A/N: All of you have been MORE than wonderful in reviewing, thank you to each and every one of you. I would like to thank my anonymous reviewers here too: b2, JCL, and Trini Li.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but Anna.
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The elevators had been shut off, chrome doors remaining stubbornly closed.
Anna clung tightly to the clammy metal banister, knife clutched defensively in the other trembling fist. It was doubtful that he'd have any men lying in wait, but with the spotty lighting leaving great pools of shadow on every landing, she honestly could not afford to take the risk. The knife probably wouldn't help much in that case – even she could admit she was dreadful with a switchblade – but it was reassuring all the same.
The third floor landing came and went, her exhausted legs already protesting at the added strain. Not in the best of shape to begin with, Anna had no idea how much more her body could take. Her arms were already like leaden rods, rippling with fear but leached of their strength.
Definitely not the condition in which she would have chosen to face him.
Fourth floor now, the familiar obscene graffiti covering the sign. Her head pounding, she could hear her words from some long ago shouting match as he dragged her up the stairs, lingering like specters on the landing.
"Hell, at least I know what I am – I'm a lousy, good for nothing drunk. But you… You! You are a wolf in sheep's clothing. Tell me, does wearing that suit make you feel normal? Is that why you never just let go? Because I of all people know that normal is the last thing you are."
Oh he hadn't liked that. Not… one… bit. The murderous glint in his dark eyes had remained, even as he stiffened and continued silently up the steps, hands twitching near his pockets. If she remembered correctly, she had drunkenly flung every insulting observation she could think of in his direction, trying to see how far he would bend before breaking.
The night he finally cracked, she would wish she had kept her mouth shut.
Sixth floor, ribbons of pain beginning to entwine around her calves. They grew tighter as the seventh landing arrived and left without incident, the eighth approaching menacingly as she thought of what waited two floors above. Her sneakers dully thudded against the metal stairs, climbing what she figured must have been the stairway to purgatory.
Setting foot on the ninth floor landing, she could still envision the wrath marring his features as he held her friend Sabrina's husband over the rail, accusing him of having an affair with his wife. Ironically, there was nothing going on between her and Tyler, he had only playfully asked for a kiss beneath the mistletoe one Christmas, but Jack got these funny ideas sometimes… and once they had taken root in his mind, there was no convincing him otherwise.
It hadn't seemed to bother him that he had nearly killed a man over a single joke.
Entering the murky gloom of the tenth floor landing, she thrust such side-thoughts from her mind, noticing detachedly that the harsh rasping in her ears was her own. She leaned into the peeling beige door, slipping through to the diffuse corridor as noiselessly as she was able.
Her heart was in her throat as the familiar diamond pattern of the dusty carpet crawled beneath her feet, knife brandished for show in front of her.
1001, 1002, 1003… the regularly spaced doors seemed to mock her, interiors silent and forgotten. Every third light had been left on, plunging sections of the hallway into darkness, each realm of brightness embodying a small hope that was quickly dashed in the span of a few steps.
1005, 1006, 1007…
She held her breath.
1008.
Gripping the smooth knob, she turned it slightly, fear flooding her at the realization that it was unlocked. The blade brought closer to her body, she stifled her harsh gasps, preparing to enter without warning as instinct demanded.
In one smooth motion, she opened the door and stole inside.
Nothing happened.
No rain of bullets, no cackling laughter, not the faintest trace of movement inside the tiny flat. The only light came from the window on the opposite wall, a vague sort of illumination imbuing the otherwise pitch-black apartment with a hollow twilight. It hovered over grimy floors and bare walls, barely penetrating the darkened hallway leading further into the complex.
This wasn't going to be good; she could feel it in her bones.
Drawing strength from the presence of the knife, she crept further into the empty room, eyes roving over every surface. Thankful she had worn sneakers, she padded softly into the hallway, keeping her back to the unbroken wall and monitoring both directions. Every doorway was familiar to her – the dim bathroom, devoid of life. The closet next to it, door firmly closed. Inching along the wall, she could just make out the entrance of the bedroom, door slightly ajar.
