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Chapter 3
There were five men in the lobby of the building. The custodian and the security guard were both tied together, gags over their mouths that were smeared red by cheap lipstick while the five men appeared to be too busy fiddling with a few large duffle bags. There was no time to think. She dashed as quickly as she could into the emergency stairwell and up towards the fifth floor.
Part of her recognized that retreating into her apartment while a group of mobsters in The Joker's crew were nearby was a very bad idea, but what else was there to do? It was either stay in the streets and be burned alive by the explosions that were firing off every minute, or stay in the building, barricade the door and pray for some sort of salvation. She didn't have a lot of options. This seemed to be her only chance of saving herself.
When she had almost reached the fifth floor, she heard footsteps outside the door. There were more men on her floor and it sounded like they were about to come into the emergency stairwell. Her heart began to race in a terrible panic, and without a moment's hesitation, she bolted up towards the top floor as if everything in the world depended on it. She could hear her heart thumping in her ears, threatening at every beat to rip in two and kill her on the spot. It was welcome to. It would be a much more pleasant way to die than at the wrong side of a gun barrel.
The men came into the emergency stairwell to see her running for her life seven floors ahead of them. She heard them call out to her as they gave chase, weaving in and out of the twisting stairwell to catch her in her tracks. Although she had a good gain on them, she could tell that they were fast, determined, and much stronger than she was. Her legs were shaking, her heart was bursting, and in a sudden torrent of resolve, she pulled open the door to the fourteenth floor and fell through.
She landed on the floor of the hallway. There was an air of eerie silence cast in a phantom light that flickered from the emergency system. All the rooms were still and she figured quickly that either everyone had gotten the idea to evacuate or that they were already dead. She grimaced in pain as she pulled herself up and started to run again to the closest door. She pounded on the door before trying to pull it open, but there was no response and it was locked. Screaming out for help, she made her way to each door, knocking furiously and calling out for someone to let her in. Every door was a dead end, but as she reached the end of the hallway, she turned a corner towards another set of doors and successfully opened the first apartment door she saw, slamming it behind her and bolting it shut.
The room was in complete disarray. Furniture was overturned and papers were scattered in all directions. A few plants were overturned and smashed glass from a coffee table littered the hard wood floor of the living room. She checked vaguely for the people who lived there, but saw no sign that the inhabitants were still there. She shuddered at the idea of finding them in the kitchen or bathroom, tied together with the same gags and red lipstick as the hostages downstairs, their face smeared with blood from the savage cuts she had seen inflicted on many of The Joker's victims in the news reports. She was afraid to move through the apartment, but realized that it was necessary in order to find a phone. She had to call the police. With a newfound sense of urgency, she began to tear through the debris on the floor, desperate to find the one ticket that could get her out of this.
At the doorway to the kitchen, near the shattered mirror that hung above the shambles of what used to be a table, she found a phone charger. Thanking God for her luck, she grabbed for the charger and the contraption attached to it, only to have her hopes destroyed in a mess of terror and confusion. The phone was still attached to the charger, but it was slashed sideways so that only the receiver end remained, sounding out the familiar beeping of a dead phone line. The speaker and dial were nowhere to be found.
She looked around her puzzled as to where the rest of the phone was when she felt a strong arm grab her around the torso and wheel her around.
Her mouth gaped open in horror. In front of her was the very thing of nightmares, the man who had proclaimed himself Gotham's finest terrorist. His face was as horrible as they had shown it on the news, but up close you could see the vibrant scars with such clarity behind the lazy red lipstick that she could not help but shudder. He grinned slightly and cocked his head to the side, his arm keeping a firm grip around her torso. Slowly, he leaned into her and widened his grin.
"Well, hello there!" said The Joker in an almost friendly manner. "You must be my date for the evening. Care for a dance?"