woke up sweating and breathing heavily. Immediately I felt the pain of not only a gunshot wound, but a deep burn. My back was aching from sleeping on the steel medical table and being strapped down for however long I had been asleep. I thought of escaping, but I didn't know where to begin. I didn't think it was possible to while I was still strapped down and in this much pain. I decided to wait until I was off of the table. Then again, I didn't know what they had in store for me so there was no guarantee of that ever happening. Although escaping was out the question, I tried to at least slightly reposition myself, just to help me with the pain. That was also impossible.
I stayed in that room all day, all alone. No one came in and no one went out. I never saw the Joker or his maniacal bride-to-be. I was very anxious. I began assuming that they had abandoned the place and left me with it. It was a very logical thought considering the Joker had planned to raid a drug warehouse, but instead took a hostage. Any was possible with this lunatic. Being his hostage is what most people could never imagine. They probably would have much rather been killed by him than to ever be his prisoner and now I understand why. I never thought the Joker to be much a criminal because of all the evil I've seen. Evidently, I was wrong.
Hours continued to pass by and the pain never subsided, only grew worse. I didn't think I could take much more of the gnawing sensation of the steel digging into my flesh. My legs eventually went to sleep from hanging off the edge of the table, also digging into my flesh, cutting off most of the circulation. I thought this to be just another way to torture me. What's more torturous than leaving someone alone for hours on end strapped to an uncomfortable, steel table, with nothing but a pair of jeans and heavy boots to help the tension on their legs?
Finally, a few of the Joker's henchmen came in pulling in a twin size bed with blankets and pillow made up on it. Then a screen and a projector, as well as full size bed with white blankets and pillows made up on it. Then a few minutes later, Harley came in wearing blue pajamas with teddy bears on them. With her mask and harlequin cap still on, she crawled into the smaller bed and closed her eyes. I took this as a slap in the face.
Look at me all comfy in my bed while you grit your teeth in agony on that table!
Next, the Joker made his way in, dressed in a lady's white night gown, much like the one my mother wore when she was killed. He also wore a blonde wig, similar to what my mother's real hair looked like. One of the thugs flipped on the projector and what started playing was a news broadcast from September, 1997. A brunette woman named Gena Martin who was once a well-known news caster in Gotham was telling the story of my mother's murder. I remember my aunt watching it at least every other day for around two weeks.
"Gotham City woman was murdered yesterday by strangulation in her apartment while her son was sleeping. The police have not caught the perpetrator so far."
I wasn't asleep. I remember the distinct fear of my mother's scream right before it happened. I remember rushing from my bed to her room and seeing her dead eyes roll to the back of her head. I remember a man dressed in black with his face shadowed, ready to jump out of the window, look at me and smile before he took off, never to be seen again. I remember looking back at mother's lifeless body with a tear rolling down my face. I surely wasn't asleep.
That particular hole in my chest was opening up again as the newscast played. That hole that took so long to fill and could only be filled with adrenaline, alcohol, and sometimes cocaine was coming back just as quickly as it had the first time.
"Turn it off!" I yelled.
Once the video had played it switched to newspaper articles concerning the murder. It went on and on, showing everything I tried so hard to block out. It was all coming back to me in a rush of long time angst and depression.
"I said turn it off!" I yelled again.
After the video played, the thug turned off the machine and walked around me. He walked over to the bigger bed and crawled on top of the Joker. Joker started screaming, trying to sound like a woman. He was pretending to be my mom. The thug started acting as if he was choking the Joker and of course after it was over, Harley ran out of the bed to the other bed and started screaming, 'Mommy!' at the top of her lungs. My eyes filled with water as my chest started to burn; not from the wound, from the anger that was filling up inside me.
Since I couldn't move, I simply closed my eyes and tried to block them out. I had proven to be pretty adequate at blocking the things I didn't want to see or hear out of my life. This time, I just couldn't. I could either watch the two reenact that horrible night, or I could close my eyes and see the real thing playing on repeat.
Once the skit was over, Joker got out of the bed and walked over to me.
"How do you feel?" he asked, faking sympathy. I looked directly at the rusting ceiling, doing my best to ignore him. "You aren't angry with me are you? Harley and I just wanted to have a little fun is all. Who doesn't like a good trip down memory lane, to the childhood that made us who we are today?"
"I'm nothing like you," I retorted.
"Ah, but that's where you're wrong. You and I are much the same. We both come from a long line of…disappointment."
"You don't know me!" I yelled.
"But I do. You're Vincent Everdeen. Twenty-three old, murderer, addict, and thug…kind of like me. I, too, have had my addictions, but I turned myself from an addict of substance to an addict of laughter and ever since then, I've been nothing but smiles!" he grinned happily. "Why don't you join me, Vinny? We could be happy together, don't you think? Maybe we'll get a nice cottage in the woods and have a few kids while we're there!" he laughed. "Whattya say, pal? Partners?"
"What could I possibly do for you? You seem to have everything…under control."
"It may look like that on the outside, but truly, all I've ever wanted is a brother. Someone who I can talk to, cry with, share onion dip recipes."
"You're out of your mind," I said almost under my breath. He began laughing maniacally.
"Ain't that the truth! I like you, Vinny, ol' boy! I think we'll make a fine couple of nuts!" He then took off the blonde wig and threw it on the ground. "I'll give you until morning to think about my proposition. If you choose to accept, I let you off of this table and bring you home with my and Harley," he smiled. Harley and him then walked out for the night, leaving me filled with anger and depression and now a decision. Partner up with the biggest criminal in Gotham City or die refusing to do what I've done all these years anyway.