The faint sound of muffled whimpering.
Anna closed her eyes in defeat, dread pooling in her stomach. Nothing to do now but keep moving as long as possible.
Swiftly stepping to the other side of the hallway, she established her bearings and continued to edge towards the bedroom, muscles running on sheer adrenaline. Switchblade in hand, she peered through the half-open door, a jolt of surprise coursing through her at the sight that met her eyes.
The bed was pushed into its usual position against the far wall, the familiar wooden headboard marking it as theirs. A dresser was against the front – her view was not perfect – and a lamp of some sort lay on its side in the corner. A writhing, sobbing mass lay on the stripped mattress, about the size of a young woman, but it was hard to tell given the distance.
Swallowing harshly, Anna quickly slid inside the door, her back to the bureau and eyes fixed on the closets against the right wall. Still no sign of movement met her stare, except for the figure on the bed, who began to squirm enthusiastically at the sight of her. Gaze darting between the closets and the door, she was thankful for the faint light that drifted from the living room.
Her legs brushing the side of the mattress, she spared a glance at the terrified, tear-soaked face of the hostage, silently apologizing for her involvement. Her neck and shoulders were littered with the thin red lines of his boredom, one eye blackened and her nose viciously bloodied. Anna smiled reassuringly, a pang of sorrow piercing her heart at the thought that it might be the last friendly face this woman would ever see. At least the dark concealed her scars.
Eyes fixed on the closets, she leaned in closer, dropping her voice to a low murmur. "You're going to be ok. Shhh, shhh, don't panic now."
Searching for the bindings around the poor woman's feet, she found only the grooved sensation of two hardware store plastic ties. She slipped the edge of the knife under one of the thin bonds, sawing roughly into the plastic, a part of her knowing it wouldn't be enough.
The woman seemed to sense her hesitation, and began to thrash in instinctive fear. "Shhh now, stop kicking. I'm going to get you out of here, trust me." One tie snapped beneath her ministrations, the sound echoing oddly in the room.
Fingers clumsy from exhaustion, she nicked her own flesh with the knife, a hot trickle of blood snaking its way down her thumb. Ignoring the pain, she hunted for the other tie that had slipped from her grasp, blood-slick fingertips unable to keep hold as the woman whipped violently.
"Listen – you have to…"
Fear rising within her, she ceased her guard of the door and closets, turning her gaze towards the hostage and frantically searching for the tie.
"…. You have to calm down, or I can't help you."
Anna knew she had made a mistake as soon as the woman started to scream.
Of course, the kiss of the blade against her throat didn't help either.
The cool edge of the switchblade contrasted surreally with the warmth of his chest and legs, body pressed flush against her hunched form. A sloshing, unnatural sound filled her ears as he gleefully sucked on the inside of his cheeks, sharp bursts of hilarity slipping through his jagged lips.
"Well, well…. What have we ah, got here?"
A slight shiver tore down her spine, skin prickling as if she had been doused in freezing water. Struggling to remain in control, she gripped the knife tighter, readying herself to use it before she was relieved of its company. Her brain worked furiously – a slash to the arm that held its twin at her throat should do. On three.
One, two –
His other hand expertly reached around her to grasp her wrist, squeezing so tightly she could have sworn the bones were grating together. Hand quickly going numb, she dropped the knife onto the mattress, suddenly aware of the chin perched on her shoulder.
It was a distorted embrace, a sick tableau as they leaned together over the side of the mattress.
A shrill cackle, his tenor rising and falling in a sing-song tone. "Ah, ah, ah, darling. Can't have you ha, using your sharp fa-cul-ties to end our little game, now can I? Now that you're… home, can't have you leaving me so soon." His thumb absentmindedly stroked the inside of her bruising wrist, even as he pressed the edge of the blade further into the delicate skin of her neck. The slightest further ounce of pressure and it would draw blood.
Preoccupied by the knife, Anna hadn't even noticed the four masked men now standing to either side of the bed. The thrashing of the hostage sent her plummeting back into reality.
"Listen." She wet her parched lips, disgust burning the inside of her throat. "You have me now, you can let her go."
He pushed her harshly to the mattress and straightened himself, his laughter sending chills through her frozen legs. Her knife was scooped from the bed and in his pocket before she could blink.
"Oh you're right, darling, I could. But where's the fun in that? No I… I have a better idea. "
The masked man nearest her pulled out a plastic tie, mechanically gathering her wrists and looping the binding around them. Throughout the entire ordeal, all Anna could see was the reflection of the hallway light in the terrified, pleading gaze of his captive, a rage building silently within her chest. Distracting him had always been easier when she couldn't remember it in to the morning; this was about the time she wished she had a bit of that good old liquid courage.
Regular stupidity was going to have to do instead.
"Spit it out then, you freak."
But regular stupidity was a poor protection against pain.
Lights flashed across her vision as he brought the handle of something – a knife probably – against the back of her head. A gasp forced its way from her mouth, her temples throbbing in response and berating her noisily. At least he had forgotten about his hostage for now, directing his ire towards her once more.
A growl next to her ear, plumbing the depths of his range. "What was that? I didn't quite catch what you said." The knife appeared in his hand once more, tracing along the curve of her shoulder.
She couldn't seem to convince her lips to move coherently, stunned by the agony in her skull and the presence of him beside her. Some distant corner of her brain noted that she really wasn't cut out for the whole hero job; so far, she had failed rather miserably. A garbled noise escaped her throat, sandwiched between heaving breaths.
"That's bet-ter. A wife" – the word came out in a snarl – "should never speak to her loving husband like that." A soft pop as he smacked his lips, licentiously running his tongue over their scarred surface. "Especially in the ah, presence of guests."
The blade sliced once at her shoulder before dancing away.
Fingers walking across the same stretch of her shoulder the knife had been worrying, he seemed to curiously switch moods, voice cheerful and fluttering once more. The cheap leather of his gloves pressed playfully into her skin, tracking fingertips of blood like tiny puddles across the pale flesh. The cut barely stung, but his eager prodding jolted her with every pass.
"So-oo, how do ya go about keeping a rebelliouswife under control?" He cackled wildly at this, as if it were funniest joke in the world. To him at this point, she realized, it might have been. "You appeal to her softer side."
He abruptly kissed her shoulder, smacking his lips against the skin as a child would. Patting the spot with false tenderness, he leapt from the bed, gesturing to the masked men waiting uneasily for his command.
"As I was saying, darrrling, you just couldn't keep away from my animal magnetism. And now that you're here… we've got a lot of ah, a lot of catching up to do." The bed shook as one of the clowns hefted the struggling hostage, throwing her over his shoulder and heading for the door, out of Anna's realm of sight. Still stunned, she attempted to twist in that direction, but found her limbs deadeningly unresponsive.
Her blurred gaze jumped instead to him. She couldn't see his body very well, but the white make-up reflected nicely in the dim lighting. A smile stretched across his lips – or was it the scars?
"If you displease me, darling, the results could be… oh rather explosive. So unless ya want that pretty little woman going up... up… up… with the rest of Gotham Central… you should be on your best behavior."
She hadn't even heard him move before he was beside her.
"Got it?"
The blade was poised over her spinal cord, point prepared to plunge into her back if she answered wrongly. Heart in her mouth, she nodded, sensing in horror that Jack was far, far away inside the Joker's mind.
"Just peachy."
He danced lightly away, heading for the lamp overturned in the corner. Bringing it to the dresser, he reached behind the fake wooden back and plugged the cord into the socket she knew to hide there. A gloved finger switched the uncovered lamp on with a click, flooding the room with light as he turned to face her.
"Now… let's have a look at you. Let's ah have a look at my wife."
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